Reaching the Cabin

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The delicate winter sun reflected off of the frozen pines, scattering a golden glow throughout the forest and illuminating off the car dash.

It had been 22 years, but every twist and landmark was surprisingly still etched so vividly into the back of my mind. The frosted green world hugging both sides of the road had weathered so many seasons since then, yet it looked like a carbon copy of the last winter I remember here. I choked back every bit of memory aside from what the view looked like from the passenger seat and let the hum of gravel rolling beneath the tires drown the sound of my thoughts.

Breathe, I repeated to myself.

The car was oddly quiet, compared to the last few hours on the road. Surrounded by every stuffed animal she desperately wanted to bring and snack crumbs that’ll be trapped in the depths of her car seat soon enough, I looked back to find Elle completely asleep. I cringed at the thought of our arrival waking her up too soon.

Matt gripped the steering wheel tightly as he concentrated ahead on the road, not being as familiar with the route as I was. Catching his eye for a moment as I turned to face forward again, we shared a knowing smile that the quiet wouldn’t last for long. We took what we could get those days.

The giant mailbox built into a wooden bear waving came closer to us on the right, and I knew we were now just a few minutes away. It was the same one that I spent too many summers staring at in wide-eyed wonder, convinced that it’d wave right at me if I stared long enough.

Twists and turns narrowed into a straighter path, and the trees slowly began to thin toward a clearing. As dusk caved in on the sun and the sky grew dim, the porch lights in the distance became more apparent. Familiar shapes and colors began to form into the place I never thought I’d see again. I unconsciously shrank into my seat, staring towards the familiar pointed roof and wooden beams with emotions I hadn’t felt in what seemed like centuries.

Matt took one hand from the steering wheel to brush against my arm, taking his eyes off the road quickly only to glance and find me gripping the edges of my seat with white knuckles.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, “I’m here; we’re almost there, but I’m here.”

I loosened my grip and leaned into his direction, using the only energy I could muster to hold my head up with my arm on the center console. He brushed his hand through my hair, slowing the car as the driveway grew dangerously close. A white SUV was already parked in the spot that was only ever occupied by someone that I assumed a long time ago I’d never come across again.

Breathe.

As Matt parked parallel and at a distance to the other vehicle, Elle stirred in the backseat.

”Mommy,” she said in her tiny, tired voice, “Is this the castle?”

Matt laughed gently, and I smiled at how excited she sounded through her tiredness. I turned around to see her gazing at the cabin the same way I did at her age.

“Yes, love, it’s the castle,” I said as enthusiastically as I could, “We made it through a whole forest to find it!”

She gasped and her eyes somehow grew wider, giving me a sense of hope that her joy would give me something to look forward to this weekend.

I unbuckled my seatbelt as slowly as I could, feeling the weight of time crash on my shoulders. The door felt like a cinder block to open, and I stopped it halfway when I heard a familiar voice call out from the porch.

“Need a hand with your bags?,” he asked.

I could see his breath dissolve into the now dark sky as he slowly walked toward us.

Breathe.

I swallowed and found my breath.

“Hi, dad,” I stammered, not having said those words in 22 years.