The Boy in the woods

There's a story around here that, twenty years ago, ten year old Damon Rush, went missing in the wild woods of Oregon. Over the years there have been reports of the boy being spotted. The only thing, is that he is still a ten year old boy.

The people swear up and down that it is Damon, even giving a description of the boy, right down to his braces. The reports are swept under the rug, as people have seen the missing bulletins still up in various places around town.

I am going to look for Damon. My name is Diamond Rush, Damon is my twin brother.

"Di, you can't be serious about this, it's too dangerous!"

"I understand your concerns Jax, but I need to do this. I can still feel him, and it is growing stronger, he is still out there."

"You're insane, a thirty year old woman traipsing off into the woods alone to find a dead brother. I'm begging you, please don't do this."

I hoist the eighty pound backpack onto my shoulder and turn to my dearest friend Jax Cambridge.

"I love you Jax, but I have to do this. It's like he's calling to me, I have to see for myself."

I carry my burden to the truck and throw it in the back.

"Don't forget your promise to me Jax. You are to tell no one where I've gone."

"Yeah, I promise and you don't forget to contact me as we planned."

"I promise."

I kiss Jax goodbye.

"I love you Jax."

"I love you Di."

I drive my truck about a hundred miles into the wild woods, down an old logging road that is almost completely overgrown now, but I know the trail well. I have been out here many times over the years.

My destination is an old dilapidated saw mill that we used to play in when our parents brought us camping up here. This is where Damon went missing.

My truck rolls to a slow stop near an open, rock hard patch of dirt, where grass no longer grows. I grab my backpack and drop it on the barren dirt.

This is where we always set up camp. The large stone campfire circle is still in place and I smile, remembering all of us running around gathering rocks just the right size to build it.

I reach in my back pocket and retrieve my tiny pup tent. It's just big enough for me to shimmy into. I pull two folded braces from a pocket on my backpack, and pop them open, I thread them through the ends of the tent, and "Voila"!, home sweet home. I unattatch my sleeping bag from the top of my backpack and unroll it inside.

I walk around gathering firewood and laugh when I come up a large tree branch. Damon always wanted to gather the bigger pieces, because they would last longer, and we didn't have to gather so much wood. Dad broke him of that, when he made him chop it up.

"I'll be back for you," I laugh.

The sun is high and it's getting hot out here. I make my way to the old saw mill where a cool breeze cuts through the shadows and skeletons of the deteriorating building. I stand in the belly of the beast, looking up and around me, still amazed at the massiveness of it.

The metal beamed ceiling looms far above me, with beams, rods, chains and a variety of other workings needed to operate the one time progressive business, now left to die and give nature an interesting platform to rebuild upon.

Dad used to tease that we would move here one day, live in the old saw mill. All of us kids loved the idea, but Mom said no, it would be too much dusting.

The graffiti that dad had let us make, was barely visible now, and the chain to the overhead crane didn't look like it would hold the weight of a ten year old any more. The links are big enough to use as handholds and footing. We could spend hours swinging to and fro on the giant chain. I can still see us running wild, laughing and screaming.

I remember my oldest brother Andrew, got his foot stuck in one of the links and fell head down. We left him dangling there as we laughed our asses off. Finally getting dad, he too had a good laugh, before freeing his stranded son.

I hold my arms up and out and shout as loud as I can.

"DAMON, I'M HERE!" I hear a sudden rush of wings and angry chirps and chatters of birds, as I disturb their tranquility. I close my eyes and whisper.

"I'm here Damon." I hear the soft groan of metal against metal and smile, looking at the chain, which is now swinging ever so slightly.

I head back out to my campsite and start setting up my fire pit for tonight. I close my eyes and clear my mind and listen, I hear the trickling of water and smile.

I grab my filtering water bottle from my bag and stick it in the side pocket of my pants and take off for the little stream. I remember there was a mountain of blackberry and raspberry bushes lining the stream and wild plum trees everywhere.

As I walk, the rushing water gets louder. I catch a glimpse of something from the corner of my eye, and stop to look, but there is nothing there. I continue to the stream, with a smile on my lips, as a flush of warmth spreads through me.

The light reflecting off the water is blinding at first, but it's a joyous sight. I sit on an old log and remove my boots and socks, stepping into the ice cold water.

We used to play and bathe in this stream. There is a small granite waterfall up stream a bit, that's where we would get our drinking water. My dad and uncle were survivalists and taught all of us kids about it too.

All of us learned to start a fire with various items, what kind of wood would burn the longest, what made good kindling, how to stack the wood. We also learned the different trees and foliage. What plants had medicinal purpose and which ones to eat as a snack.

I scoop up some water and wipe the heat from my face, it feels amazing. And as I had remembered, there are tons of blackberries and raspberries growing wild everywhere. I walked down stream a piece, snacking on blackberries as I went.

I find the old Elm tree that we carved our initials into. I trace my fingertips over Damon's and feel a sense of peace settle over me. I remember that day so well. I wanted to carve my initials by myself and wound up cutting my finger. Damon cried just as much as I did.

I notice the sun is sitting lower in the sky and sadly head back to the campsite. While there is enough light, I write to Jax in my little journal as agreed. I will write anything I've seen and done and leave it in the glove box of the truck.

I tell him of setting up camp, the memories that flood my mind, eating blackberries, going to the old elm tree and the saw mill. And finally describing the beautiful sunset peeking through the trees and that I love him dearly. I also tell him I can feel Damon.

This will be my base camp to which I will return periodically, writing in the journal, as I look for my brother.

Once a month Jax will come here and collect the journal, leaving a new one in its place, along with anything I may need.

I start my campfire as the light fades, and pull out a tin of Spam, the last store bought food I will eat on this journey. Cutting it in thick slices, I cook it over the open fire.

I finally give in to the night, stripping my pants and shirt, I roll them up to use as a pillow and shimmy into my sleeping bag. The stillness of the night is deafening, as critters scurry about in the ground cover, the occasional hoot of an owl, the chirp of a cricket and the belch of a frog, but no city sounds.

As I lay there in my little nest, I begin to remember that horrible day.

We had just turned ten years old the week before. We had been there for three days when it happened. Damon wanted to go swimming, but I didn't feel good and didn't want to go. Dad and Andrew were out hunting and mom was out scavenging for supper, mushrooms, wild onions and such.

We were to never go anywhere alone, but I fell asleep and Damon left without my knowing. When mom got back, she woke me asking where Damon was, I told her I didn't know. We started calling his name and looking for him.

We met dad and Andrew as they were coming back with some rabbits. Everyone was frantic looking for him. We looked for hours, but no Damon. I sat on the bank near the waterfall and cried my heart out. It was my fault. I didn't have to go swimming, but I could have gone with him.

Dad drove back to town to report him missing and came back with the sheriff and some deputies, and they looked until dark. Dad insisted that we go home and he would come back the next day and search with the police and a search party.

Andrew had to hold me going home, practically sitting on me. I screamed and kicked, I didn't want to leave, I couldn't leave without Damon. They searched for Damon for a week, but he was never found.

I think my heart died that day, but I could still feel him. I could hear him sometimes, calling out to me. I was in counseling until I turned eighteen then I quit. I met Jax in counseling. He too had lost a brother that he was very close to and was having trouble processing it just like me. We just kind of gravitated to one another. We needed one another.

We remained friends over the years. I went to college and he joined the Marines, but we stayed in contact at all times. He stayed with me when he was on leave and we would swap our horror stories of failed relationships. Neither of us were able to fully commit to anyone. And that's how it's been for the last twenty years, crying on one another's shoulder.

The call of the night finally sings me to sleep as I see my brother's smiling face in my mind.

"I love you Damon."