Page 1 of The Cabin

Chapter 1

Two weeks, Sol, it’s only two weeks.I’ve been repeating the words to myself for most of the four-hour drive.Yeah, two weeks of complete isolation.No cell service, no indoor plumbing, and nobody to talk to.Well, nobody except me, myself, and I, I guess.

The familiar crunch of gravel under my tires has my mind reeling with memories, taking me back to endless summers of swimming in the creek, hiking for miles, and roasting marshmallows by the fire. In truth, the cabin holds a special place in my heart, and although I haven’t been back in several years, I am looking forward to seeing the place again. Even if it is acting as my own, self-prescribed therapy facility.

It has been almost one year since the divorce was finalized, and just about two since I walked in on my husband and his secretary playing doctor in my bed. On my sheets. In my house. To say I was still bitter was an understatement. And although I have worked very hard to appear as though all my pieces are back together, they are, in fact, still in a broken pile on the floor. I cry most nights, alone in my apartment, wondering how I could have been so stupid, so naïve. I agonize over the details, the months leading up to it, the signs I ignored, the things I turned a blind eye to just so I didn’t have to be alone. And now I am alone, hating myself, wondering why I have never been good enough.

And it was a few weeks ago, as I was scrolling through his social media for the one millionth time, that I saw the engagement announcement. I lost my shit. Like, really, truly lost my shit. And after two bottles of wine and a really long look in the mirror, I decided that I had let things get too out of control. I had completely and totally lost all sense of who I was. I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me, with her long, brown, lifeless hair, and the deadness of her once bright blue eyes. To be honest, I avoid the mirror most days, and have a hard time even meeting my own gaze. What have I done? Who have I become? In a million years I never thought I would be the kind of woman who crumbled into pieces over a man. Especially a boring, lifeless, egotistical man like Brian. But here I was, crumbled, and I hadn’t done anything about it. In two fucking years. It was time to change that.

The trees are becoming more and more dense as I drive further and further up the mountain. I spent the morning packing up my things for my two-week spiritual journey to the middle of nowhere, hoping that this getaway would jumpstart some kind of progress towards healing. I need time away from everything. The school year just ended, so I have nothing but free time ahead of me. I need to be somewhere away from social media, away from my sad, pathetic apartment, and away from the pitying looks of my coworkers and family. I need to spend time getting to know myself again. Who am I? What do I want in life? Where am I headed? I have wasted enough time moping around, and it is time to start getting things back under control. The cabin, I think, will be the perfect place to do that.

I put my foot on the brake, slowing down to make sure I don’t miss my turn. I haven’t been up here in so many years, and I have never been the one driving.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips when I make it around a particularly sharp bend, catching my first glimpse of the place in over ten years. I pull up in front, and step out of the car to stretch. It isn't anything fancy. Just four shanty walls and some windows overlooking the nearby creek. But, it was the only place I could think of to escape to. Some place I had never been to with my husband.

Ex – husband.

Stepping up on the porch and unlocking the front door, I take a deep breath, smiling at the smoky smell of burnt firewood and crunchy leaves. Not one single thing has changed. The same pictures hang on the walls. Old photographs of when we were kids, newspaper clippings of bear sightings, and maps of the area scattered about haphazardly. I can see the hole in the wall that my older brother, Cruz, made when he fell off one of the bunkbeds during one of our wrestling matches. I feel safe here. It feels familiar, and yet also from a completely different lifetime. A lifetime before heartbreak and divorce.

After bringing in my bags and supplies, I take a seat in the rocker in front of the coal stove, trying to remember what my dad had been saying on the phone about lighting it. Although it’s June, the Pennsylvania mountains still get chilly once the sun sets. I jiggle the knob on the right-hand side, producing a screeching sound that definitely doesn’t sound good. I send a silent thank you to the universe that I don’t have any neighbors. Then, I try lifting the lever at the bottom like I’d seen my dad do so many times before, but it doesn’t budge. Puffing my breath to try and get some of my hair out of my face, I grasp the front closure and rip it open, revealing the dark, inner chamber, and simultaneously unleashing a smell so putrid, I’m sure my eyebrows and every single one of my nose hairs have been singed off. By shining a flashlight inside I can see something has died in there, and I quickly shut the door before any more smell can escape.My god, Sol, what have you gotten yourself into?

Damage control proves super fruitless. It’s not like the cabin is overflowing with handy dandy air fresheners, and there isn’t much I can do about my complete lack of capability in the coal stove department. Plus, with the sun quickly setting, I’m not sure tackling the dead carcass taking up residence in my cute cabin vacation spot is the best idea. Things are just getting cuter by the minute. So. Cute.That’s okay, Sol. This is what you’re here for! To be forced to connect with yourself. To have literally nothing to do but reflect on your insides, or whatever.

A spark of inspiration hits. I printed off a few pages from a meditation blog I found online before leaving my classroom on the last day of school. Not sure about the morality of using my workplace printer for personal items, but, oh well. Since I knew there would be no internet, and I had originally skimmed the site while three-quarters deep into a bottle of wine, I thought it’d be best to print out some techniques and try them up here surrounded by nature.

After a brief search through my mess of bags and luggage, I find the papers folded up in a side pocket, and spread them out on the table, flashlight in hand. Originally, I had wanted to try this while standing barefoot on the forest floor, but the idea of going outside, alone, in the dark doesn’t sound very enticing at the moment. I scan over the introduction and find step one.

Adjust yourself into an upright, comfortable position and close your eyes.

“Okay, check.” I murmur, settling in and closing my eyes. A quiet moment passes where I can hear crickets beginning to chirp outside.

Realizing I don’t know what to do next, I open my right eye just a crack in search of step two.

Take three, long deep breaths.

Perfect, easy.Another crack of my eyelid.

Count only your inhales, focusing on your breath, in groups of ten.

Squaring my shoulders, I begin counting.

One.A pause as I exhale.Two. Another pause.Three…I wonder if Brian’s new fiancée meditates. She probably only drinks bubbly water and has an addiction to power walking. That would besolike Brian, to find a woman – shit, I’m supposed to be counting.I take a peek at the steps again.

If you lose count of your breaths, begin again with one.

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