THE VISION IS A PLACE | ✓ {complete}

Chapter 33 - just like the northern lights

We didn't talk about the bridge after it happened. I was scared to and he never asked. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at a secluded campsite, high up on some cliffs that hung over a wide river bend. That's where we'd be spending our last night together.

"What's out there?" I asked him, joining him at the edge.

"It's kind of a trick," he told me. "It looks like there's nothing, but at night, all you'll be able to see are lights."

"Lights from what?"

"A city. It's like it's all just floating out there...all the lights melting together on the horizon..."

"Kinda like the northern lights?"

"Maybe. You ever seen them?"

I shook my head.

"Then, yeah...just like the northern lights," he says, his eyes fixed on the view, like he was seeing something I wasn't. Like his height on me was letting him see just a little further.

"Do you come here every time?"

"Most."

"Why?"

"Cuz it's a long drive...and I like it here," he added. "I like to be able to see far. At the farm, you can't really see past our clearing."

"Is that why you liked the mountains so much? Because you were high up?"

He looked at me curiously, as if wondering why I was trying to make small talk. "I'm sure that was part of it," he said, as he tipped a larger rock over the edge of the cliff with his foot. It fell for a long time before hitting the bottom.

"Would you ever go back to your job if the farm didn't work out? If you started to miss it too much?"

"I'm pretty unemployable now. But I wouldn't go back, anyway. The farm is it for me," he said, still looking out at the view. "Never going back," he added under his breath.

That afternoon, Addison went on a hike. I got the impression that he wanted to go alone, so I pretended I wanted to stay back when he asked me. I thought he was just being polite, and wanted me to say no. Right before he left, he told me not to worry if he didn't come back for awhile. Later on, I regretted not asking how long awhile was.

He was gone for hours. I played guitar and collected wood. It would get cold that night. We'd need a fire at some point. Unlike the night before, my wrist hurt a little, but I didn't mind the pain so much. I wondered if the river water had made it infected.

When he finally returned, he acted as though he hadn't been gone long at all, but the hours of introspection showed on his face. He brought with him a few pieces of wood that he set down by the fire ring, but the pieces weren't for burning.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Bow drill," he told me, as he pulled out his fixed blade.

"But we have matches."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked.

The mood he came back in told me apparently there's nothing fun in it, but I didn't comment on it.

He sat down and started carving the pieces, shaving the bark off, making the narrow end of the spindle and cutting a little notch into the fire board...

"Is that cedar?" I asked.

"Mhm," he hummed.

"Does it have to be?"