I can still remember my last glimpse of the tail lights on Dad’s old Chevy, the dim red glow disappearing in the brush as he drove back to the road.
“Three days?” I had asked, voice trembling. I was nine; I had an excuse.
He nodded solemnly, slapping the leather-wrapped handle of a knife into my palm. “There’s things you need to learn out here. Things about life. About your family.”
“But what if I can’t…”
“You can!” he interrupted, maybe a little louder than he intended. “You’re not really alone out here.”
They started talking to me after two.
Image Credit: Thijs
