The Trail

The trail was cracked and dry so he poured a little water on it to feed the ants.

“Don’t waste that” his father called back, “We need that.”

His father kept on trudging up the trail, his back wet with sweat. His mother followed close behind carrying a large rucksack – she always carried the things, she said she preferred to know where everything was at all times.

They were stranger now, stranger than before though he had remained pretty much the same, despite the accident.

He didn’t even miss his sister, even deep down he didn’t.

He didn’t cry when it all happened. His mother cried a lot and his father went out more and would come home late and the only times his father spoke to him was when he told him off for not being tidy enough.

She had been the favourite, she received the best marks at school and all of the awards. Without her around the family unit had little to hope for and they certainly weren’t going to find it in him.

Up ahead his father stopped and signalled ‘stop’ with his hand. He and his mother joined him at the mouth of the cave, where they sat and ate sandwiches in silence.

He didn’t like the bush, he liked the city where there was life, colour and movement. The bush seemed too quiet, too despondent – he didn’t want to go to the bush but as a young boy you don’t get much say in what happens to you.

The sandwiches were good, at least. His mother could make a good sandwich and always made sure her hair looked nice.

“You can finish that on the way” his father said as he got up and took off up the trail. His mother said nothing as she followed on after him.

The boy got up, put the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, kicked a stone and set off after his parents.

He dared not ask how much further it was, all he could see was the snaking trail disappear ahead into more and more trees with no sign of the peak.

The sun squeezed through the leaves and he sipped from the tepid water bottle. Was this all really worth the effort? An hour or so later the trio reached the summit of the mountain.

Bare pink and grey rocks formed the jagged peak and he watched his father dart about the boulders, looking for the opportune spot.

His father signalled ‘come here’ and he and his mother set off in his direction.

His father pulled out a folded piece of paper and read from it aloud, choking on some words. It was quite emotive, all about his sister and how she was the light of his life blah, blah, blah.

His mother buried her head in her hands and sobbed. He simply stood there, as if something was blocking his insides from feeling much of anything.

At the end of it, his father folded the note and put it in his pocket. He took from the mother’s rucksack a decorative tin. He kissed it, opened the lid and tossed the ashes into the wind.

The blooming cloud of ash whipped away, far out across the sky and disappeared. No words were spoken as they walked back down the mountain.

At the car park, his mother asked him to run back to the cave to collect the lunchbox left behind. He felt he was being punished for something yet again, though he complied and set off into the bush to retrieve it.

He picked up a stick and whacked the trees and small plants lining the path. He thought what family life would now be like without her – if only his parents weren’t as strange as they were.

In the cave, he found the lunchbox sitting there - a team of ants formed a line inside, chipping at large crumbs with their pincers and hauling them away.

On his way back down to the car park, he thought of things he could say to his parents - things from his heart he really felt. He smashed his stick into the forked trunk of a towering gum and threw it into the undergrowth.

He walked out into the carpark, looking forward to discussing important issues with his parents – but the car was not there. The line of ants began crawling from the lunchbox on to his hand and further on up his arm.