Into the Wild Wind

A father and son reconnect amid turbulent emotions

Joey was looking out the window, huddled defensively in his ubiquitous hoodie. I was hoping this would turn from a hostage situation into a father and son outing very soon. "It's important, Mark. Really."

Joey looked at me sadly. "I'm Joe, Dad. Not Mark." He paused, the adolescent petulance gone from his face. "You sure you're okay?"

I covered my slip. I looked at Joey. "I was just, you know, talking to him." I finished in a wishful whisper, "I do that sometimes."

Joey's voice was unusually quiet, but full of emotion. "Yeah. Me, too."

We pulled up to the trailhead just as the sun breached the horizon, got out of the car, and shouldered our light packs.

The trail was still dark under the quiet pines, the air still spicy with night smells. As it became steeper, I heard Joey breathing heavily. Just about a half a kilometer in, Joey called a halt. "I gotta take this thing off," he said as he took off his pack and doffed his hoodie, stowing it inside.

Soon we came to the edge of a ravine, surprisingly high compared to the relatively short, steep climb we had just made. I dropped my pack and pulled out a small box that looked like it could have held cigars. Joey's eyes finally showed understanding.

"Help me?" I held the box out to Joey. Together, we opened the lid and tossed the contents out over the ravine with its adventurous river beneath, the hopeful morning sun above. "Bye, Mark," I choked out.

"See ya, Bro," Joey choked.

As we watched the ashes diffuse into the air, we were both crying. Then Joey straightened and adjusted his pack, clapped me on the shoulder, and gave me a rare, beautiful smile. "Where are we going next, Dad?"

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase "Where are we going"