Page 5 of Cedarwood Cabin
Looking at them, I feel uneasy. I don’t remember seeing them before. The bikers speed off once the traffic light turns green, their engines roaring as they take a turn further into town. I feel adrenaline as my whole body breaks out into goosebumps.
“Probably just some guys on a morning ride,” my father says, driving on.
We enter an area with tall trees on either side of the road. Driving through the forest, the sunlight now only filters through the branches, making the temperature feel cooler.
My father looks up in shock. “Jesus, look at that!”
He grips the steering wheel tightly as he slams on the brakes. I look up and see a massive animal in the middle of the road.
“Is that a moose?” I ask.
My father nods his head with the engine still rumbling. “Yup,” he confirms.
The moose is enormous and easily towers over the truck. I can see its coarse, brown fur and its antlers stretched out like branches.
“It's huge,” I say, my voice barely above a hush.
My father and I simply sit there silently, watching as the moose makes it to the other side of the road. It looks at us, its breath condensing as it exhales, and vanishes into the depths of the forest.
“They are massive, especially when you’re this close,” my father says, releasing the breath he’s been holding. He presses the gas pedal and continues driving.
“Yeah. There’s so much land and wilderness out here. It’s crazy. You can go miles without seeing someone,” I say, looking out the window and watching the trees go by.
“I can see why your mother always wanted to come back.”
My father's eyes remain on the road, but I can tell he is lost in thought. I picture my mother running through these forests as a young girl. I could understand why she wanted to come back, too. We pull into a gravel parking lot and I unbuckle my seatbelt as my father brings the truck to a stop.
We both grab our backpacks from the backseat. I adjust the straps, ensuring it won't slip off while we hike. It feels heavy pressed against my back, but I know it has everything we need.
I look around, taking in everything. The trees tower above us, the air filled with the smell of fresh pine and earth.
My father comes up beside me and we pivot around to face the trail ahead of us. The path leading into the dense forest is narrow, with lined-up ferns and underbrush on either side.
My father takes a deep breath and asks, “Ready?”
“Of course.”
Finally, with one last look at each other, we start walking down the path, feeling the gravel crunch under our boots. We slowly hear fewer sounds from the road, more birds chirping, and the occasional twig snapping underfoot.
We have been hiking for over an hour now, so we take a break as we reach a fallen tree. I feel the rough bark press on my legs as I lean against it, hearing the call of a woodpecker in the distance. The forest around us is peaceful and calm with the trees covered in dark green moss and ivy. My father hands me a bottle of water. I unscrew the cap and take a long sip, feeling the cold water as it flows down my throat.
“So peaceful,” I breathe.
My father's eyes scan the forest, his face shining in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful…” he agrees.
The treetops sway in the breeze above us. My father puts his hand on his head, ensuring his cap doesn't fall off as he takes in the sight.
“Have you made any friends? I know you’ve been going out more.”
I feel my chest tighten at my father's question. The truth is, I still had no friends. My father encouraged me to leave the house more and get acclimated. He suggested I visit the local art gallery, the library, maybe even volunteer. Despite visiting these places, I didn't have the courage to speak to anyone. I fear rejection so much that I keep my lips sealed whenever I meet someone new.
I avoid my father's gaze as I shake my head, the weight of disappointment settling down on me.
“Flora…” my father says with a sigh. “Make some friends. Get out there more. Stop locking yourself away watching horrors and painting.”
His words sting, but I know he is right. Being at home is a safe haven for me. I could lose myself while painting. I feel my father's eyes soften as he looks at me.
