wondering what lies ahead.
Through the excitement and the confusion, a grain of fear grows in me. Dreams don’t come true for free. What is the price that I have to pay for this? I’m not the best person and I’m not the worst, but no matter who or what I am, this doesn’t seem right. I never worked for my dream. I haven’t built my life around leaving Hopetown or helping people. I’ve built it around coming to terms with my own powerlessness.
But despite all that, my dream came to me. It was given to me, just like that. Part of me thinks, I don’t deserve this, but the other half is screaming with joy, and I can’t shut it up.
“We’re almost there!” Smaller Sally shouts. “Less than twenty minutes.”
I suffer the last twenty minutes in silence. Meanwhile, I note, we have started going uphill and have been rising at a gradual slope for approximately half an hour. I sneak a look back and instantly forgive the discomfort of the ride.
Holy shit.
I can see just about everything we’ve passed for the last hour and a half. It’s stunningly gorgeous. I can see more of the world every second right now than I have ever seen before. The world is spread out beneath me and the wind is caught in my hair, and I feel powerful. I almost forget about the terror of gravity and the churning in my stomach, because on top of this mountain, I am in control of everything below it.
Eventually, the view back towards Hopetown is obscured by forest, but the view to the Northeast is equally stunning. We ride single file up a narrow cliff pass. To the left is a steep drop where I can see kilometers and kilometers of forest spreading out like a green carpet. Everything is covered with a thick coat of snow. The wind plays the icicles on the pine trees in melodic clinking. We ride into another forest and soon into a large clearing.
“Here it is,” Smaller Sally announces proudly. “The heart and home of the Rebellion.” She surveys it with pride. “Oh, you can get off now,” she adds. I slide off immediately and take off my gloves to rub my back. It feels really good to be on solid ground again.
I take in the camp. Tents are clustered around the edges, each of them approximately three meters away from the other. In the center is a bonfire with a large kettle brewing over it. Around the fire lie logs as improvised chairs.
“Hey! Mike, Smaller Sally, Nathan, Anna! You’re just in time for lunch!” The call comes from a woman in her early thirties stirring the pot.
“Wonderful,” Mike says, taking the snowmobiles into a wooden shed on the edge of the clearing. “And we brought a new recruit.” Smaller Sally gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder and I step forward.
“How wonderful.” The woman walks up to me and shakes my hand. “I’m Big Sal,” she says. Her hand is rough and warm and her handshake is firm.
“Molly.”
“Welcome to the Rebellion, Molly. I hope you like soup.” Then she addresses the rest of the camp.
“EVERYONE, FORM A LINE! DINNER IS READY!!!”
Immediately, everyone drops what they’re doing, pulls out bowls, and scrambles to the center. Big Sal quickly relocates to the bonfire and begins distribution of the soup, often waving the ladle around threateningly, shouting to keep the line straight.
“C’mon, Molly,” Smaller Sally says. “Let’s eat.” She pulls me up to the back of the line. I twist each of my fingers in nervous anxiety before we make it to the front. When it’s my turn, Big Sal magically produces an extra bowl, set of wooden utensils, and small metal knife for me. Does she always have extra tableware with her? I wonder.
She looks at me menacingly and says,“Don’t lose this.”
I nod.
“Of course not.” And I mean it. I left a lot behind to get here and I intend for my life here to be perfect. I won’t let anything go wrong, not even something as simple as a lost spoon.
I sit next to Smaller Sally on a log. Once everybody settles down, Mike begins
Through the excitement and the confusion, a grain of fear grows in me. Dreams don’t come true for free. What is the price that I have to pay for this? I’m not the best person and I’m not the worst, but no matter who or what I am, this doesn’t seem right. I never worked for my dream. I haven’t built my life around leaving Hopetown or helping people. I’ve built it around coming to terms with my own powerlessness.
But despite all that, my dream came to me. It was given to me, just like that. Part of me thinks, I don’t deserve this, but the other half is screaming with joy, and I can’t shut it up.
“We’re almost there!” Smaller Sally shouts. “Less than twenty minutes.”
I suffer the last twenty minutes in silence. Meanwhile, I note, we have started going uphill and have been rising at a gradual slope for approximately half an hour. I sneak a look back and instantly forgive the discomfort of the ride.
Holy shit.
I can see just about everything we’ve passed for the last hour and a half. It’s stunningly gorgeous. I can see more of the world every second right now than I have ever seen before. The world is spread out beneath me and the wind is caught in my hair, and I feel powerful. I almost forget about the terror of gravity and the churning in my stomach, because on top of this mountain, I am in control of everything below it.
Eventually, the view back towards Hopetown is obscured by forest, but the view to the Northeast is equally stunning. We ride single file up a narrow cliff pass. To the left is a steep drop where I can see kilometers and kilometers of forest spreading out like a green carpet. Everything is covered with a thick coat of snow. The wind plays the icicles on the pine trees in melodic clinking. We ride into another forest and soon into a large clearing.
“Here it is,” Smaller Sally announces proudly. “The heart and home of the Rebellion.” She surveys it with pride. “Oh, you can get off now,” she adds. I slide off immediately and take off my gloves to rub my back. It feels really good to be on solid ground again.
I take in the camp. Tents are clustered around the edges, each of them approximately three meters away from the other. In the center is a bonfire with a large kettle brewing over it. Around the fire lie logs as improvised chairs.
“Hey! Mike, Smaller Sally, Nathan, Anna! You’re just in time for lunch!” The call comes from a woman in her early thirties stirring the pot.
“Wonderful,” Mike says, taking the snowmobiles into a wooden shed on the edge of the clearing. “And we brought a new recruit.” Smaller Sally gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder and I step forward.
“How wonderful.” The woman walks up to me and shakes my hand. “I’m Big Sal,” she says. Her hand is rough and warm and her handshake is firm.
“Molly.”
“Welcome to the Rebellion, Molly. I hope you like soup.” Then she addresses the rest of the camp.
“EVERYONE, FORM A LINE! DINNER IS READY!!!”
Immediately, everyone drops what they’re doing, pulls out bowls, and scrambles to the center. Big Sal quickly relocates to the bonfire and begins distribution of the soup, often waving the ladle around threateningly, shouting to keep the line straight.
“C’mon, Molly,” Smaller Sally says. “Let’s eat.” She pulls me up to the back of the line. I twist each of my fingers in nervous anxiety before we make it to the front. When it’s my turn, Big Sal magically produces an extra bowl, set of wooden utensils, and small metal knife for me. Does she always have extra tableware with her? I wonder.
She looks at me menacingly and says,“Don’t lose this.”
I nod.
“Of course not.” And I mean it. I left a lot behind to get here and I intend for my life here to be perfect. I won’t let anything go wrong, not even something as simple as a lost spoon.
I sit next to Smaller Sally on a log. Once everybody settles down, Mike begins
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