Fiction: The Long Way Home
By Jason Waddle
arttimesjournal.com April 25, 2021
It was a bright, but windy July morning in Jasper, Alberta. The sun was above the Rockies’ mountainous teeth. At angles, the mountains appeared to scratch the sky. The wind hissed at their cheeks–a whiff of buffalo berries followed. A father and daughter were hiking a familiar trail. They had walked it since the accident. Mrs. Hudson was missed. The month of July would soon exchange with August. Harry and his daughter hiked between the valley’s impressive trees. From an aerial view, the travellers looked like two tiny speckles in a wildernesses’ belly. The Athabasca river rushed in the opposite direction they walked. Life and death play like this often.
At six foot five, Mr. Hudson’s pace was quicker than his daughters. “Maybe we should cut down one of these Douglas Firs for Christmas? What do you think, Lisa?” Lisa’s father continued forward on the trail, but he looked back when no response was given.
“That was a serious question, dad?”
Lisa had long wavy brown hair which she brushed away from her emerald eyes.
Laughs–
“No,” Mr. Hudson said while stepping forward and exhaling a tired breath.
“They are beautiful though,” Lisa admitted.
“And huge,” was her father’s reply.
They continued hiking without speaking for approximately twenty minutes. Sounds from birds perfumed the tension between the two hikers during their silence. The presence of birds was plenty, but sightings of them were few. Each tree was towering. The sun was still rising in morning air. It was some hours before noon, but eating made no difference to the two. Not in this state.
“I really hope you get into the University of Alberta.”
Crisp mountain air. Chirping trees. The sound of leaves being crunched with each step. The birds noticed them where other hikers never did.
“I was hoping to get into Mac!” Lisa said with a sharp delivery into the back of her father’s brown hair.
“McMaster is a great one too, Hun.”
“Do you even have the ashes this time, dad?” Lisa added, “Do we even know where we are going to spread mom?”
“Not exactly! You know your mother would have likely wished a spot somewhere along our old path.”
“We’ve been walking on the old trail for what feels like forever,” Lisa hinted. “Besides”–
Mr. Hudson stood still with his left-hand motioning for Lisa to standstill. His right index finger pressed vertically against his mouth. Lisa said nothing further; she stood pale–stiff. He slowly lowered his hands just above waste level. There was something in the dark bushes moving. Rocky Mountains were home to many bears; it was a living wilderness. The sound was similar to their own depressions in the ground. A slight grunting sound made it distinctively separate from their own noise. They could not discern if the crunching and snorts were coming from the left of the trail, or the right side. There was deep forest on each side of this path. It was still dark–early morning. With silence as their best informant, they kept still and listened. No music from the birds. The only rhythms came from the beating of Lisa and her father’s heart. Minutes passed. A Cardinal severed the silence.
“Must have been an Elk or Moose snorting…” offered Mr. Hudson.
Whatever was in the bushes had run off.
“Can you decease from scaring the life out of me, dad?”
“Decease, Lisa! Nice word choice–I thought I heard something and”–
Lisa took a fuming step forward. “Excuse me, Harry!”
“Look, Lisa! I know you were closer with your mom, but I want us to try to be closer, too. We are all we have now.” Mr. Hudson took in a deep breath and looked into the dark of the bush. The wind moved the branches in symphony. Morning’s winds were still lost and tossing. In the distance they could hear the sound of a dog’s bark.
“I know,” said Lisa.
Mr. Hudson took a few steps back and said, “I think we can spread your mother’s ashes here. It’s our old path. It has been the old path for the last hour. It’s hard to let go. I almost feel like a ghost in the wind.” Lisa’s father let out an awkward laugh…
“I don’t want to let go either,” Lisa admitted in a low, muffled tone.
“No, but your mom would want us to go on with our lives. I think we are trying.”
Lisa looked at her father with confusion and said–
“How do we live our lives if we stay all day and night in the valley’s forest?” Lisa added, “Besides, we never had mom’s ashes. Never!” The wind blew Lisa’s brown hair into her green eyes. She quickly tried to style her hair back, but the wind blew her bangs into her face. They continued to hear faint sounds of a dog barking–a woman’s voice calling for it.
They were in the process of hiking back to their SUV…which they never seem to locate. Three other hikers passed them in the direction they had turned from. Mr. Hudson wished them a good morning, but these folks were terribly private. Actually, they were rude. Lisa nearly said something. A few minutes later they spotted another path. Off to the side of the main trail. It was familiar. They turned onto to the smaller path and casually walked a few yards into the bush. The trees were tall. Pine needles everywhere. Birds chirping. It was no longer dark. The sun brought the noon day closer. Mr. Hudson and Lisa walked on the side trail with caution, but decided to stand quiet. There was a person seemingly performing what looked to be a lugubrious offering or prayer service of some kind. It was difficult for the two travellers to understand the person’s intentions. It was carried out ritualistically. Almost rehearsed. The two Hudson’s stood not ten feet away from the strange woman. All they could do to not interrupt was listen–
“Many years have gone since I spread your ashes along this trail. Sometimes on days other than today, I just need to come back (dog continues to bark). I come often. It sounds crazy, but I still see both of your faces–all over this mountainous valley. The memories (birds chirping). Since the accident; losing both of you; my life has never been the same–it will never be. At times I feel like I never leave this Valley; sometimes I never want to leave. I love you Lisa and Harry. Always! Come on Cooper,” Said Mrs. Hudson. Cooper’s tail wagging…
The woman and her German Shepherd proceeded to the main path. She told her dog to sit as the same three hikers passed the main trail. Their paths intersected. Everyone exchanged greetings and smiles. The woman finally reached her parked car. Mountains observed themselves as the background. Everything on the ground that moved, did so a little smaller. The wind blew the woman’s long brown wavy hair into her green eyes. The dog looked back at the trail–barking at nothing and finally jumped into the back seat of the car. After another year, on this same date, the woman will return. She drove home to an emptier house filled with mellifluous sounds from the past. The past. Memories…
Sometimes the ashes of the dead take on a life of their own. Some souls, sometimes, must wander in scattered memories.