Page 2 of Nash
I jump in my truck and start the engine. The beautiful vocals of Celine Dion blast through the speakers. I forgot I was listening to her earlier. Maybe if I sing along loud enough the raccoons will think about moving someplace else.
There’s a half-eaten box of doughnuts on the passenger seat. I take a nice big bite of a delicious jelly one. I close my eyes. This is the happiest I've been all day.
Maybe Bob’s right. If I put my foot down I can be at the old Turner cabin in no time at all. I'll deliver the message. Race back. And still be at Cassy’s in time for our Friday night pizza/Vin Diesel ladies-only movie night.
A crack of lightning shoots across the sky. It’s far away. High up in the mountains. But around here, that doesn’t mean a thing. The weather can change on a dime.
“Yeah,” I moan to myself, pulling out onto the dirt road, “and pigs might fly.”
2
Nash
The rain slamsdown into my eyes. It’s so heavy, I can barely see ten feet in front of me.
Branches snap and fall to the ground. The wind screams through the air, ripping trees from the ground and howling past my ears.
Everywhere I look is chaos. Like God Himself is taking out His anger on the forest.
For the first time in a long time, I feel afraid.
This isn’t the calm, relaxing break I imagined. This isn’t me getting back in touch with nature like I planned.
This is me barely surviving in a vast wilderness that will gobble me up and spit me out without a second thought.
I shouldn’t have walked so far from the cabin.
I should have looked at the weather forecast before I left.
“Well, Nash,” I say, spinning around trying to look for a landmark or something I recognize. “You’ve really done it this time.”
A huge bolt of lightning explodes across the sky.
It lights up the forest, and for a split second, I see a rocky crag just a few hundred feet to my left.
I know that crag.
At least, I think I do.
I rush towards it as fast as my tired feet will carry me. Branches scratch my arms and my face. Mud splatters up my legs and fills my shoes with water.
The closer I get, the more sure I am.
I was looking at this crag earlier, while I was drinking my morning coffee.
A mental image flashes through my head. Me. Sitting outside with the sun in my eyes. Basking in the glory of my surroundings. Not a care in the world.
I wish I could go back in time and slap the heck of that person. Tell him not to be such a fool. To prepare for the worst. To not eat all your trail mix within the first half-hour of trekking.
Closer and closer I get to the edge of the clearing that surrounds the cabin I’m staying at.
I could cry. I’m so relieved to finally be back to safety.
For a moment there, I was starting to think I may never make it out of this alive.
All those years in the city have made me soft. My father would be ashamed of me.
I pick up the pace. Sprinting as fast I can go. Spurred on by the thought of a warm fire and dry clothes and something to eat.
