My bare toes curled around the pebbles at the canyon's edge, seeking out traction among the smooth stones. I let my line of sight trickle down the canyon walls to the river at the bottom of the drop.

You were there.

You complimented me on my shoes without a single glance down at my feet. I smiled to myself,  because you have to smile when someone says something nice, but also because I had caught your mistake. You didn't notice--I knew you wouldn't--but I still smiled.

"I like your hair." Truthfully, your hair looked great, but it wasn't exactly compliment-worthy. Of course, I didn't have the authority to break the compliment-compliment rule, so I played along as usual.

"It's really bright today." You always operated in the same pattern--compliment, weather, and then the invitation.

"It is, isn't it?" It was a response eroded into my brain by an endless stream of repetition.

You took a few steps towards the edge, but you didn't go as close as I was. You didn't have to.

"Would you like to play a game?" you asked.

"Yes." That's another rule, ask-accept.

You raised your head and opened your eyes wide. You had to shut them after a few seconds. You were right--it was bright today. "Counting Anthills?"

I knew the game very well. We had played it many times before. It had been the staple of our childhoods--just you, me, and the game. Your eyes were perfectly trained and nuanced for it, so naturally it was your favorite.

"1, 2, 3, Go!"

I turned my head and faced the chasm. As far as I could see, there were no anthills at the bottom. All that my eyes picked up was a tannish line, split down the middle by the blue river. I pointed to a few  places along the riverbank, mimicking your motions.

Why couldn't I see any anthills?

You could see each one of them with perfect clarity.

You could count them so quickly.

You always won. You were the champion.

"Time's up." Defeat flooded my throat. Tears gathered, but I didn't let them fall.

Rule three: winner answers first. "How many did you get?"

The answer was almost always the same, give or take a few.

"Three-hundred and eighty-six anthills." You grinned, your teeth redirecting the light to smear across my vision. "What about you?"

It was pointless to ask. You already knew the answer. Much like yours, my answer was the same every time we played.

"None."

I hated that word. I could fake the counting forever. Faking was easy. Playing for real was hard. My eyes just didn't work like yours, and you knew it.

You touched your fingers as if you were counting, like you had to make a close comparison of our tallies to determine the winner.

"That means...I win!"

We stood side-by-side for a moment, the kind winner and the graceful loser.

"Good game. Play again tomorrow?" I gave a simple reply of 'yes' and you left me alone.

The graceful loser. For some reason, the word 'loser' ruined the 'graceful.'

Why couldn't I count anthills?

The river kept charging through its path at the bottom of the canyon. I imagined all of the little ants running along its bank. Maybe someday you would want to count them instead.

I wouldn't get to count them with you.

My feet slid a little bit farther out above the abyss. A jolt of adrenaline shot through my body. My heart sped up, and for a split second, my vision sharpened.

My eyes adjusted quickly and I realized that my new sharpness wasn't enough to see the ants. I needed more.

I inched a little bit farther off of the edge. The arches of my feet tasted the canyon air for the first time.

The world was sharp enough to slice deep into the insides of my eyes but it wasn't enough.

I leaned further into the canyon. My field of vision zoomed, honing in on the the river. I chased the rapids with my pupils.

1, 2, 3, 4...

I leaned further, lending the weight of my body to the wind. My feet slipped from the edge, toes trying in vain find the traction they had gleaned from the pebbles before. The layers of the canyon walls slid through my vision as I fell.

126, 127, 128, 129...

The anthills grew larger.

242, 243, 244, 245...

The river grew bluer.

384, 385, 386...387!

For once, I was without boundaries. I was the champion. Me! Not you. Me.

"I win!" The words were snatched away from me as soon as I finished them. I think that they floated back up to the edge. Maybe they ran off to find you.

There were no anthills anymore, only mountains.

I counted those, too.