by B. R. Miller
I notice Amille is lost in the song, his eyes glazed over, most likely recalling the memory of his parents. So I take the opportunity to slip out of the room and into the kitchen. Skinner was already in there, opening up all the cupboards which revealed hundreds of jars of canned food. Tomatoes, pickles, onions, garlic, beans, and corn lined the shelves as if they were set there on purpose, waiting for us.
“All this food,” Skinner says staring at the endless rows of jars, “and it’s all ours!”
I kneel down in front of a row of cupboards and open the creaky doors. A set of cast iron pots and pans lay there tempting me, begging me to use them. I pull out a large pot and set it on the counter.
“You going to make something?” Skinner inquires.
“I believe I just might.”
I grab the large pot and bring it to the fire, hanging it on the hook made especially for it. Going back into the kitchen, I grab three jars of tomatoes, onions, beans and garlic. Once back in the living room, I open them up and empty them into the pot. Skinner brings me a large wooden spoon which I use to stir. An earthy aroma begins to fill the room and my taste buds begin watering as I watch the juices from the tomatoes blend with the garlic, onions and beans.
After about a half hour, I dip the spoon into the bubbling concoction and take a taste. The garlic and tomatoes sang in my mouth while the onions and beans added a nice texture. Salt. It needs salt. I mention it to Skinner who quickly disappears into the kitchen. Clanking and sounds of cupboards opening and shutting are quickly followed by Skinner returning to the fire with a jar of crushed sea salt.
“Is everything in jars?” I sarcastically ask.
“Yup,” he replies. “Even the water.”
“Mmm…” Patty says coming closer to the pot of fresh stew. “What’s cooking?”
“It’s one of my own recipes,” I yet again sarcastically say. “Just threw what ever I had lying around into a pot. I call it ‘stew’”
Patty laughs then asks if he can have a taste. I hand him the spoon and enjoy watching his face light up with pleasure. Patty hands me the spoon and disappears into the kitchen. A few brief moments go by before he returns with a stack of bowls. He hands Skinner all but one of the bowls then proceeds to scoop the stew into his bowl. Fletcher walks in, shaking the snow off of his coat. “I managed to clean the snow off of the solar panels but I’m going to have to wait till morning to mess around with the wiring.”
“Solar panels?” I ask.
“When my parents died twelve years ago, they left me this house,” Amille begins. “A few years back I had them install solar panels so we would always have electricity but I don’t think they ever really been used.”
“One thing I’ve noticed while looking around,” Cooly starts off, “there’s no heat ducts. Does this place even have a furnace?”
“This was our summer house so, no,” Amiller responds. “All we have are window air conditioning units in every room.”
“And I doubt we’ll be using those any time soon,” I say with a slight laugh.
Everyone chuckles in agreement then each of them grabs a bowl and fills it up with stew. I take my bowl outside and sit in one of the wooden chairs residing on the front porch. The steam from my bowl begins to rise as the colliding temperatures fight. The Russian air is cold but not as cold as I predicted. Taking sips of my stew, I was able to remain outside for quite some time without getting too cold.
Alone. But not truly alone. Being by myself for the first time in years brought excitement to my soul. I relished in the fact that I could say whatever I wanted to say, do whatever I wanted to do and believe whatever I wanted to believe without the pressure of someone telling me how to perceive my reality.
I sat there, bowl in hand, watching the giant snowflakes fall gently from the sky and land on the ground, becoming one with the billions of others just like it yet different. That’s when it hits me. I am just like my family and yet I am different. I am unique. I possess skills and talents that are solely mine in my family. Maybe if I had told me family years ago about what I was going through, they would have understood. Maybe if I was free to be who I really am, I wouldn’t have felt the pressure to lie to them so much. And maybe, just maybe, our family would be different today. God, I miss them.
“Mind if I have a seat?”
“Not at all, Cooly,” I say to Cooly, breaking my focus.
Cooly walks past me carrying his bowl of stew and takes the only other seat on the porch which happens to be just to my left.
“What are you thinking about?” Cooly asks, taking in a big spoonful of stew.
“Family. Home.”
“This is normally the part where I tell you everything is going to be OK and that you’ll see them soon but instead I’m going to tell you that you are home and this is your family…at least for now. Take pride in that. Know that tomorrow when you wake up, this family will still be here fighting with you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t dwell on your family back home to the point where you forget about your family here.”
I turn and smile at Cooly. He’s right. This is my family now. I need to focus my attention and energy on preserving this family so that we may live to see another day.
Two days later I find myself stirring another pot of whatever I found in the kitchen over a roaring fire. Fletcher is sitting in a recliner reading a book he found and Amille is cleaning his gun, focused intently on each individual piece. Cooly and Skinner are in the middle of an intense game of chess while Patty watches closely, give his input as to where each piece should go next. Eventually, Fletcher closes his book and looks at Amille. Amille nods at Fletcher and then Fletcher stands up and walks over to me. “Tristan? Can I speak to you outside?”
I stop stirring, rest the wooden spoon gently against the side of the pot and follow Fletcher outside. Fletcher takes a seat on one of the wooden chairs on the porch so I follow suit and take the seat next to him.
“So, I know you’ve been through a lot these past two years, more than anyone should have to ask of you,” Fletcher says making stern eye contact. “I also know that it can get lonely being on the run and at times you really need your family.”
I nod in agreement and stare at him, waiting for his next sentence. Instead, he hands me the satellite phone.
“What’s this for?” I say nervously grabbing it.
“Call your family.”
I look at him in awe. It’s been two and a half years since I’ve heard any of my family’s voices. What would I say? I stand up and walk to the other end of the porch to get some privacy. Flipping open the phone, I dial the number and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Hello?”
I stand there in silence at first, taken back by the voice on the other end of the phone. “Mom…” I mutter.
“Tristan? I thought you were down stairs? Where are you?” she questions.
“Ya, I’m…I’m in my room,” I lie. “How have you been?”
“Tristan, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, mom. I just…just need to hear your voice.”
“Well, your sister and brother are going to be here any minute to open presents so you better get up here.”
“Okay. Hey mom?”
“Yes, Tristan?”
“I love you.” Tears begin to well up in my eyes. “And I want you to know that I appreciate everything you and dad have done for me and the family. I know that…I know that I haven’t been the best son that I could have been but you raised me right. Thank you.”
“Oh, honey. We love you, too!”
For a moment nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. Just knowing that my mother was on the other end of the phone made everything seem okay.
“I got to go, the turkey is burning.”
“Okay, bye.”
The phone clicks and the call is ended yet I still have it held up to my ear, hoping my mother will pick up the phone again and start talking to me as if no time has passed. Slowly I bring
the phone down and walk back over to Fletcher. “Thanks,” I say, handing him back the phone.
“Merry Christmas,” Fletcher says with a smile stretched across his face.
Fletcher gave me the best present I could have ever gotten in a time like this: hope.
Chapter Nine
The moonlight broke through the tops of the snow covered evergreens and left eerie shadows on the cold, white ground. There was no sound, no movement, nothing except my light footsteps trying not to disturb this peaceful environment. The others are back at the house just settling in for some shut eye but I couldn’t sleep. It’s been one month since we arrived at our little get away from the rest of the world and nothing has happened. We’ve had no threats from outsiders OR Raves so Amille lets us do basically whatever we want. So this midnight stroll won’t bother him too much.
I come to a clearing in the trees and stand on the edge. The perfectly fallen snow has yet to be disturbed. I’m torn. On one hand I do not want to disrupt this beauty that beholds me but on the other…well, I’m still a teenager. I quickly skip right through the clearing, kicking snow high up into the air. Tiny ice crystals fill the air and the moonlight sparkles off each one as if they were diamonds. I stop in the center and look around. Still nothing.
I bring my right hand up and slowly swoosh it across my body as if directing an orchestra. Snow on the far side of the clearing softly shoots into the sky. I bring my left arm over the same way and snow from the other side of the clearing does the same. In my head, I begin to hear a gently harmony beginning, stringed instruments only. I swish my arms back and forth with the beat and snow begins softly shooting up into the sky. Crystals fall around me, some landing on my nose.
The music begins to pick up so my arms follow suit. I get lost in the moment. I know that if someone saw me, I’d probably look like a fool. But being as it is only me and the moon, I’ll continue on my merry way.
Snap!
What was that? I turn around behind me and look to where the sound was coming from. My arms slowly raise into the ready to fight position. Was this Raves?
Snap!
Whatever this is, it is getting closer. I take a few steps back to the far side of the clearing, making as much room as possible between me and whatever this is. I hear the crunching of snow. Maybe this was not a good idea to come out here alone after all. Then I see a flash of something dark in between the trees and I know exactly what it is. A lone buck peeks his head out from behind a tree and makes eye contact with me. My arms slowly lower and I carefully bend my knees, making myself as small as possible. I stretch out a hand as if saying that it’s ok, I’m a friend.
The deer continues to stare at me with curious eyes. He cautiously takes a step forward into the clearing followed by another, then another. A smile creeps on my face as the deer gets closer. I notice that the deer is missing a few rungs off of his left antlers. He must have lost them in a fight. Battle wounds.
The deer gets within five feet of me and stops. He snorts probably to see if I will flee. I maintain my position with my hand outstretched. Then he slowly lowers his head as if telling me it’s ok to come forward. I slowly stand up and take a step towards him. My hand brushes against his neck, each hair moving in between my fingers.
“Hey, boy,” I softly say.
My hand continues to pet his neck as I examine him. He stands about as tall as me not including his antlers and his dark coat stands out against the snow. I bring a hand up and run my fingers across his broken antlers.
“What happened here?”
The deer snorts again as if answering me. He then turns his head and looks at his side. That’s when I notice a trail of blood slowly running down his fur. He must have been shot. I wish Patty was here. He would be able to heal the wound.
“You’re like me,” I begin. “You’ve been in battle and you’ve been wounded. Except your wounds are physical.”
I back up and look him in the eye. He returns the stare with a piercing expression.
“Well, I better get going back. The others will be worried.”
I don’t want to leave but I know that if I’m not back soon, they’ll come looking for me. I bring a hand up and brush his neck one last time then I walk past him towards the edge of the clearing. The deer begins to follow me so I stop and turn around. “No, you can’t follow me. If the others see you, they’ll shoot you for dinner.”
The deer stops and I turn and continue walking. I walk into the trees and then stop and turn around. The deer is gone, nowhere to be seen. Pushing past the snow covered branches, I continue walking home. I stop and pause for a moment. Turning and looking up at the moon, I realize I haven’t seen a moon this big and this bright since the night that David died. Feelings of sadness and remorse overwhelm me to the point of tears filling my eyes. I quickly turn back around and continue walking.
When I get to the house, it is dark, the only light coming from the fireplace. I walk up the wooden stairs and onto the porch. I pause at the door. Do I tell the others about what just happened? Would they believe me? No, this will stay with me.
I push open the door slowly and see everyone covered up in blankets sleeping on the ground and on the furniture next to the fire place. We have separate rooms in this house and we tried sleeping in them one night but none of us slept. We slowly made our way out into the living room and slept there, all together.
Fletcher is the only one still up reading a book. He stops reading and looks up at me. “Have a nice walk?” Fletcher quietly says as to not wake the others.
I nod and slowly shut the door. Walking over to the recliner, I grab the quilt residing on it, sit down and cover up. Thoughts of my encounter with the deer fill my head. I hope I’ll be able to see him again. I gaze into the fire and get lost in its fluid movement. Soon, my eyes slowly shut and I drift off into dream land.
“Tristan, wake up.”
The voice echoed in my ears like a gentle voice speaking my name in a cave. I open my eyes just enough to see who woke me from my slumber. Patty stood there, a smile plastered on his face, holding a bowl of stew.
“I thought I would take a crack at cooking this time,” Patty said, handing me the warm bowl.
“What time is it?” I ask, adjusting my back so I can sit up straight.
“It’s nearly one thirty. How was it?”
“I don’t know,” I begin. “I haven’t tried it yet.”
Patty laughs. “Not the soup, your walk! How was your first walk alone in the woods in years?”
“Oh, it was…” An image of the deer pops in my head and I remember not to say anything. “It was fine.”
“What time did you get back? I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Oh, around two I think.” I take a bit of stew to hopefully change the topic. “Hey, this is pretty good!”
“You like it?” Patty asks nervously.
“It’s really good, actually!”
“Great! I’m glad you like it!”
“Hey, is this meat?” I ask, taking another spoonful.
“Why yes it is!”
“Where did you find meat?”
“Amille shot a deer this morning.”
My heart sinks. I drop the spoon in my bowl and look at Patty in disbelief. “A deer?”
“Yup. A monster of a buck, too! Not fifty yards from the front porch.”
I hand my bowl to Patty and quickly rise to my feet. I look around the room and find everybody but Amille. “Where’s Amille?”
“He’s cleaning the carcass. What’s wrong?”
I rush to the door and fling it open. There, just to the right of the foot of the steps, lies my friend, the deer, dead. Amille is kneeling over the body skinning it.
“Look what walked up to me this morning,” Amille says with excitement in his voice.
My expression must have gave it away that I am utterly saddened by this. I walk down the stairs and stand over the body, tears welling up in my eyes. Only a few hours ago, he was alive.
I’ve seen so much death in my life and I guess I bottled up all those feelings because now I am feeling a thousand things at once. I don’t know whether I should be glad that Amille found us meat or mad at him for killing this friendly creature.
“Tristan? Are you okay?”
I turn and walk off around to the back of the house, away from everyone else. Two sawed down trees left their stumps behind so I brush the snow off the closest one and take a seat. My head is buried in my hands, tears streaming down my frost bitten cheeks. A few moments go by where all I do is sit there and cry. Cry about the deer, cry about my family, cry about this messed up situation that I’m in. Crying seems to be the only appropriate emotion.
“Tristan?”
I quickly sit up, pulling my head from my hands, and see Patty slowly walking up, arms crossed. He wipes the snow off the neighboring stump and takes a seat.
“Is it the deer?” He asks. “Is that what’s upsetting you?”
I don’t respond but my lack of answer is enough for him.
“You encountered that deer before, didn’t you?”
Staring off into the distance seems to be the appropriate response.
“But I’m guessing this isn’t just about the deer…”
“It’s…it’s everything!” I reply, throwing my hands in the air and letting it all out. “This place, these people, this diet…it’s getting to me, man. I don’t know if I can go on like this.”
“Never give up on the unknown, it may surprise you,” Patty quickly responds.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. For all we know, today could be your last day here! Seize the moment. You may find yourself one day wishing you were back here.”