Greenhorn Mountain

The old floor squeals under his footsteps,  a lumbering shadow braces his arm against the wall, guiding him through the darkness before stopping at a half opened door,

           “It’s time Jack, get up.” he says

A young man rolls to his side, The shadow at the door flicks the lights on and off, and on and off again, the young man quickly sits up.

           “Alright! I’m up.” a half-asleep Jack groans.

           “5 minutes. Grandpa’s waiting.”

  Through a yawn Jack nods his head. He stands out of bed, stretching his lean arms into the air. putting on a shirt and stepping into pants, he swings a seemingly heavy backpack over his shoulder, adjusting its cumbersome weight on his back. He flicks off his bedroom light and exits his room. In the kitchen, Dad is organizing the pockets of a similar looking backpack.  Jack walks over to a pot of coffee the and  pours two servings into plastic cups, snapping on the lids he turns back to his Dad, extending one cup out to him.

           “It’s all there?” Jack asks.

Dad swings his backpack over his shoulders, he grabs the cup of coffee.

           “All set, let’s go.” He leads the way out the door.

  The old Jeep sits in front of Grandpas house. At the front door, Jack embraces his Grandpa with a hug, he carries his bag up the stone walkway and out the chain-link fence. Jack organizes the bags in the back seat, ensuring himself room for the trip, Grandpa taking his place in the front seat.

As the car creaks out of the driveway, jack nestles into the side of his backpack, a sufficient enough pillow.

  They have been driving for some time, headlights of the Jeep cutting through the the darkness that still blankets their surroundings. A right turn steers the car onto a dirt road, the bumpy contrast of roads jerks the vehicle, awakening a sleeping Jack in the back seat.  He sits up and looks out the window.

           “Are we there?”

           “Just about.” His Grandpa responds, smiling back at him. “Here you go, we stopped a little while ago.” He hands Jack a cup of coffee. “You hungry?” He raises a packet of beef jerky in the air. Jack waves it away.

           “Beef jerky? This early?”

           “Oh, right, I’m sure you’d prefer some celery sticks and hummus?” he grins at Jack. Jack chuckles and sips his coffee. The car rumbles forward for a few more minutes, winding through a set of trees. Jack watches the same line of trees whip past him. He cracks the window slightly, letting the crisp air swirl with the steam of his coffee. An awakening aroma, much needed for a long day ahead.

           “We’re here.” Dad says abruptly, stopping the car.

All three pile out, unloading the back seat and the rack on top of the car. They stumble through a narrow path, at the end of the path is a small wooden cabin.  The aged cabin struggling to maintain it’s form. Wooden logs tired from years of standing post, it will be serviceable for the night Jack thinks. Turning on the light illuminates a surprisingly clean interior, small but organized. A cask iron heater to the right, a square table with chairs to the left. A small kitchen encompassing the remaining space, equipped with a refrigerator and a grated stove top. The stairs jetting up in the middle of the room lead to their sleeping quarters in the loft above. Unpacking their bags, all three men start getting dressed,  layering shirts underneath their bright orange jumpsuits.  

           “So, Jack. You’ve graduated, you got a job on the horizon, now lets see if you can finally get yourself a 10 pointer. Finally make a man out of you ” Grandpa says while adjusting his hat. “Then hopefully you can find yourself a girl, if there’s one dumb enough.” The smirk once more across his face. Jack smiles and shrugs, swinging a jacket over his shoulders.

…Her smile invades Jack’s mind, entranced by her entrance. She walks towards the desk in front of him, plain white t-shirt, rolled up grey sweat pants,  “how does she look so good in something so simple?” Jack thinks to himself. “I should tell her that. Yeah, I should say that. She’ll like that, right?” his mind contemplates. She turns down the row of desks, just before reaching the open seat in front of Jack, she smiles at him, the piercing smile. Jack doesn’t say what it is he wanted to…

           “Hey!” his dad interjects.

Jack shakes off his thought

           “Sorry, what did you say?”

           “I asked what job do you have coming up?”

           “Oh, something mom was telling me about.”

           “And she told you about this too?” Dad asks his father.

           “She mentioned it.” He responds

           “So, are you going to take it?”

           “I don’t know, I haven’t given it much though really.” Jack answers. He puts on a pair of gloves.  

           “What’s the hold-up?” his Dad persists

           “Can we talk about it later?”

           “What’s the issue, why can’t you say it now?”  

           “We’ll talk about it later, we’re wasting time.” Grandpa interrupts.

           “I think I have some right to know what my son’s plans are, at least what she has a plan for.” Dad asserts, his voice growing louder.

…Muffled shouting echoes inside the small kitchen and across the empty house. “I don’t need to be micro managed by this! Isn’t there something else you can find to complain about” the man shouts. “Oh there is plenty! Believe me there is plenty!” a lady shouts back at him.  “I don’t need to hear this. Let me know when you figure out what you want.” The man heads towards the door. “I want it this to be done, I’m done. This is done!”  The woman shouts back. Stopping at the door, the man stops for a moment, he tilts his head side to side,  Jack’s father than storms out the door.”…

   A light snow has begun to fall, the ground already blanketed from previous days snow. The calm footsteps of each man reveal the pine-needle floor underneath.  The three of them push forward in a straight line, Jack is in the back, preceded by his father, and then by his grandpa in the front. They systematically creep forward, taking note of each breath and each step, trying their best not to raise any suspicion and alarm for their prey. The cold fore-stock of the rifle seeps through Jack’s gloves, it is lighter than he remembers, he is more comfortable with this sport than he used to be, perhaps mature enough to feel like he can contribute. His Grandpa stops, he doesn’t raise his rifle but rather points to a section of the snow covered floor.

           “Look, tracks.” Jack shifts over to view the sighting, he walks forward to his grandfathers side. “There are two of them.” He bends down to inspect “looks like a male and a females.” He smiles up at Jack, “See, even in the wild you have to find a partner.” Jack nods back, he follows the tracks as far as his eyes can see, until they disappear amongst the brush.

…The beeping has persisted, for how long is unknown, time has passed unnoticed. Two hands clasped together, bound together by an unsighted strength. Wires dangle behind the old man, from one of the hands tubes follow up to a woman. Her tired, worn face matching the gloom permeating within the room. Her eyes remain spirited, measuring the fleeting hopefulness of the eyes of the old man. Firm hands clenched even more, searching for the softness that was so common for all their years. The beeping ends…

           “Let’s go,  we have to get to the food plot before sunrise.” Dad asserts.  Jack retreats back to his spot behind the two men. The three push forward once more, remaining their quiet balance.  Jack’s eyes still follow the tracks in the snow, walking parallel with them until the marks veer off and fall again amongst the trees.

Sunrise is a welcoming occurrence, the frost filled morning has reminded Jack of the cold discomfort of hunting. The warming rays battle through the trees, the reflection off each branch momentarily shining in their eyes. The straight line they have been marching has quelled any of Jack’s ability to tell where they are. The men at the front continually trekking forward, their ability to navigate founded on their familiarity and experience. A slight turn in their movements provides the first prospect of excitement, nearing their destination a feeling builds within Jack.  Dad and Grandpa stop, they scan their surroundings.

       “Well, they have taken everything here. Only a few scraps left.” Grandpa says, inspecting the area around the food plot.

       “You think we have enough time to reach the stand?” Dad asks. Grandpa gives a less than confident nod yes.

       “How far?”  Jack asks.

       “Not much further” His dad responds, providing little help to Jack’s question. His Grandpa takes a few steps forward, scanning the forest again.

       “Well, we won’t know till we get there.” Grandpa says, grinning back at Jack. The march forward commences again, Jack begrudenlingly following along.

When they reach the tree stand, Jack shakes his head at the oddity of the term as the three men are crouched behind a make shift pile of wood. The “Stand” they have been marching towards is little more than a spot they passed countless times already today. But this spot has been part of their procedure for years, this is where they do their best, from where Grandpa shot the know legendary bear years prior.

       “I called him Bernstein.” Grandpa says with a smile

       “Why Bernstein?”

       “Like the Bernstein bears, from the books I used to read to you.”

       “Yes I know that. But, why name something you killed after a character in a kids story?” Jack asks “seems kind of odd.”

       “Well he seemed like a happy bear, even when it was coming straight at me it had this presence that I didn’t think would occur. He wasn’t bad. Remember, this is their territory, we are just visiting. He was doing what he had too.”

       “Why did it come after you?”

Grandpa adjusts his positioning, “Because I was here.” He smiles at Jack again, hoping to comfort any nerves he may have caused. “And maybe he smelt this too.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out the packet of beef jerky and offers it to Jack again. Jack waves it away. “Still no? Alright suit yourself”

           “Let’s just hope we don’t have to run into one of those again huh, Pop?” Dad says, before turning away and looking through the trees. “Although it appears we might not be seeing anything today.”

           “Don’t be so pessimistic, We still have time on our side.” Grandpa counters back

That time has stretched long into the day, The only measuring stick for telling has been the birds that have came back and forth to a nest in a tree in front of Jack. Counting the journeys of each one, each time trying to spot what it is they bring back. It must be food Jack thinks to himself, what else could they be doing, the nest looks well built already and with this cold it appears it must be hunting season for the birds as well. Yes of course its food, stupid to think otherwise really. Maybe I’ll name these birds like Grandpa named the bear, only this time I won’t be shooting them. I came all the way out here and now I’m bird watching, something anyone could do simply from their front porch, Jack laughs, before a presence jolts Jack from his mindless staring. In the distance out in front of him, beneath the bird nest that has garnered much attention, a darkened spot several yards away. Lifting the once light feeling rifle up to eye level Jack sits up, his weight on his front knee. He doesn’t say a word to either of the men beside him. The rifle perfectly balanced on his shoulder, his chest up and his eyes forward, gripping the cold metal tight. He takes a deep, steadying breath. Focus on your breathing he reminds himself, the condensation floating in the crisp air. In and out, In and out, just breathe.

The steady breathing interrupted by a slump of his shoulders, a dip of his rifle.

       “Nothing…it’s nothing.” He says in dismay, feeling a light tap on his shoulder.

       “Tomorrows a new day.” Grandpa says attempting his best, comforting smile.  The three sit back against the trees behind them. Staring forward at the stale landscape before them as the sun begins its decent In the sky.

The thin wooden door swings open as the three hunters stumble through, their heavy bags sliding off their shoulders. Sitting at the table Jack unloads the contents of his bag, his Grandpa activating the iron heater. Spreading their damp clothes around the burning wood, hoping the warm air will dry them for tomorrow.  

‍        ‍

           “It’s ready!” Dad shouts, walking a steaming bowl to the table and sitting down. Jack climbs down from the upstairs loft.

           “Is it working?” Grandpa asks

           “Yep, you can feel the heat up there.” Grandpa hands him a bowl of soup. All three men cram around the small folding table, the bottles of beer and hearty bowls straining the feeble table legs.  Dinner is finished as quickly as it was made, Jack disposes of the bowls. His grandfather takes out a deck of cards and shuffles, and deals cards out.

           “What we playing?” Jack asks sitting back in his seat.

           “Skat. It’s good for three people. Do you know how to play?”

           “No.”

           “Well, that’s alright. It’s similar to pinochle.” Jack tilts his head, thinking.

           “Do you not know how that play that either?”

           “Of course he doesn’t. “ his dad chimes in, taking a sip of his beer. “If it’s not an app on your phone they don’t know what it is.”

           “Oh here we go, my generation is messing everything up I know,” Jack sits up straighter in his chair. “Every generation thinks the generation after them is screwed up, its cyclical.” He points to his grandpa and then to his dad. “His generation thought your generations of ‘hippies’ was the end of society.”

           “Well, he has a point there.” Grandpa grins at his son, raising his beer to Jack, who raises his in return.

           “We actually spoke to people, interacted.”

           “Interacted?” Jack asks.

           “Yes, interacted. Face to face. We didn’t live a sheltered life behind a phone or computer screen. If we wanted to say or do something, we had to face it upfront and in person. It’s changed how people interact socially, that’s all I’m saying. We can agree on that can’t we?” Jack hears the question but doesn’t answer, his mind adrift.

…Jack’s heart is racing, the moment he has always longed for had finally occurred. Everything he has ever wanted to say amplified by the action of this moment. His mind scrambling, the moment slipping by. Her soft kiss freezing his body, encasing him in the moment. She stops, feeling his heart beating out of his chest. Her smile attempting to calm him. Jack opens his mouth, the years of wanting to tell her how he feels has arrived.  Heart pumping, all ability to move surrendered, words escaping him…

           “I don’t know about all that, each generation has their good and bad. And so does people within them.” He throws a card from his deck in the center of the table, dad places one down as well. “Jack?” he points to the center of the table, Jack glances at his cards and then tosses one forward.

Grandpa plucks at his cards, “Different times called for different people. We just had to make decisions a bit younger than some.  Is their a lack of discipline since then? Maybe. But having that flexibility in life can solve some of it’s problems.” He says, plucking one out and tossing it on the table.

…Still wiping the deli counter-top in front of him, he peers up at the woman before him. “He listens to you, you know that.” Mother says  “I don’t know what you expect me to do, it shouldn’t be my decision to make” he responds. The woman puts her left arm on her left hip, “Do you really think he’ll do something you don’t want him too?”. The man puts his head back down and continues wiping. The woman shakes her head and turns to walk out, she stops and gazes up at a neon sign on the wall. “I remember when we got that, back in high school. Wow I can’t believe it’s still there.” The man continues wiping the counter. “Where did the time go?” The woman says solemnly. The man stops, he lifts his head up.  The woman stops halfway through the door. “I’ll talk to Jack.” Dad says, smiling at the woman, who smiles back and then exits…

       “That might be easier for you to say.” Dad says,  grabbing the three cards from the center and pushes them of to the side.

           “It is hard to compete with ‘The Greatest Generation’”. Jack says raising his eyebrows at his Grandpa.

“We were only that way because we were forced to.” Grandpa says, rather dismissively.

…The man is seated against the window, watching trees pass him by as the train races forward. Staring intently trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings, eager to reach his destination. A man walks by and extends his hand out. Firmly shaking the seated man’s hand,  “Thank you.” The man says and then continues walking. The train slows, the man rises in anticipation of the stop, he fixes his eight -point hat and walks towards the exit. “Greenhorn!” the conductor shouts.  Taking a step off the train he takes a deep breath, His light brown uniform sticking out amongst the wave of people. Turning his head back and forth, he navigates through the crowd, searching. After a few moments he stops, his body stiff, several feet ahead of him stands a blonde haired woman in a dark blue dress and dark blue hat. Grandpa smiles and embraces her…

           “It was like a whole other life.” He lifts his bottle and takes a large gulp, finishing with a spirited thud. “But damn right we were.” He winks at Jack.

           “I’ll get another.” Jack says, sitting up and walking to the kitchen. Dad deals another handful of cards, glancing at his father with a grin on his face

           “What are you grinning at?” He says

           “Nothing.” The grin remaining on Dad’s face. “You think we’ll get one tomorrow?”  

Jack returns to the table and hands both men a beer.

           “Tomorrow is a new day.” Grandpa says.

   The morning wind cuts through the grey skies, faint patches of the sun beneath the clouds. The hunters trek through the familiar tracks left from the previous days hike. Jack lowers his hat to shield his eyes from the cold breeze. His right arm clutching the rifle strap across his body, holding it tightly in place. Deviating from the clear path they near the stand, Jack settles down against the bushes behind him, preparing for the battle of attrition the day may bring. He swings the rifle around and rests it on his knee. The three of them silent, scanning the forest grounds.  He watches the unnamed bird swoop back and forth across his sightline. back and forth, back and forth, rhythmically, almost lulling him into a trance, until-

Jack rises, his shoulders square, his weight shifts to his front knee. He aims his rifle,  his hand balancing the front barrel, the back lightly resting against his chest. Ahead of him a blotchy darkness amongst the grey, moving through the trees. He doesn’t have time to notice if Dad or Grandpa see it too. He matches his eye to the top of his gun. Beaming with a found strength he straightens up, clearing his mind from previous faults, stifling the nerves. From beside him, A calming hand rests on his shoulder, Jack inhales deeply. Repeating this method in a trance like state, his finger hovering above the trigger.

Her hand is resting on his beating chest, he can feel the emotion boiling up, filling his throat, clouding his voice, paralyzing fear of the moment, he feels it slipping away, until-

The shot sears through the stale woods, the blotchy  dark mass toppling to the forest floor, crackling in the distance like a bolt of lightning.

The hand taps on Jack’s shoulder.

           “That’s how it’s done.” The voice says.

THE END