I take down pine trees. I call myself an old-school lumberjack, but that's mostly just a joke I tell myself. I'm not doing anything with this pile of wood besides burning some of it and putting the rest in a heap at the side of the cabin.
I watch as the tree falls; timber.
“That was a big-ass motherfucker,” Buck says, taking a swig from the beer I gave him when he showed up an hour ago.
Buck owns the gas station and post office in town and drops off any packages I receive. I avoid town as much as possible.
“Damn straight,” I agree, dropping the axe blade into the base of the chopped tree.
I pull off my leather gloves and then run my hand over my thick beard as I assess the fallen pine. It will take me most of the week to cut this tree into stackable pieces.
“You wanna come down the mountain, head to the bar?”
I don't want to laugh in Buck's face—but the last thing I wanna do is sit on some plastic stool in a podunk bar, drinking cheap beer and listening to Buck and his big game–hunting buddies talk shit.#p#分页标题#e#
I'd rather sit in my own goddamned chair. I'd rather drink my own goddamned beer. And I sure as hell would rather listen to silence than discuss target practice.
I may live in the sticks, but I'm no motherfucking hillbilly.
My mother calls me a modern day Thoreau. I don't really give a shit what that means—but I think it means I like to sit in the quiet and think.
I also like to swing my axe. As I've mentioned. It’s the only sane thing in the world anymore. The only thing I can, without question, hold onto. Everything else is liable to fall apart.
“I don't like that scene. You know that, Buck. Not sure why you keep asking.”
“I'm asking because you're the crazy fool living in the woods, talking to yourself. You don't even have wi-fi out here.”
“That's intentional.”
Buck doesn't understand why I don’t go into town with him. It’s mostly because I have no interest in discussing my personal shit with anyone—especially him.
“Yeah, well, it's January. This shit's gonna get cold real fast.”
“It's cold already,” I tell him as we cross back to my cabin, passing the frosted tips of the pine trees. Jameson trails us as we make our way over the icy earth, the ground crunching with each step.
“Well, you're the fool who moved out to the woods at the end of fall, not me,” Buck says. “Just wanna make sure you don't become a recluse.”
I don't tell Buck that being a recluse is exactly what I'm after.
“I'll see you around then. And stop by the store if you need anything, ya hear?” Buck heads to his big pickup truck, hollering as he swings open the door, “Oh, and thanks for the beer, Jax. Though I'm not sure what that shit was.” He gives a hearty laugh as he turns the ignition.
Fucking fool, I think, shaking my head. He doesn't know what home-brewed beer is. I may be living in the woods, but I have a kegerator all hooked up inside my cabin. I brew beer, and it's the good stuff.
I watch him backing down the drive, grateful to see him go. He's a good guy, but I prefer my own company these days.
Heading to my cabin, I let Jameson in. I notice that snowflakes have begun to fall as the night sets in. I shut my door, knowing I need to add wood to my fire if I'm gonna stay warm tonight.
There sure as hell isn't anything out in these parts to get me heated up.
HARPER
The tires on my modest hatchback come to a dead halt, in the dead of winter, in what is quickly becoming the dead of night. I'm trying not to full-on panic.
I remind myself of the quote that's my new life motto—that is to say, the quote I read while I scrolled through Pinterest this morning at a gas station on my way out of Boise. I was deleting every single wedding picture I'd pinned, and came across this classic gem:
Keep Calm and Carry On
Okay, so I know it's cheesy, but I've gotta hold onto something right now. If I don't, I'll fall apart.
And I can't fall apart until I’ve at least pulled up at my uncle's cabin.
Which should be right here. Or right … somewhere.
This would all be a lot easier if 1) it hadn't grown pitch dark in, like, four seconds, 2) Google maps would pull up on my phone, and 3) it wasn't snowing.
And these flakes are coming down fast. This hatchback isn't four-wheel anything. It doesn't even have four seats.
How did I end up here? Oh, right, my fiancé ditched me a week before our wedding.
I drop my head against the steering wheel, not wanting to lose it, pinching my eyes closed tight. A full-on sob will not get me somewhere warm and toasty and safe.#p#分页标题#e#
I quickly lift my head as the horn on my car begins to blast. This is about the same time I realize that, if I want to be warm and toasty tonight, I'm going to have to light the fire myself.