This career opportunity seemed just the thing for me, there was nothing I wanted more than to leave everything behind, start over, really give a chance at life no matter how painful it felt or how empty it was.
I looked into becoming a park ranger, did the necessary training, and then searched for a position.
I didn’t have a particular town in mind, but I wanted it to be in Colorado.
I’ve always loved it here and had many nice memories of the Rocky Mountains from a drill we did in the area during my second year in the Army.
I was offered a job as a forest ranger in Grand Lake and I jumped at the opportunity when I realized I would be working in the Rocky Mountain National Park.
With my military background and my expertise in getting out of nasty places, tracking people down and following animal trails, it became clear I could be an asset when there was the necessity of finding missing campers or hikers that had gotten themselves in dire situations so I was assigned a slightly different position in Jewel where the local NPS Resource Protection and Visitor Management division has its base.
I’ve been here for about three years now and I really find my job fulfilling.
I’m the head of the search and rescue emergency unit of the division. So off-season, unless I’m needed, I get to spend as much time as I want in the woods where I’m happiest and feel more at ease.
I only ever go in town when I have to get groceries, when Mike, the sheriff, needs assistance with something or in case a bear or other wild animal gets too curious and wanders too close to town’s limits. In the busy months, when we have more visitors, I have to go down to our offices a little more often to issue special permits or to attend staff meetings, but mostly I get away with working from home a lot, unless someone gets lost in the Rockies. In that case, I’m up and running and I don’t see my cabin again until I get everybody out safe, no one gets left behind.
In many ways, I’m still what I always was but I’m also very different in several aspects, that’s for fucking sure.
Focusing on things was never a problem for me before but since after I got injured, unless I make a conscious effort, I find that my mind wanders far more easily when I watch a movie or read a book or when I’m having a conversation.
I was never as friendly as Jonny was, but I wasn’t exactly the antisocial recluse I’m now either.
I can’t stand crowds anymore, I get easily irritated if there are too many people around and my social circle is very small, but I don’t mind the solitude. If I did, I wouldn’t have chosen to live deep in the woods in a log cabin all by myself, but I like the quiet and unless it’s for work, stocking up or my friend Mike and his wife really nag me to go visit, I never go into town.
It’s not that I don’t like Jewel, that little town’s a beaut, but I’m too much of a loner to live in such a noisy place and that’s why I built my own cabin so far up this side of Gleam Peak. I liked that I’m pretty much alone on ‘my’ side of the mountain.
I live only an hour hike from the summit, a ten-minute-drive from the west entrance of the park, and a fifteen-minute-drive from Jewel itself, which means I have all the privacy and peace I need, without being completely off the grid.
I don’t like cramped living spaces, too many years in the Army sharing tiny living quarters with men as big as I was and constantly bumping into things and having to crouch down to get through doors, made me wise up and tailor this cabin from someone of my size.
The place is pretty utilitarian —I don’t like fancy things—, but it’s cozy and so big I could easily entertain and house ten people if I was so much inclined —which I’m not— and I might like a quiet simple life immersed in wild and untamed nature, but after fourteen years roughing it up and making do, I splurged on all the comforts: I have running water, internet connectivity, a huge fireplace, a generator and a heater than never fail me in the colder winter months and there’s even a large attached garage for my bike, my work pickup and my personal truck.
It doesn’t feel like a home, though. It’s just a place I live in. I don’t know why that is, but I don’t really feel at home anywhere.
Today it seems like I really can’t get my mind not to drift back where it shouldn’t and even breaking a sweat on the bench didn’t help distract me.
I stack my weights back in their place and leave the gym.
I’m considering if I should go for a run before or after getting myself some breakfast when I see I have a text from Mike.
‘Something came up. Need to speak with you. Call ASAP.’
I sigh. Okay, so no run for me today.
I get undressed as I go and throw everything in the hamper just outside my en suite bathroom door and I immediately hit the shower.
I close my eyes under the warm jets and grimace when the ache returns to pulse somewhere over my heart.
I soap up and rinse as fast as possible and I’m already toweling myself off while I step out of the shower stall.
I wonder why Mike needs to speak with me. It can’t be work-related or an emergency: if that were the case, he would have called not texted, hell knowing him, he would be already on my fucking porch.
So what’s this about?
I throw a pair of clean boxers on and jog into my kitchen to get started on breakfast.
I’m starving and in the mood for some pancakes and bacon today, maybe even an omelet.
I couldn’t eat a morsel of my dinner yesterday, no matter how much I tried, everything turned my stomach.
It happens sometimes, the ache in my soul gets so painful I can’t even eat, so I need to make up for it later.
I get all the ingredients I need from my pantry and the fridge and put them on the island near the stove while I check my work email.
I open the freezer for some frozen veggies and I shake my head when I can barely find them hidden as they are behind pints upon pints of coconut froyo.
I scratch the back of my head, staring pensively at the stuff.
I have no idea why I keep buying it, I don’t like frozen yogurt at all, I could never stand it, and I fucking hate anything flavored with coconut, the cloying smell and the overly sweet taste of it have always made me sick. I’d rather have some old-fashioned B&J coffee ice cream, but every time I go into Jewel for groceries, I end up buying some.
I don’t know why I feel like I have to do it.
I’ve been buying it since I got back from Syria.
Every time I see a pint of this girlie shit it gives me the warm and fuzzies in the pit of my stomach and I have to get some, but then I can never even bring myself to open it and have some, the shit is just too disgusting.
Thank fuck, Livvie, Mike’s wife, likes it enough, so every time my freezer starts to overflow with it, I packed up most of the tubs I’ve accumulated and bring them to their place in town, though I can never bring myself not to leave at least a few here.
Looks like I’m going to have to make a run soon.
I start putting together my omelet and in the meantime, call Mike’s cell.