Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I've been a bit of a dick over the past few years. Getting kicked out of college just a few months before I was done with my junior year, not one of my finer moments. But, spending the next six months at Griz–I mean Jack's lame-ass cabin is not fair.
The judge thought he was being nice, giving me probation for my wrongdoings instead of sending me to prison, but I am not totally sure this punishment is better. I reluctantly agreed to it because my lawyer said it would be better for my record than prison. I get it, I guess, but either way, my record is fucked.
Sunlight flashing between the trees as we take an old two-lane road starts an old movie reel of thoughts in my head. I see my friends enjoying their time off at concerts and beach vacations. The close-knit group of guys from my freshman dorm I played rugby with for intramurals are all off partying at the college town bar. My group of girls I would go to the frat parties with, when I pulled myself away from the books long enough to enjoy co-ed life, are all enjoying days on the lake and clubs in the city at night. And Sean... dammit, Sean.
Pulling up to the cabin I see it glow as the mid-morning rays hit the yellow paint. It isn't one of those twelve people getaway party houses that have been popping up all over the side of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but a modest three bedroom hanging off the edge of the sloping landscape. Sturdy logs lie horizontally stacked from the ground to the bottom of the first floor window forming a strong foundation. The big porch, with railings and spindles, wraps around the front and far side of the building, and its steps meet the gravel in front of the drive, while the back of the house sports a main floor deck but drops away to the bottom floor access door down around the cabin's hillside position.
A flood of memories washes over me. The wooden steps I would sit on as my parents sipped red wine and swayed back and forth lazily on the porch swing. The front door window I accidentally shattered with a baseball when I overthrew to my cousin Kevin. The steep dropping hill to the left of the cabin that was perfect for sled riding in the winter. The same hill that claimed my first broken bone.
I am disgusted with myself for smiling, for letting myself be a little excited about being back here. Here in the Appalachian Mountains. The anger flashes back as my dad's driver side door slams. I didn't notice that we stopped moving, let alone him parking the car.
I hate him for all the years he sat by and let my mom die. For all the years of lies. The countless times he'd send me money instead of coming to visit and big Christmas presents instead of his holiday presence. His absence in my life while spanning the globe and traveling to some of the most exotic locations in the name of "business." I hate him now more than ever because he is going to drive away and leave me here, in the middle of nowhere with all the ghosts of my past.
Just as I climb out of the car, the screen door opens and out comes a tall, dark-bearded, long-haired, mountain man. I realize it's him by his only recognizable feature: crystal blue eyes.
The man isn't nearly as tall as he used to be. I am pushing six foot and, by the looks of it, he only has me beat by a few inches. Growing up he seemed so big and fierce, but now that I am an adult, his size isn't anything special. I guess everything seems a bit smaller and less magical as we grow older.
Suddenly, I am aware of how tight my fists are clenched. My hate for my dad sizzles out in comparison to the loathing that is boiling up inside of me.
It's my father's best friend, Jack.
"I change my mind. Take me to prison."