New PDF release: The River

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Example text

I ran off our move and my dad’s burnout. I ran off Mr. Armstrong’s worry. I ran off my own lost hopes of having friends with a future and having a future of my own. A mile later I stopped and tagged the gas pump at Tiny’s Garage, my chest heaving. I brought my sweatshirt up to wipe the rain from my face. I looked above my head. There, with its narrow, twisty shoulders and thundering traffic, was the highway. Trucks thundered past carrying giant logs, mobile homes with bikes mounted on the rear, Audi SUVs with ski racks shedding snow—all on their way back to Portland.

He needed help fast. I’d have to postpone feeling sorry for myself. I hoisted the bunny carcass into the bin marked yard waste and stowed the shovel against the house. “Let’s get you inside,” I said. As Ranger Dave shook the water off his parka in the sun porch, I leaned on the carved-beaver banister at the top of the stairs that led down to the Astro Lounge. ” I yelled. ” Dad’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was drying a huge beer stein. We’d been country innkeepers for almost a year, but I still hadn’t gotten used to the change in my father.

What was the use of fighting? By that point my old life was already gone, daddy, gone. But it all started before then, on that sticky-sweet morning in May, with my dad inconsolable and my mother frantically baking. That was when I first sensed life closing in on me. As I sat there in the warm kitchen of our funky urban house, watching my decisive father not know what to do, then finally realizing it was enough to move, that was the exact moment I first started running. 6 Mom and Dad were sitting on the front porch when we rolled up.

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