Remember Me

Chapter Fifteen

"Hey Charlotte you look bored, so can you do something for me?" My father asks, hiding a chuckle while he finishes cleaning the dishes from dinner.

"I'm actually extremely preoccupied with editing my manuscript and stuff, but I suppose I can spare a couple of minutes to help out my dear old dad," I reply and pop the lid back onto my pen before closing my manuscript and wandering over to my father.

"Well aren't I so lucky to have such a helpful daughter?"

"You are so lucky," I agree. "So, what is up?"

My father puts down his scrub brush and turns to face me. "We have a problem."

"What sort of problem?" I ask and tilt my head.

"A very very big problem," my father continues. "We are out of firewood."

"No it can't be," I dramatically respond, placing a hand over my heart.

"The camp store up the road doesn't have any either, Jason checked earlier this evening," my father shakes his head.

I raise an eyebrow because I know where this is going. "Let me guess. You want me to bike to the general store that is just outside the campground and purchase a stalk or two of firewood and bring it back so we can have a few more fires before Ruck 'n Rumble is over?"

"Bingo," my father smiles. "But, I only want you to go if you feel like you can get there and back without any issues. Your health always comes first. I would have asked Roman or Lizzie but they're busy doing something, somewhere."

"Don't worry dad, I'll be fine, I promise," I reassure my father. "Besides, I think I remember the route. I did it quite a few times with Nathan a few years ago."

"Thank you sweetie, you are a lifesaver."

"Well we can't have Ruck 'n Rumble without campfires now can we?" I laugh and wander over to where my bike leans up against a tree. I grab my helmet and strap myself in. "I'll be back in half an hour or so," I call to my father as I bike down the gravel path and toward the general store.

I love biking. I love it all year round. That feeling of motion, the speed and the rise and fall of the path, the chance to go over grass, mud or road. It is a freedom I will always crave. That sort of liberty is a gift, is it not? A privilege of movement, to build the self strong whilst having such fun. And so, as I pass the cars that pollute, the passengers cow-like in the seats, I am the racer on my iron-horse and I take a turn into the road, enjoying the scenic shortcuts and the song of the birds.

It doesn't take that long to arrive at the general store because the road is pretty straightforward, so I get there within twenty minutes of carefree riding. When I arrive, I hop off my bike and lean it against the concrete side of the store. I unclick the latch of my helmet and place it on the ground next to my bike.

The little bell atop the door rings when I enter the store. It is exactly the way I remember it, even after almost five years. All the nooks and crannies are filled with an assortment of items, valuable and not. The fridges and freezers are still in the back of the store, and their hum gives me a sense of nostalgia. Nathan and I used to bike here at least twice during the camping trip to buy a cold ice cream. I would always buy an ice cream sandwich, while Nathan would opt for a spongebob ice lolly.

Pushing the thoughts from my mind I find the firewood stand. I grab a couple of packs and haul them to the counter.

At the counter is an old woman, not the kind you pity with their old bones and feeble limbs, but the kind who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stands quite tall and slim, her short grey hair neat and likely styled with old fashioned rollers, the kind women used to sleep in. Her face is made up with discrete make-up except her lips that are cherry red. Was she any paler her mouth would be garish, but against her sun-kissed skin it looks right. When she extends her hand to shake mine I see the soil beneath her fingernails. A gardener I'll bet. Then I noticed her neck scarf, patterned with small roses. I liked it.