Goat Trail

Word Count: 299

   

    “How much longer?”  Cami asked.

    “We’re getting close.”

    “Can’t we stop Dad?  I really have to go.  Bad.”

    “There isn’t room to stop here.”  Actually, I really didn’t remember the precipice on the right being quite so vertical, or the slope on my left shooting straight up.

    “Uhm, John, honey? when was the last time you went to this lake?”  My wife inquired.

    “I’ve been here dozens of times honey, the fishing is unbelievable, a… I think it was 14 or 15 years ago, with Quindo and Skaggit.”

    “You drove this trail drunk???” she shrieked.

    “No, of course not,” Ah, that would explain why I didn’t remember it quite like this, “what do you think I’m an idiot or something, don’t answer that”

    “Oh for…” she mumbled.

    “DAD STOP! I need to go NOW.  I’ll just go behind the Suburban, stop now.”

    Cami sounded pretty definite.  I stopped, she opened the door and a small squeak passed her lips.  Her lips may have been trembling.

    “Okay, I won’t go that way,” she stated, “roll down the back window I’ll crawl out, nobody look.”

    I looked at my wife’s face, this was no time to state my opinion, and rolled the rear window down.  Cami made her way through the dogs and out the window.  I quit looking.

    My wife looked at me, “Are you sure this is the right road?  Did you, or any of you, have all your faculties the last time you came here?”

    “Of course not, they don’t have a full set between the three of them,” our son mumbled, “this isn’t a road, it’s a goat trail.”
   
    Cami crawled back in and once again we were moving.  As I maneuvered around the next bend the road disappeared.  However, there was a faint goat trail visible.

Word Count: 299