See John write

Stephen Jacobs awoke with a start. He rubbed his eyes and looked around for his watch. He could tell from the light that he had fallen asleep for way too long. Certainly, Ethan hadn’t patiently waited outside the tent. He would have been banging on the tent walls or something to try to wake his dad up. I’m sure he’s gone down to the lake, he thought.

After pulling on his jeans and a sweatshirt, Stephen leaned down and kissed Samantha on the cheek.

“I’m going down to join Ethan for some early morning fishing,” he whispered.

“OK,” Samantha mumbled as she pulled the sleeping bag tighter around her shoulders.

Stephen tried to unzip the tent door as quietly has he could.

“Dad, wait,” Brandon whispered from the corner of the tent.

Stephen turned to see Brandon pulling on his sweatshirt too.

“I didn’t even know you were awake, Bud.”

“I told you I wanted to come too, remember.”

“Of course, I do.” Stephen smiled.

Outside the tent, Brandon stepped into his boots and was ready to tear off down the trail.

“Hey, little man. You better tie those boots before you take off in such a hurry,” Stephen said in his best dad voice.

Brandon immediately dropped down and hurriedly tied his boots. In a flash, he was back to his feet.

“Brandon? Forgetting something?” Stephen asked, holding up Brandon’s fishing pole.

Brandon gave a little chuckle and sprinted back. “C’mon, Dad, let’s get going,” he said.

Stephen yawned as he picked up his tackle box and pole. I don’t know if I ever had that much energy, he thought to himself. Brandon bounced down the trail toward the lake, jumping over tree roots and skidding around the bend.

~~~~~~~~

The steep slopes of the high Uintah mountains were formed as great glaciers slowly slid down, grinding down the rocks, churning the soil, and leaving depressions that thousands of years later would become a series of small natural lakes. Where the glaciers met with the deep layers of solid granite, the ice and rock carved each other in a battle of gravity and friction. These battles left randomly placed scars on the face of the mountains, scars of steep boulder fields where no vegetation could grow.

Ethan walked along through the towering pines. He had made his way over several ridges and small streams. He was certain that right beyond the large ridge he could see up ahead, he would drop down and find the trail that stretched between the campground and Peterson Lake. Ethan imagined taking the short hike up to the lake with his dad and finding themselves the only ones there, pulling big trout out of the clear waters one after another.

The slope grew steeper and Ethan quickened his pace to hurry and reach the top of the ridge. In a couple of spots it was so steep, he had to stop to find a good foothold. Through the trees, all he could see was the cloudy sky. Finally, he reached the top and stepped out of the trees.

Ethan took in a deep breath. The steep down-slope in front of him was an enormous boulder field. The grey and black granite boulders looked so desolate next to the evergreens that lined its edge. From the top of the ridge, the boulder field descended sharply for forty or fifty feet. And it stretched several hundred yards in either direction.

On the far side of the boulder field the trees were thick. Ethan studied the treetops. He could make out a distinct line that he was sure must be the trail. Taking a long look up and down the line of grey boulders, Ethan searched for a path down. He spotted an area where a couple of large boulders looked to have good footing. Excited to see if he had truly found the trail, he hurried down between the boulders. The slope was so steep, he had to sit and slide down the rough stone.

Below the large boulders, he slid along to his right until he found a slot to move farther down. Back and forth he made his way down the field. When he had descended half way down, the rocks became smaller and less stable. Several times, Ethan stepped on what looked like good footing only to have it slide right out from under him and tumble down, crashing against the other rocks. Ethan kept his knees bent and his backside close to the ground to keep from taking a hard fall.

Still fifteen feet from the tree line, Ethan stopped. The slope had turned almost completely vertical. The footing was loose and treacherous. He glanced up over his left shoulder and then down below.

Too far to jump, he thought.

He scooted farther to his right, searching for any good footing. Feeling unsure of himself, he turned around to face the rocks. Now crawling on his hands and feet, he slowly made his way down, a bit at a time, rocks breaking loose under him. The sharp edges of the loose stones scraped at his knees and the palms of his hands.

As it seemed that the whole pile of rocks was giving way and sliding down, Ethan’s left foot caught the top of a larger rock that brought him to a stop. He tested it with his weight; it didn’t move. With a large sigh, Ethan smiled.

OK, OK. That’s all I needed.

With both feet securely on the rock, he looked over his shoulder. It was still a good drop to the ground.

Sizing up the distance, he thought, It’s like when I jumped down from the roof after putting up the Christmas lights with dad. No big deal.

He carefully slid his body down until he was gripping the rock with his hands. He bent both knees and searched for footing that would allow him to push away from the rocks enough to land on the dirt.

Drawing in a deep breath, he began counting slowly in his mind.

One … two … THREE!

With all he had, he pushed himself away from the rock. Arms and legs flailing in the air and gravity sucking him down toward the rocks below.

Ethan’s right foot landed hard on the edge of a football-sized rock. The pain in his ankle caused his whole leg to buckle and he fell hard into the pile of loose rocks.

“Ahhhgg!” He screamed out. Rolling to his side, he grabbed his elbow and felt the warm blood oozing through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He glanced at his hand to see the bright red blood. “Shoot!”

Writhing from the pain, Ethan slowly tried to sit up and get himself off the rocks and onto the dirt that was only two feet away. His ankle was already throbbing. Carefully he scooted over to the trunk of the nearest pine tree. He leaned against the trunk and gritted his teeth. He wanted to cry.

He spun his head around as if looking for someone to come to his rescue. Nothing but trees and rocks and sky. Ethan swallowed hard. Drawing in a quick, unsteady breath, he pulled his right knee up towards his chest.

All the confidence he had had when he walked away from Mirror Lake evaporated in an instant. Tipping his head back to keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks, he looked up at the towering trees. Suddenly, he felt so small. He shoved his fingers through his hair and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Oh, man. What am I doing? What if I can’t walk out of here? Crap!

He rolled his pant leg up to take a look at the damage. The kneecap had taken a blow, but there was no blood and as Ethan rubbed it with his fingers there was no sharp pains.

Then he tried to move his ankle.

“Ouch!” He screamed aloud.

As a soccer player, he had rolled his ankle plenty of times. He knew that often he could walk it off and that the pain would subside after a few minutes. He also knew that if he sat there the ankle would swell and tighten up.

OK, Ethan, he thought to himself. You could really be in bad shape if you don’t get up and get moving.

The elbow was still stinging. Ethan checked it again, still bleeding. Then gathering up his courage, he rolled onto his left knee and used his left hand to brace against the tree. Gingerly he stood up, testing his right ankle.

A sharp pain shot clear up his right leg. Ethan bit his lip. He wanted to scream … and cry.

Just walk it off. Walk it off. Gotta get moving.

Limping heavily, he headed away from boulder field.

Ethan could see the map in his mind. He could see how the trail to the other lake ran along the far side of the campground and headed northeast up to a small lake.

We’d probably be the only people fishing that lake.

The lovebirds kissed again.

Ethan turned around on his rock. He looked at the trail and could see several places where small streams trickled down the hillside to Mirror Lake. He could see where others had taken off the trail to follow the stream up away from the lake.

I’ll be back before dad even drags himself out of his sleeping bag. I’ll cut through the trees to the trail then just follow it back to camp. I’ll show mom that the trail is fine so she won’t get so freaking worked up.

The young couple hardly looked up as Ethan gathered his pole and tackle box. He headed down the trail toward the campground. As he came to one of the tiny streams, he looked up the hillside. Along the side of the stream, a slightly worn footpath was visible. The terrain was steeper than it had appeared and Ethan had to put his left hand to the ground to keep his balance for the first few steps. He grabbed a hold of a tree branch and ducked around a large pine. In only a few steps, Ethan’s legs burned as the climbing was quite steep. Several times he nearly dropped his pole and tackle box.

Ethan paused and looked around. He walked over to a giant pine tree and set down his fishing gear.

I’ll just come back after I get to camp and pick it up.

With both hands free, he quickly scrambled up the next rise. The hill began to flatten out and he turned around to look at the lake. He was surprised how high he already was. It was hard to see the lake because of all the trees, but he could make out a sliver of water. The change in perspective already made the lake seem so much smaller.

Ethan could feel his heart beating in his chest and the cool air burned a little in the back of his throat. A wide grin broke across his face. He turned and continued to follow the small stream up the hill.

As the first rays of the morning sun were trying to push over the eastern horizon, a large cloud drifted overhead, keeping the sky darkened and the morning feeling misty and somber.

But Ethan’s enthusiasm lit up his face like a summer afternoon. The air was invigorating. There really was no footpath beside the stream anymore, but whenever Ethan could catch a glimpse of the mountain peaks through the trees, he could tell he was still heading toward the trail.

Ethan loved this feeling. He filled his lungs with the cool air. He could feel a little perspiration on his forehead. It reminded him of playing soccer on early Saturday mornings. Every time he took the field, he loved the rush of the unpredictability of the game. Anything could happen—it was a real adventure.

He spotted a big round pinecone a short distance ahead of him. With two quick steps, he approached like he was running up on a soccer ball. He booted the pinecone and watched it sail right between two big trees.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hundred miles to the southwest, a cold front was racing through central Utah. The black thunderclouds were dumping sheets of rain down the face of the Wasatch range as it pushed up over the top of Mount Timpanogos. Behind the fast-moving storm was a pocket of frigid air that made it feel more like late October than early September.

The high-pressure system that had brought the sunny skies to the high Uintahs the day before was rapidly falling apart, making way for the storm to soak its way across the great basin and slam into the high peaks of the Uintahs.

After tying his favorite lure on his line, Ethan closed up his tackle box. He blew on his fingers which were plenty cold in the crisp morning air. The beautiful lake was a few dozen yards away through the trees. A fish leaped out of the water and Ethan heard it splash.

I’ve got to get down there.

Just then Ethan heard the familiar sound of his father snoring. Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. He looked over at the tent, then out at the water. Scooping up his pole and tackle box, he muttered sarcastically, “I’ll be right there, huh?”

The trail down to the lake wound between two other campsites. Ethan could hear the other families still sleeping in their tents. His excitement was building as he realized he could be the first to the lake. Carefully, he stepped down the slope from the camp area to the trail that circled the lake.

Ethan knew right where he wanted to go. On the north end of the lake, the shoreline was quite rocky with several large boulders right on the water’s edge. Ethan was sure he could find some hungry fish hiding there.

Below the campsites, the trail that circles Mirror Lake is a boardwalk over the marshy, muddy edge of the lake. Ethan excitedly hopped onto the wooden planks and looked out across the perfectly still lake. A ripple or two were barely visible in the hazy early morning light. Everything was so quiet, Ethan could hear his own footsteps echoing as he rounded the trail away from the campsites.

He was disappointed that his dad had not kept his word about getting up early. But he was also happy not to have Brandon tagging along. Brandon would have been so keyed up he would have been chattering a million miles an hour. Maybe it was better that he was on his own.

As the trail rounded away from the campsites toward the rocky edge at the north end, Ethan’s heart dropped. He heard the unmistakable sound of a line being cast.

No! Someone is already in my spot, Ethan thought as all of his excitement drained right away. If Dad would’ve gotten up early like he said, we could have been out here in time.

Ethan quickened his pace around the bend until he could see the back of not just one, but three fishermen, occupying the exact spot he’d picked out the day before. Ethan’s shoulders sagged and he let his head hang as if his neck were made of rubber. He knew he couldn’t crowd in with three other fishermen. And even if he could, he knew they’d give him that “who do you think you are?” look. Ethan hated that.

Unable to think of any better option, Ethan stopped about twenty feet short of the other men. He found a spot right off the trail between two trees that seemed OK.

With less enthusiasm than he’d had moments before, he set down his tackle box and cast his line out into the dark, still water. Slowly, he worked the line like he’d been taught. Reeling in the lure just enough to make it swirl and float like it was alive, he watched for the faintest hint of a tug on the line.

As he was casting his line out for the third time, there was a distinct splash to Ethan’s right. He leaned forward to look around the tree. One of the men fishing from the rocks was scooping up a big trout with his net. The two other fishermen looked over and smiled at their friend.

That oughta be my fish! Ethan grumbled to himself.

Ethan jammed his pole down between a couple of rocks so it could stand up on its own. He sat down on a large rock and leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands. He stared out at the water. The sun was still below the eastern horizon and the lake looked like a scene from a movie. A light mist hung over the water and the water looked dark and ominous. Ethan glanced up at the sky. There were a few clouds that were beginning to glow with the first hints of dawn.

Ethan checked his line. Motionless. He knew that no fish would take a lure that wasn’t moving, but for the most part he didn’t care right now. It would almost be better if he didn’t catch anything. Dad would feel less guilty if I came back with a grunt load of fish.

At the far end of the lake, an older man was prepping his float tube to launch out into the chilly water. Ethan watched him slide his tube down to the water’s edge. He stopped to load a few things into the pockets of his fishing vest.Ethan didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right behind him. A young couple came walking up, fishing poles in hand. They stopped not more than five feet down the trail and Ethan heard the husband whisper, “This looks like a good spot.” She giggled and they kissed.

Great! Ethan thought. Lovebirds. Just what I needed.

For the next fifteen minutes, Ethan tried to ignore the couple as the husband taught his “sweetie” how to cast her line and as he explained the advantages of “live bait.” She was not very coordinated and somehow thought everything she did was funny. Ethan could tell she was only trying to get her husband to do everything for her.

Ethan picked up his pole and began reeling in his line. Man, it would’ve been so much better if Mom wouldn’t have pitched a fit over me and dad taking a little hike to the other lake. ‘What if the trail isn’t a good one? What if you guys can’t get back before dark?’ What if you didn’t freak out about everything.

The lure came up out of the water and Ethan wound up for a big cast. As he let it fly, the line caught and the lure whipped down awkwardly a few feet out in the water.

The happy couple both looked over. She giggled of course, and he tried to hide a smile.

Jerks.

~~~~~~~~

Vince was starving. His Honda sped eastbound along I-80 at 70 mph heading toward the face of the Wasatch mountain range. He checked the highway sign for the next exit. Two miles.

The morning sun created a glare off the Honda’s filthy windshield. Vince could barely make out the exit sign in the distance. He twisted the turn signal to squirt washer fluid onto the windshield. The pump squealed as it spit out the last few drops of fluid and the wipers smeared it into a blinding mess.

“Sonofa—“ he yelled.

Twisting the wipers onto high only made the problem worse. Vince ducked and bobbed his head trying to see anything through the glare. Suddenly, a pair of brake lights appeared out of nowhere. The Honda’s tires locked up and the car began to slide sideways. A fraction of a second before impact, Vince let off the brake and swerved violently into the emergency lane. Slamming on the brakes again, he skidded the car to a complete stop.

He lay slumped over the steering wheel for a long minute. His heart was pounding and he was out of breath. Then it happened again. A boyhood memory. The sound of the breeze as it pushes its way through towering pines. The musty smell of a tent that has been in storage too long.

Vince sat up. He looked at the windshield and ran his hand through his long hair. Rummaging through the back seat, he found an old water bottle with a little water still in the bottom. He opened his door and poured the water onto the windshield. The wipers swished back and forth and in a second Vince could see again.

Traffic was light. He had no problem pulling back into the exit lane and making his way down the ramp.

Vince pulled into the 7-11 parking lot and turned off the engine. He looked down at the 357 which he had shoved down between the parking brake and the passenger seat.

Don’t leave the gun in the car. Take it in.

Vince looked around. No one else was in the parking lot. He reached down and slipped the revolver into the waist of his jeans.

Inside the 7-11, Vince made no eye contact with the clerk. He went straight to the freezer and pulled out two breakfast burritos. He popped open the end of each plastic wrapper and placed them in the microwave. After he hit start, he made his way to the snack isle. He grabbed several candy bars, a couple granola bars, and a bag of chips. Next he filled up a 32-ounce cup with Coke and ice.

The microwave beeped and Vince took out the burritos. At the counter, the clerk rang up the food. Vince looked over and saw some pre-packaged deli sandwiches in a case next to the counter.

“Ring me up a couple of these sandwiches, too,” he said pointing to the case.

“Ya gotta bring ‘em over here,” the clerk answered.

Vince shook his head and walked over to the case. He picked up two ham and cheese and walked back to the counter. With an irritated glare, he shoved the sandwiches across to the clerk. Then he took a credit card out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter.

The clerk rang up the sandwiches and slid the card through the reader. He watched the screen for a second, hit a key and slid the card again.

“Sorry, dude, it got rejected,” the clerk said with a little bit of a smirk.

“What!?” Vince demanded incredulously. Almost without thinking, he reached under his shirt and put his hand on the handle of the revolver.

“Your card got denied,” the clerk repeated with an exaggerated slowness.

Vince leaned into the counter. “You don’t want to jerk me around. Try the stupid card again.”

“Whatever you say.”

The clerk slid the card through again. Vince stared at the clerk without taking his hand off the revolver.

“It must be your lucky day.” The clerk said as the receipt began printing out. Vince relaxed and signed the receipt. He took the food out to his car and in a minute he was back on the freeway.

By the time the Coke was gone, Vince had passed through Park City and had turned onto highway 40.

It’s like every other time. Everyone knows you’re nothing but a pathetic loser.

Vince reached down and turned up the radio.

After leaving highway 40, he turned toward the small town of Kamas. It had been years since he had been to the tiny town but the road looked familiar anyway. The fields looked exactly the same. The rolling hills. The old barns and barbed wire fences.

Outside of town, he passed the sign that read “Kamas, Gateway to the Uintahs.” He could see the Sinclair sign ahead on the right. He needed a bathroom.

The young lady behind the counter tried to flash a courteous smile at Vince as he walked in. He didn’t even look at her but went straight to the men’s room.

Stephen, Samantha, and their three children sat around the picnic table in their Mirror Lake camp site. Ethan at twelve years old was looking more and more like his father every day. They shared the same sandy brown hair, startling blue eyes, and an easy dimpled grin. Brandon, the eight year old, had much more of his mother’s coloring. His hair was dark brown and kept in a buzz cut because he simply didn’t have time to deal with combing it in the mornings. Sarah was the youngest and had recently turned five. She was completely blonde, like her father had been when he was a child. But she had her mother’s big brown eyes. She was the quietest of the children, watching her brothers constantly.

Sarah sat on the bench with her chin resting on both hands. For ten minutes now, Ethan had been trying to convince his mom to let him hike to a nearby lake with his dad in the morning.

“Aw, c’mon, Mom” Ethan begged.Samantha looked at Stephen hoping for some help. He gave her a shrug that she knew meant “You’re on your own on this one.”

“Ethan, I don’t think that it’s a good idea.” Samantha could tell this was one of those rites of passage moments. Her little boy was wanting to spread his wings, to take advantage of privileges that were off limits even a year ago. She knew she couldn’t keep him a little boy forever. But this was not like he was asking to sleep over at a friend’s house.

“Mom, you’re not being fair.”

“Look, I know you could hike the distance—that’s not even the issue for me.”

“Then what is?”

“Well, frankly, it’s that neither of you are familiar with this area at all. You see a lake on the map and think that it’s like walking around the block at home.”

“Mom, we’re not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were. I am simply pointing out that it may not be a simple as you think. What would you do if it took you longer than you thought to get there, do your fishing, and get back? What if it started getting dark?”

“Mom!” Ethan groaned. Stephen could see he needed to step in.

“Ethan, you know what, Mom is right. It’s been years since I was up here. I don’t exactly remember the way. It really could turn into a dangerous situation.”

Ethan couldn’t believe his dad was taking mom’s side. “Dangerous?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, dangerous. And besides there are plenty of fish that need catching right here in Mirror Lake.”

Ethan knew the discussion was over. He stared at the ground and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.

“I’ll tell you what, Ethan,” Stephen offered. “Why don’t we get up really early before sunrise. The fishing will be great then.”

“Dad can I come too?” Brandon asked.

Ethan shot his dad a look. Stephen smiled at Ethan hoping he would understand. “Of course, you can come. But you’ve got to get right up. Those fish won’t wait for little boys who are too sleepy.”

Ethan cocked his head sideways and let out a sigh.

“I’ll get right up, Dad,” Brandon said excitedly.

The family stayed up playing card games by lantern light until the cool night air began to be uncomfortably cold. Samantha got the kids settled into the tent while Stephen heated a little pot of water on the camp stove. She came out and joined him for a cup of hot cocoa.

“So did you really want to hike to that lake?” Samantha asked as she sat down to her steaming cup.

“Well, when he suggested it, I thought it might be a good chance for him to feel like he was getting to do, ya know, a grown-up manly thing.”

“Do you even know if there’s a well marked trail?”

“I haven’t made that hike since I was Ethan’s age. But if I remember right, there was a good trail.”

Samantha pushed back a lock of her dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. Slowly she sipped her cocoa. “Well, I just don’t feel good about it. I’d be worried sick all day.”

“Sam, we decided not to go. Remember?”

“I know. But I could tell he really wanted to go. And you said before we came that you wanted to make sure the two of you had some good one-on-one time.”

“We had some great one on one time today. And we still have three more days before we head home.”

Samantha paused again and sipped her cocoa. “So, do you think he’s gonna be alright? You know, being a teenager and all.”

“Yeah. He’s gonna be alright.”

~~~~~~~

Ethan rolled over inside his sleeping bag. The early morning air was so brisk it almost burned his nose. He sniffled and opened one eye. Although the tent was still very dark, he could sense that the sky outside was giving the first hints of the new day.

Though he was quite groggy, he remembered his dad’s promise of early morning fishing. The whole campground was so quiet, he knew that most if not all of their neighbors were still sleeping. He could even hear one robust snore in the distance. He wiggled one arm out of his bag and reached over to his dad. With a gentle nudge he said, “Dad … Dad … Dad, its time to get going.”

Stephen lifted his head off his camp pillow about one inch. “Huh, yeah, sure.” Then his head went right back down on the pillow.

“C’mon, Dad. Remember what you told Brandon. ‘The fish won’t wait for little boys who are too sleepy.’”

“OK, OK. You get the gear together and I’ll be right there.”

Ethan knew it wouldn’t be long before other fishermen would be following the same plan. So he hurriedly found a sweatshirt in his bag that sat right beside his sleeping bag. He pulled on a pair of jeans and stood to unzip the tent door. He looked down at his dad who was barely stirring. As he was about to give him a good nudge with his foot, his dad lifted his head and said, “Open it quietly. Lets try to keep your mom and little sister asleep.”

“And little brother too,” Ethan added.

Stephen scowled at his oldest boy. Ethan was usually very good natured about letting Brandon tag along and try new things even though it sometimes meant slowing down to wait. Stephen knew what Ethan was thinking and that he would have little patience in this situation.

“Just get the stuff ready. We’ll be ready to go.”

With that Ethan carefully unzipped the tent door, slipped his shoes on, and stepped out. As he zipped the door back up, he saw his dad lay his head back down on his pillow.

~~~~~~

Vince had let hour after hour slip by in silence. The voices in his head even seemed to be growing tired. He stood up from his filthy grey couch and nearly collapsed. His head was dizzy and his legs felt numb. Stumbling over to the wall, he braced himself until the sensation passed.

He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Then he made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A loaf of bread, a half gallon of milk, ketchup, and 24 cans of Coke. Vince grabbed a can of soda and cracked it open. He drank the entire contents in three swallows.

A small shaft of sunlight spilled in through a small slit in the living room curtains. Vince was surprised that it was morning. Then a thought surprised him—a memory from his childhood. It was only a flash, a photograph taken by his mind that had faded almost completely away.

Vince froze.

It was a moment of clarity. So much confusion. So much despair. Clouded thoughts and darkness. And standing there in the same apartment that had held him captive for days now, Vince felt the smallest wave of freedom. He knew it would not last long.

Almost unconsciously, he went to his spare bedroom. The room was almost impenetrable, junk was strewn from shelves against the wall, stacked on top of boxes that had never been opened since the last move, and covered nearly the entire floor. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything in the room.

Vince pushed things out of the way with his feet, then leaning over a large stack of boxes, he reached to the top shelf. He pulled down an old sleeping bag and tossed it behind him toward the door. Pushing aside a box to see the shelves more clearly, Vince suddenly became frenzied.

Freak. What do you think you’re doing? Having your spleen ripped from your belly and eaten by some hairy animal is better than a bullet? Whatever.

“Where’s the stupid tent!” Vince threw down another box and ripped open the top of the next. Another box was filled with old computer parts. Vince tossed them aside and heard something break inside. Without pausing, he stepped over a pile of clothes and picked up an old coat. There on the floor was a barely-used camping tent. Vince snatched it up and headed for the door. He scooped up the sleeping bag and headed into his bedroom. Grabbing a backpack he used to carry his uniform to work, he dumped out its contents on the bed. From the closet he grabbed a flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and a pair of jeans.

They won’t find the body for months. For years. Maggots or coyotes—doesn’t even matter. Rotting flesh, nothing but teeth and bones. Wonder if I could tie my hand up so it’s givin’ the bird when they find me.

Vince pulled on his work boots, they were stained with grease and oil but were much more rugged than the old pair of tennis shoes he wore most days.

As he swung the backpack off the bed, it clipped the box of 357 shells on the dresser and spilled them all over the floor. Vince stopped. He stared at the shells and the strange pattern they made on the carpet.

Don’t go freeze to death, maggot face. Or starve. Be a man and take the gun. Clean. Click and gone. Squeeze it that’s it.

Rage boiled up inside Vince. He growled and slammed his forehead into the wall. Again he banged his head into the wall. Again. Then he stooped down and started picking up shells by the handful. He threw them into the backpack, even more frenzied than when he was looking for the tent. It was as if he were making a quick escape, running, panicked.

With the shells picked up, he slid the pack over one shoulder, lifted the sleeping bag and held it under one arm and picked up the tent. He went into the living room and picked up the revolver and slid it into the waist of his jeans. Looking quickly around the room, he checked his pocket for his car keys. Then he went to the fridge and pulled out two cans of Coke and put them in his pack.

As he swung his apartment door open, the brightness of the day was blinding. He squinted and shaded his eyes with one hand. He let his eyes adjust to the light for a moment, then with the same urgency that seemed as though he were being chased, he hurried to his car. Tossing his gear in the back, he jumped in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The late afternoon sun burned through the thin mountain air and made Stephen Jacobs’ head uncomfortably hot underneath his dark blue baseball cap. He reached over the side of the canoe and splashed a little of the cool water of Mirror Lake onto his face and neck.

Stephen’s twelve-year-old son, Ethan, was half asleep in the bow of the boat. He tipped his baseball cap up and through heavy eyelids looked at his dad. “Was that a fish?”

“No,” Stephen smiled. “I was just splashing some water to cool down.” He reached down and flicked a little water onto his boy.

“Hey!” Ethan grumbled in mock protest, pulling his baseball cap back down.

Stephen gave a small chuckle at how the high country weather acted like a tranquilizer for his usually high-energy boy. Stephen had brought his family to the mountains for one last family trip before the school year started up again. In the high Uintah mountains of northeastern Utah, the extremes of Fall were already apparent. The nights could easily dip near freezing temperatures. Then the afternoons would see the thin air heat rapidly and reach nearly seventy degrees.

You can’t plan a day this good, Stephen thought.

The sky was almost unnaturally blue. A couple of wispy white cirrus clouds were making their way across the horizon. The pinion pines that line the edges of Mirror Lake stretch toward the heavens as if trying to give credit for creating such a picturesque and peaceful place.

Stephen reeled in his empty fishing line and cast out toward the lakeshore. The fishing had been slow, but Stephen knew the reasons that had brought him a hundred miles from home had little to do with fish.

His mind drifted back to a conversation with his wife, Samantha. It was late on a Sunday night shortly after last school year had ended.

“I can’t believe Ethan is going to be in Junior High,” Samantha offered with a nonchalance that Stephen knew meant it was anything but a casual statement.

“Yeah. He is really growing up,” Stephen responded.

“Do you think he’s really ready for junior high?”

“Sure he is,” Stephen answered with as much reassurance as he could muster. “He’s always been a good student and never really had a problem.”

“I know. It’s just that it’s . . . well, you remember what junior high was like. Kids can be so mean to each other.”

Stephen laughed a little. “Yeah. I remember Jimmy Davis. … He helped out in the cafeteria so he could get free school lunch. One day some kid in his math class ticked him off. So he snuck a whole pot of spaghetti out the back of the kitchen and somehow he got the kid’s locker open. He scooped it into the pockets of the kid’s jacket and into his gym shoes. Oh and then he put the meatballs in the kid’s jockstrap in his gym bag.” Stephen couldn’t hide his sly grin.

“You’re not helping, Steve,” Samantha said as she poked him in the ribs.

“What? Do you want me to tell you that Ethan is never going to be teased, never going to have a single hard day in junior high?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

“Sam, listen to me.” Stephen grew serious. “Ethan is a good kid. He has good friends and our junior high is a good school. We’ve done all we can do to help Ethan succeed. Now he has to keep growing up—and junior high is a part of that.”

Stephen knew that only part of the issue was sending their oldest of three off to the scary world of junior high. Samantha had always been one who liked her comfort zone. Not that she hated change, but there was always a fear that when things change they wouldn’t be as good as they had been.

“You’re right,” Samantha finally said after a long pause. “It’s this feeling like we’re leaving . . . like we’re crossing some line that we can never turn back.”

“Yeah, but some lines are definitely worth crossing. Like when Sarah finally got out of diapers. That was a great day.”

Samantha broke into a wide grin. She truly loved Stephen’s sense of humor and how he could always get her to smile when she was feeling worried.

The sudden tug on Ethan’s pole brought Stephen back to the present. Ethan felt it too and immediately snapped out of his afternoon nap. Stephen was thrilled to see the intense smile on his boy’s face. He watched as Ethan worked the line exactly as he’d been taught. A good sized brown trout broke the surface of the water, thrashing to get free of the line. Father and son spontaneously let out a “Wahoo!” in unison. Stephen grabbed the net and nodded encouragement to his son. As the fish neared the side of the canoe, Stephen leaned over to scoop it up.

“Careful not to tip us over,” dad gently reminded son.

“How big do you think?” Ethan asked eagerly.

“I’d say at least a twelve incher.”

Ethan’s face beamed. “That’s the biggest one so far.”

“Sounds like a fish story to me,” Stephen joked as he patted his son on the shoulder.

The father and son team paddled their canoe smoothly toward the southeast tip of the little mountain lake. They were camped in the National Forest Service campground. Stephen remembered being a little surprised when he discovered there were still sites available. His checking had been the end result of his late Sunday conversation with Samantha. She wanted to plan a trip—a real “memory making” trip. They had discussed several options, but in the end decided it should be someplace completely new. Stephen had been to Mirror Lake once when he was a young man. Samantha jumped at the suggestion and description of the picturesque lake.

The canoe slid gently onto the shore. Ethan stood up to step out of the bow. “Be careful, don’t get your boots wet.” Stephen cautioned.

Ethan turned around, hands on hips. “Duh, Dad.”

“Sorry. I know, you’re right. You’re not five anymore.”

Stephen watched as Ethan stepped onto shore and then as if to prove his adolescent strength, he grabbed the bow of the boat and slid it another three feet up the shore.“Impressive,” Stephen complimented.

Ethan played along and flexed his muscles in over dramatic fashion. Father and son laughed together as they secured the canoe on the shore and headed back to camp to show off their fish to the family.

~~~~~

Vince Spackman lived in a tiny bottom floor apartment on the west side of Salt Lake City. The bottom floor of the three-story building was a half basement style where you have to step down four steps to reach the front door. The few windows were obscured from most direct sunlight by scraggy shrubs. And any light that did reach the windows was shut out by Vince’s tightly drawn blinds.

It was Tuesday afternoon. Vince had been expected at work three and a half hours earlier. He had made no call to work. He hadn’t so much as switched on a single light switch.

Vince sat silently in the dark of his small living room. He sat on the gray couch, where he had sat all night. He had slept very little over the last few weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind would flood with a thousand worries at once. Some were very rational—like knowing that any day his boss would certainly fire him. Some were not.

His thoughts were a constant swirl of almost incoherent voices. It had become easier to keep his eyes open. Mindless television and the sound of neighbors through the walls helped to pass the evening hours. But the silence of the early morning hours was torturous. Any clock that ticked in any audible degree had long ago been smashed into silence.

Only a few years earlier during long sleepless nights, Vince used to talk to himself. He tried the “reprogramming” language that therapists had offered as help. Most often these attempts degraded quickly into combative arguments. Poison would start pouring out of his mouth. Things that Vince had never spoken were suddenly at the tip of his tongue. What he really thought of his boss. All the ways his parents had ruined his life. How his perfect brother was the world’s biggest hypocrite.

Without even realizing, Vince’s voice would raise into an emotional scream. The police had visited his apartment late at night more than once. It would always turn out the same. Vince would convince them he had simply fallen asleep with the TV on and they would tell him he had to keep it down.

But Vince didn’t argue with himself anymore. The darkness now overwhelmed him. The will to fight it had given way to surrender—even embracing the dark. The anger and hatred had lost their edge. Getting out of bed could be overwhelming. It had only been two days ago that Vince found himself wondering if he should just wet the bed rather than go through the effort of walking to the bathroom.

Occasionally there would be more lucid moments—moments when he knew he needed help. Moments when he would force himself out the door. He had even paid his parents a visit last week.

“Vince?” His mom stood at the door in obvious disbelief.

“Yeah, Mom, I need a place to crash for a while.”

“Oh … did something happen with your apartment?”

Vince knew what she was thinking. “No. Mom. I didn’t say I needed to move in.”

“Well, that’s not what I thought.”

“Can’t a son visit his childhood home? Or am I not welcome here anymore?”

She hadn’t seen Vince in almost a year. His hair was longer now, down to his shoulders. It hung over his face and covered his dark brown eyes. A scraggy goatee hid almost any hint of a facial expression.

“Vince,” his mother tried to sound as compassionate as she could, “you know you are always welcome.”

Mr. Spackman was still at work and wouldn’t be home for an hour yet. Mrs. Spackman made her way to the kitchen and immediately began trying to turn dinner for two into dinner for three. As she went into the basement to retrieve a can of soup, Vince slipped from the living room down the hall into his parent’s bedroom.

Silently he opened his dad’s closet. On the top shelf in the farthest corner sat a dusty, black shoebox. Vince carefully slid the box off the shelf. It was as Vince had hoped. He knew the 357 revolver was always in the box, but lying next to it were two boxes of shells. He slipped the ammunition into the pockets of his baggy jeans.

He picked up the gun and felt the weight of it in his hand. His thumb instinctively reached up and cocked the hammer.

How stupid is dad? he thought as he raised the gun and spun the cylinder to make sure it wasn’t loaded.

Just load it right now.

Vince shook his head violently. He groaned and gritted his teeth.

Oughta put a bullet in her head too. You know she deserves it.

Vince put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The hammer harmlessly clicked down on the empty chamber. He shook his head violently once more and slid the revolver into the waist of his pants. He pulled his shirt down to cover the bulge. Then carefully he replaced the shoebox.

As he came down the hall, he could hear his mom was in the kitchen again. He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and flushed the toilet. Then opened the door and returned to the living room. As he sat down on the couch, the revolver dug into his stomach. It was painfully uncomfortable. But Vince didn’t move. There was something oddly comforting about pain that could find its way through the numbness.

Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Spackman stepped from the kitchen to the living room. She built up the courage to attempt a conversation, but the room was empty. She looked out the front window and saw Vince’s Honda pulling out of the driveway.

In the darkness of Vince’s apartment, the revolver and one shell sat on the coffee table. Vince’s eyes were bloodshot and glazed. He stared at the table and scratched his goatee.

Four years ago, I purchased a laptop for the specific purpose of writing my first novel. I had a great idea (at least I thought it was a great idea). I got started and arranged monthly meetings with Tiff to share what I had written.

Things were going great. I was making progress and really liking my story. Tiff liked it too.

Then I got about 100 pages into the story.

Tiff started a different job and wasn’t working so close. I got busier. Soon we weren’t meeting and I wasn’t making progress. (Not that I blame Tiff in any way, it was only a circumstance.)

So the story has been sitting for a while. And I finally realized that the real reason that the story had stalled was because I didn’t like where it had gone. It wasn’t true to the vision I had in the beginning. But here’s the great part. It’s MY story. I can do something about it.

I will do something about it. And you, my fine faithful readers will be a part of it.

Look for Chapter 1 of Twisted Trails (working title) here soon.

Thanks for reading.

Clearly, many of you feel that my story “In the Distance” is not finished.

I was liking where the story ended up.
So, my dear readers, take up the story line. Show me where it could go. What’s next on Brian and Jenny’s journey?

Don’t ask how it started, but we had a conversation today at work about Chicken Cock Fighting. One of my co-workers suggested that they should have an Amateur night for those birds that aren’t quite ready to go pro.

I don’t know why the image of untrained chickens harmlessly strutting around a ring with greasy men watching with filthy dollar bills in their hands made me laugh.

And it got me thinking, what other things ought to  have an Amateur Night?

How ’bout local news broadcasts? Can’t you see it. “Hi, um, this is Kiley Spritzer. Tonight on the, um, eye witnesses news you’ll be hearing about the latest in the Iraq. Oh, yeah, and we’ll show you the highlights—not my highlights, but don’t they look great—thanks Jackie, you’re the best. Where was I? Oh, yes, highlights. We’ve got high school baseball (Go Bengals! he he) and I think the Jazz played tonight. Boy, when does that season end? Huh? Seems like they’ve been playing forever. Sheesh.”
Or youth soccer referees? (Maybe we already have that

Or political debating? (That would have to be more entertaining and probably more informative.)

Or police stake outs?

What are your ideas?

Dear Winter,

I hereby give up. You win. You’ve proved you’re tougher than I am. You’re more intimidating and cruel than me. You’ve chilled me, frightened me, disoriented me, enraged me, knocked me on my butt, and made me cry.

But this morning—this morning—you broke me.

I have nothing left.

I don’t remember what summer feels like.

I can’t deal with one more snow-snarled commute.

So, Winter, take what you want. You have conquered. Take your spoils. Flaunt your victory.

AND THEN GET THE @!*# OUT OF HERE.

OK, so I’m opening this up to the readers of the blog to submit ideas for new stories.

What genre do you like?

What kind of characters?

Do you have a great opening line?

When I read in the paper (before the game) all the quotes from the players about how they were aware of BYU’s history of poor showings in the NCAA tournament, I knew they were in trouble. It’s tough enough in the win-or-go-home format to just lace up the sneakers and beat the team in front of you. (Ask Duke about that one.) But when a team feels like they’re carrying the weight of 15 years of futility, there’s no way they can play the way they need to.

The Cougars started tight. They struggled to run anything that resembled their offense and they looked scared on defense.

They did settle down. But only after falling behind 11 to 0. Yuck.

So that’s reason number 1. Next year, let’s not remind the Cougars about all the past failures. Let’s let them just go out and play. For brief glimpses last night, you could see how great this team is  when they just relax and play their game.

But for most of the game they seemed lost.

Everyone who read anything about the game beforehand knew that one of Texas A&M’s keys to success is offensive rebounds. But time and again when the situation was most critical, the Cougars failed to remember to box out and fight for rebounds.

Speaking of fighting, the Aggies are a big, physical team that literally pushed the Cougars around. The refs were letting it go and the Cougars never adjusted, never responded with physical play of their own. (See photo.) This was a scrappy, backyard game and the Cougars seemed to want no part of it.

Then there was the free throw line. The team was 7-14 for a measly 50%. Just make three more of those and the end of the game is a whole different scenario.

One of the things that made this Cougar team a good team was the way they shared the ball. They were always  willing to pass up a good shot for a better shot. It has made them tough to defend. However, I have to say that in a tight spot like the NCAA tournament, you have to make sure your best players are taking more of the shots. Lee Cummard, the conference player of the year, was 5-9 with 14 points. While true freshmen, Jimmer Fredette and Chris Collinsworth and sophomore Chris Miles were a combined 6 for 17. At least seven of those shots should have been Cummard’s. There are other discrepancies, but suffice it to say, the Cougars have got to learn how to lean on their best players a little more when it’s crunch time.

Well that’s it. I hate waiting for next year! These last two Cougar teams have been too good not to have had some success in the tournament. It’s just a shame.

I recently discovered that I’ve totally messed up my classes in my MBA program which means that now the earliest I could possibly graduate is October of 2009 which isn’t really that far away when you look at the big scheme of things but when I had in my head that early August of 2009 would be my graduation, and honestly, August is summer and in March the weather is supposed to turn warm and warm weather means that summer is coming so I was getting really close to only one more year of school—but no, now it’s pushed out even farther and even though we’re talking about taking one more class beyond when I though I would be done, it just feels sooooooo much longer … kind of like this sentence.

So I’m trying to focus on other issues, like how will my BYU Cougars do in the big dance, or how soon we might be able to go skiing, or what do I need to do to get ready for our pioneer trek this summer.

And I’m really ready to reintroduce myself to 80 degrees. You know, “Hey, do I know you? Yeah, I thought we’d met before. It’s been a looooong time. Good to see you again. You look GOOD! And you know what, I’ve really really missed you!”

I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for stopping by.

I remember a Friday about this time of year when I was a Sophomore in high school. I piled a bunch of my friends into my little tan Datsun 210. We were dressed in our school colors and so pumped we could hardly contain ourselves.
Our basketball team had reached the quarter-finals of the state tournament. I seemed to always be the designated driver for these kinds of adventures. So I told all my buddies I could drive us up to the Huntsman Center to watch the game.

I remember feeling a strange sense of adulthood when I was able to drive right to the arena even though I was very unfamiliar with the U campus.

I remember the energy that seemed to spark and crackle from person to person as we excitedly made our way from the gates to our seats.
I remember how fun it was to cheer our friends and classmates on.

I have a distinct image in my mind of Russ Daily sinking two free throws with the game on the line in the waning seconds to seal the win.

We did stupid high school things like blasting the horn and shouting out the windows as we drove down the hill.

I would never want to go back and do high school all over again. But for me, there are a few moments like this one that seemed magical.

Do you have a favorite Friday memory?

As my Easter gift to you, I offer one of the most powerful songs about the way the Lord’s grace frees us from our own “wretched” selves.

Here’s a link where you can download the BYU Men’s Chorus performance.

Here are the lyrics:

I Love the Lord
I love the Lord, in Him my soul delights.
Upon His word, I ponder day and night.
He’s heard my cry, brought visions to my sleep,
And kept me safe o’er deserts and the deep.
He’s filled my heart with His consuming love,
And borne me high on wings of His great dove.

Yet oft I groan, “O wretched man am I”
My flesh is weak and I’m encompassed by
A world of sin, which holds me in it’s thrall,
If I give in and to temptations fall.
Then strength grows slack, I waste in sorrow’s vale;
My peace destroyed, my enemies prevail.

Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin.
Rejoice, my heart! And let me praise again,
The Lord my God, who is my rock and stay
To keep me strict upon His straight, plain way.
Oh let me shake at the first sight of sin
And thus escape my foes without and in.

Step #8

10. Pretending not to care

As things started to go bad, after so much of my neglect, Jenny began to change. She made new friends, friends I didn’t know. I’d come home and she wouldn’t be there. She would stay out late. She wouldn’t call.

I tried to tell myself it was good. I remember thinking, Maybe she won’t be so needy. … So needy. I had lied to myself. I needed Jenny then. I needed to open my stupid mouth. I needed to show her that the distance between us was killing me. I needed to be jealous, to show everything I was feeling, to be real.

But I didn’t.

Everything I did was a lie. Though the words never came out of my mouth, I said plain and clear. “I don’t care.”

Of all the things I’d done, this was my greatest regret.

I set the pen down and looked at my yellow note pad. The clarity stared me back in the face. I had never laid a hand on Jenny. Not once had I been violent or abusive. But the image of me strangling the life out of our relationship was as real as any moment of my life. I had choked it until it was lifeless, until there was nothing left.

The emptiness of our apartment haunted me. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn on the TV or music. Everything felt lifeless without Jenny.

I fell asleep on the couch with all the lights on.

~~~~~~

When I woke, I realized it was Sunday.

I checked the clock. 8:30 a.m. I knew I needed to clear my head. Awkwardly pushing myself up off the couch, I stretched my arms up over my head. My back was stiff from sleeping on the couch.

As I headed down the hallway, I thought about climbing in a hot shower. But I couldn’t take the silence of the apartment anymore. I went to my closet and pulled out my running shoes.

Ten minutes later, I was on the street. Fifteen minutes later I had a good sweat going. I hadn’t slept well for days. It had been two weeks now since she left. I had tried to call her parents house, to see if they knew where she was. But they said Jenny had asked them not to interfere.

I didn’t know what I could say to her. But I just couldn’t imagine that it was really all over. That it had ended with her simply saying she couldn’t stay with me any more.

I turned on 7th avenue and dodged the delivery guy unloading a bundle of newspapers.

My pace began to slow. It was as if I was carrying a dead elephant on my shoulders. I tried to push through it. I needed to begin thinking clearly. What was I going to do? I couldn’t just go on forever like this. I slowed to a walk. I was having trouble breathing. I gasped for air, bending forward and resting my hands on my knees.

Breathe in, I told myself. Breathe out. In. Out. In.

Then it happened. I smelled the little German bakery. I spun around and there it was. I was at the corner of 7th and Poplar. It was almost more than I could take. It was Sunday morning and I had ended up at our favorite Sunday breakfast place.

My eyes were stinging and I felt for a moment like the whole universe was working against me.

I turned away and headed across the street. I needed to go somewhere—anywhere—else.

But when I heard the little bell on the bakery door ring, I turned.

There standing in the doorway was Jenny. She was holding a small white paper bag in her hand.

At first, I looked away. It had to be my imagination. I glanced back. Jenny tipped her head to the side. Her eyes looked swollen and tired, but she smiled.

I felt frozen.

“Hi,” Jenny called out across the nearly empty street.

“Hi,” I answered as I hesitantly started across the street.

“I was really hoping you’d come by this way,” she said as she held up the little bag. “I got your favorite.”

“You did?” I said as I reached the sidewalk.

Jenny nodded and my heart began to race.

“You remembered?”

“I’ve remembered a lot of things … a lot of things.”

I strode up to her and threw my arms around her. She threw her arms around me too.

For a moment, I was afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell. But then I thought about my list. I had let too many moments pass when I let silence speak for me. I leaned back and looked into Jenny’s beautiful eyes.

“I was so afraid that I’d never get a chance to show you. I should never have let anything come between us. I’ve been so lost, so stupid. You are everything to me. I will never let you doubt—”

Jenny gently raised her hand to my lips. She spoke softly. “I couldn’t get out of my head the look on your face when you pulled out those aquarium tickets. And I woke up this morning with the most intense craving for German pastries.”

“I do love a good German pastry,” I said with a smile.

Jenny leaned into me and her lips met mine. I slipped my hand up into her long dark hair and she pulled me tighter.

We were interrupted by the sound of the little bell on the bakery door. Embarrassed, we looked up to see a white-haired woman trying to exit the shop.

“Sorry,” I said as we stepped to the side.

“My goodness,” the old woman said with a huff as she rushed by.

Jenny and I looked at each other and laughed.