by Forest Grene

Created on: February 26, 2009

The Unravelling.

From the moment she got into her car, she knew if her unsteady life were ever to look the same again, it would only be in the form of a lingering flashback. Cassandra lurched her brown Accord to a halt, and took stock of what she had with her. Her burgundy embroidered tassel purse, the one she loved to pull across her torso like a satchel, sat on the passenger seat. It bulged with her jeans, her favourite Sarah T-shirt (obtained at the concert), a sandwich, some water, granola bars, an odd wooden talis-man from Cathy who went to Morocco, deodorant, a full change of under-clothing, twenty bucks and her small camera, not digital. As well, there were two rolls of film, mostly of wildlife: an eagle hawk, a doe and a majestic buck, rarely seen together, and of a most amazing florescent orange alfalfa field, dancing ablaze in the breeze. Her camera was her future, one that she hoped would include her biology degree, in the works, and her completed psychology degree. She would check out nature while driving and her spirit danced upon discovering the beauty. Eventually she wanted to do nature articles for magazines and maybe even documentaries.

Working at the Rock Museum four days a week, taking photos when she could and attending school consumed more time than Cassandra had each day. She had tried these last seven years in school to streamline everything from making dinner, shaving her legs and flossing her teeth all at the same time, to trying several different relationships. When the call came from her father, she did not hesitate. He had not told her much, only that he needed to see her it had been two years and he was only eight hours away. When there is not time to stop and think, there is not time for guilt. So, she rushed to him.

Cassandra had forgotten to tell her roommate, also a student, that she would be gone forshe did not even know how long it would be. She would call from the next gas station. Betty would worry; she was caring and they got along well. Betty was doing an archaeology degree and interestingly, most of her on site work was in Alberta. Maybe she should have invited her along? Cassandra shook her head. She was not used to asking for help.

Cassandra focused on the sweeping road, back and forth. The trees stood like statues: they waited. Each torso-like trunk inhaled. Several leaned over the frozen rock face, tearing more intrusively into the air. Was that defiance, she wondered? The forest exhaled and shimmered.

Cassandra and her

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