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This will be my last story for a while, I have to unsub as I'll be without a reliable computer for an unknown period of time. I hope this takes me out with a bang. Thanks to the tfwf and especially Phil(see if you can catch my subtle nod of thanks) for helping me make this readable. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- A Love Story by Alan Teauge Bittig The day begins perfectly. I wake before dawn and pull Amy out of the blue sleeping bag we're sharing. "Come'on," I say, "I'm gonna take you to the top of the world." She simply nods, her eyes still shut and her hair done up in a beautiful style by the sandman. Dawn comes, plastering the sky with a million pastel shades of pink and yellow. Together, hand in hand, we follow an old, beaten foot trail, trying to find our way in the increasing light. Reaching the pinnacle of the trail moments before sunrise, we throw our arms tightly around each other we watch the light glitter over the lake. It is a beautiful day, I can see for a thousand miles in each direction. I watch the shadows retreat into the dense pine forests and climb the bare brown hills. Together, looking forward into our future, we witness, like no other time before, the sun grace the late summer fields of western Montana with another day. We spend a long and happy day sitting alone at the top of the world, sandwiched silently between the clouds. We play with the thin grass and split the petals from the tiny, fragile yellow flowers. I can say without fear of hyperbole that it is the most perfect day in creation. Eventually, I look at my watch and realize that it is almost seven thirty. Like all great things, the day must end, and with a sigh of regret I stand up. "Let's go, Amy," I say. "Why?" "Your parents are gonna get worried about us." "Oh yeah, I guess. But then, what does it matter, this is too perfect, why can't we just stay up here forever?" "Well, the university starts back up in a week, and like I said, your mom's gonna come looking for us." I reach my hand towards her sprawled figure. "Let her come," laughs Amy, ignoring the aid. "That's not fair to her." "Yeah," she says, standing, "I guess it's not." We take a final look at the awe inspiring view and start back down the trail. We move quickly and make good time. We have reached the halfway point when Amy suddenly stops. "Look," she shouts, clapping her hands together like a small child. "Whaddya see?" I ask with a smile. The world is warm and friendly today. I am in love and that is all that matters. "Those deer," she giggles, "look at them, they seem like such an odd couple." "Huh?" I ask, "I don't see 'em." "Down there, under that huge ponderosa next to the creek." I turn my head, shielding my eyes against the brilliant afternoon sun with my hand. In the wash, almost hidden by a tall stand of red barked pines, are two silent deer, a buck and a doe. They are calmly drinking the water, unaware of the distant voyeurs staring down at them. "What's so odd about them, Amy?" "Look at them through the binoculars!" She hands them to me. I fidget with them for a second, adjusting them to my eyes and focusing, then I turn the glasses on the deer. "You're right!" I exclaim, "that doe can't be more than two years old but the buck is already turning grey." I examine him more closely. "Look at that rack, some hunters gonna be happy this fall." "Let's hope not." "Yeah," I laugh. "Whaddya think the attraction is between those two," she asks me. "I don't know, he seems like an old veteran, all scared and rough." "Uh-huh, and she's so young and pretty." "Must be mental, maybe." "I'll bet they're soul mates or something like that." "Yeah, sure," I giggle. Amy has always been an incurable romantic. I'm not an expert of biology or anything but it does strike me as somewhat odd. Still, it's a nice scene, and it's made Amy happy. I take her hand in mine and we continue down the trail. The air around us begins to cool and the sun disappears behind the towering mountain vistas that surround us. Amy pulls me close to her for warmth. "Amy?" I say. "What," she asks. I hesitate, torn between the bliss of ignorance and the desire to become vindicated. I decide to seize the day. "Do you really love me Amy?" "Of course I do," she replies. We walk in silence for another hundred yards. "Then what were you doing when you spent all that time with Jeff last winter." I can feel her body tense. "Look, Alan," she whispers, "this day has been perfect, please don't go into this." Her eyes are sealed shut and a single, forgotten tear hides between her lashes. "I need to know, Amy," I say. "Did you or didn't you?" I grab her arm, holding it tightly. "Please don't do this to me, Alan. Please." "I have to, I gotta know." I tighten my grip. Her insistence to remain silent only causes my curiosity to increase and my anger to deepen. "Let go!" she shrieks. "No! Not until you tell me if something happened between you and Jeff." The sun has set by now and the last light is fading from the sky. I can feel the wind pick up and hear it howl through the trees. "Goddamnit, Alan. Yes! Something did happen." Her eyes fly open and her lips pull back into a evil sneer. She kicks me, hard. I let go of her arm. "What happened?" "I fucked him, Alan," she says, her words slicing through my world, "and even though I felt bad about it then I think that now I'm gonna do it again!" "What!" I shriek. "Why?" "Because you're a bastard, and you're full of hate and you have nothing nice to say." She moves away from me. "You can take the most perfect moment in the world and you can still find time to forget about everything good and dredge up this piece of ancient history!" "Why would you do it?" I stammer. "Why would you go behind my back like that?" "It was a mistake," she whispers, "but then again, now I can see coming up here with you, no, going anywhere with you, being with you is a mistake too. My life is full of goddamn mistakes but shit if I'm gonna let this one last any longer." "Hey," I shout, my chest filling with self-righteous anger, "hey, don't try to pin this one on me, Amy. I'm not the one who was whoring around." "Maybe it wasn't whoring," she hisses, "maybe I love him." "If you do then your a liar." "Why's that?" "You kept telling me up there that you loved me." "You're right, Alan." She stares directly into my eyes, "I am a liar." This was unexpected. It is such a simple statement, and yet so incredibly cruel. "As soon as we get back to the cabin I'm leaving," I scream, trying hard to hide my medley of pained emotions. "Good," she says, "I'll give you thirty five cents so you can call Jeff for me when you get to town." "Oh shut up and let's get out of here before we kill each other." I start walking in the general direction of the cabin. In silence, maintaining a distance of at least three feet, Amy follows. It is a dark night, the moon is half-way hidden and the stars are dimmed by a light overcast. I can feel the wind cut into my face and chap my lips. In my fury I stumble over every rock on the trail. Suddenly, in the distance a light appears, bobbing and weaving amongst the trees. "That must be Renea looking for us," I say, my voice still full of anger and mild hatred. "Whatever," Amy says coldly. We wait in silence, and I am torn by an increadible catharsis of emotion. I'm confused and in my confusion, becoming increasingly angry. My love for this woman beside me wrestles with my rage. I am unsure as to whether or not I can forgive her. I want to, badly, but at the same time I can not help feeling persecuted. It's all her fault, I think to myself. I spit. She does not look at me. The light draws steadily closer, illuminating the forest. As it approaches I realize that it is not Renea, or anyone else I know for that matter. It is an old man, his hair tied neatly into waving braids. Closer and closer he comes, and as he does his figure becomes more distinct. I can make out the wrinkles on his forehead and the beads on his coat. He glows with an unhealthy, pale light. Around him hovers an unnatural and frightening aura. I am terrified of him. "What...what are you?" I ask. "I am a man," he replies. "Or rather, I was once a man, and now I am the remnants of that man I was." "Huh?" I manage to grunt. "I was once like you, or her. I was once alive and in being so, completely self-centered. I ignored my emotions because of pride and let anger convince me I was right, no matter how wrong I was." His eyes seem to be digging into my head. I tremble uncomfortably. "Then, a long time ago, I died, lonely and forgotten on this mountain." "And...but...well," stammers Amy, "if your dead why are you here?" "Perhaps to help you." "Perhaps?" I ask. "Perhaps," he says, "it depends on who you are and what you find sacred. My aid will either help you or curse you. It all depends on the color of your soul." "What do you want us to do?" I ask. My mind is spinning and my rational thought is beaten. "All I want you to do is to love each other." He extends his hand and scrapes the skin of my forehead, I can feel the warmth exit my body and crawl down my face. I cannot move, I am in shock. He turns to Amy, who, paralyzed with fear, remains as motionless as the night. His hand reaches forward, slowly carving a red X above her nose. He then starts to fade. "What did you just do?" I manage to ask. "Offer you a chance at salvation, and with it an equal opportunity for damnation." He disappears. I collapse to the ground, drenched with a cold and painful sweat. My stomach is turning. I manage a muffled scream and then I pass out. My vision slowly returns, along with a hideous headache. I attempt to stand, but fall back to the ground, smacking my knee on a rotting log. Pain shoots through my body. Something is wrong, I realize, I don't feel right. I lie still, trying to decide if I've died when I hear a man shriek in the night. I turn my head. Where is Amy, I wonder with a mild amount of panic, and who the hell is this screaming man. My eyes gradually adjust to the night, and I can make out his figure. He is standing about ten yards away from me, feeling himself up. I shake my head in disgust. Once again, I get the sensation that something is incorrect but I ignore it. I have more pressing problems to deal with at the moment. "Oh my god!" the man shrieks, running his hands over his body, "my chest, what the hell happened to my chest!" He continues to trace the contours of his figure, running his hands down his legs and across his head. With mild trepidation he digs into his pants. "Shit!" he screams, and the scream is so terrifying and ungodly that I shiver. "What the hell is this thing." He falls to the ground crying. I take another minute to calm myself and then attempt to stand again, this time successfully. The feelings of discomfort increase with each step I take towards the figure. "Amy," I shout into the darkness, "where are you, Amy!" "I'm...right...here," whimpers the odd man. "No!" I tell myself, that is not right. "No!" I say again, but reality begins to take hold. With fear I touch my head, pulling my hair. It's to long. At sunset I had a short, stylish Caeser cut, now it's at least shoulder length. I trace my form, trying to deny what my hands tell me is true. I am female, at least externally, and everything else turns black. How we get down the mountain, I cannot say, the memories are lost in a haze of mist and panicked shrieks. Amy stumbles over every root, shouting profanities and beating against his body. I take my violence and shock out on every inanimate object I can find, and by the time we see the glowing lights of the log vacation home my knuckles are a bloody pulp of torn skin and roaring nerves. I am crying. We both compose ourselves before knocking on the cabin door. I wipe the dirt off of my face and Amy rubs the tears away from his eyes. In my shock I am hoping that Jack and Renea, Amy's parents, will have some idea on how to return us to normal. My hopes are dashed when the door is answered by a ten year old boy. "Who are you?" asks the frightened child, his eyes glazed over. He holds the expression of someone who has just accidently cut thier arm off and does not yet comprehend the extent of the injury. "I live here," mutters Amy. "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my parents house." Her voice is trembling. She knows something bizare has happened, but she is trying hard to pretend it hasn't. The child's eyes take on a look of terror and apprehension. "Amy," the boy asks, "is that you Amy. Why are you a boy? What happened to you!" The child's eyes are hysterical. "I'm not sure," she replies. "I don't know... but... but... who are you anyway?" "It's me," the boy whispers. "Your daddy, Amy, it's me, Brey." "No!" shrieks Amy, retreating even further into her shell-shock. Behind the boy appears a girl who looks about twelve. I'm almost positive it is Renea. In terror, I kick the wall, unsure of what to do next. I can't stand it, I'm a woman and the girl I love is a man. Her parents are children again. Nothing seems right. "What...what happened to you two," asks the frightened child. "I don't know," I mutter. "We had a fight and then this..." "Oh my god, whatever it is I can't take it," shrieks Amy. "I'm a girl, and since when are girls supposed to feel like guys." She stops, shivering, I can read the shock in her eyes and the complete disbelief on her face. Brey and I look down, nothing seems right, the world seems to be composed of undesirable sensations and impossible images. It is as if the rules of of existance have changed, and our minds are racing to catch up with the new reality. It is a contest I am losing. Unfortunately, the penalty for loss appears to be my sanity. Amy continues, her voice trembling, "I don't actually look like a boy, do I?" She turns to me, grabbing my shoulder and pinching hard enough to bruise the skin. "Alan," she yells. "Alan, you're a girl now, but I'm not a boy, am I? Am I!?" I can't answer. Obviously I look like a girl, like a woman, like some kind of person that I wasn't before. I feel the pressure build in my forehead, followed by an increasing ringing in my ears. "I don't know," I shriek. "I don't know, I can't stand this shit, it's not right, it's wrong. No!" I rush past the disoriented crowd and dart upstairs, hoping to inspect my body in the bathroom mirror, hoping, somehow, that the female I feel under my clothing is some sort of hallucination. Perhaps, I rationalize as I rush up the stairs, there was some kind of insane mold on the bread we ate at noon. We are not crazy or transformed, I think, only under the influence of some foul fungus. I slowly climb the poorly lit staircase, every shadow leaping out of the wall and attacking my unfocused eyes eyes. The hallway at the top of the passage is black, blacker than anything I have ever seen before. I begin to stumble my way down it, feeling the uncomfortable movement of my new figure. I reach the bathroom door and in a fit of panic throw the light switch. Light takes over the world, I can see each spot on the doors wood paneling, read each grain in its beams. In front of it, wearing only pair of boxer shorts, is a fifty year old man. Everything seems to have gone wrong in such a short period of time. I blame myself, of course, and my pig headed argument with Amy. I stare at the man, studying his vericose viens and the trail of white hair that leads down his chest. I'm afraid to ask the question, but I need to know. "Dawson," I mutter, "Is that you, bud?" "Yeah," he says in a state of disbelief. "And you better be Amy." "Na...na....no," I stammer, "it's me, Alan." "My god, Alan, and I thought I had it bad, and Renea, I thought she had it pretty bad." "Isn't Renea, well, she compared to you, she's got it good, she looks like she's twelve or something." "No, that was Linda down there. Renea's locked herself in the bathroom. She looks like she's sixty years old." "Shit man, what the hell happened?" I ask. "Don't know, man, it just hit us. We were in the living room and wham, this guy just shows up. He did everything. Whoever the hell he is I'm ready to pound his goddamn face into the ground." He slams his fist into the wall in an act of misdirected rage. I can understand his anger, I feel it too. "Man, why the hell did he age you?" "I don't know, the guy was a freak with some kinda wizard powers or something. He was talking about understanding life better and some crap like that." "Understanding life better?" "Yeah. I don't know what he was talking about. One minute we're all fighting and the next..." "Fighting, why were you people fighting?" A connection is forming in my mind, and despite my best attempts to pull them apart, the loose ends are knotting together. "Well...you know...stuff," he pauses, his ancient, wrinkled face turning red. "I guess there's no reason to hide it anymore. Me and Renea have been sleeping together for almost a year now. Linda caught us this evening." "Fuck!" "And they got all pissy and acted like we were doing it on purpose to hurt them or something." All sympathy I felt for this man has vanished. Linda has been my best friend since childhood, and Brey, Amy's father, is a man I have a deep respect for. "Why the hell would you do something like that, Dawson?" "Fun, I guess, but it's not like I don't care about Linda. That's what the guy acted like. He was all going like me and Renea were just using our lovers or something. It was a tribunal." He slumps against the wall. "And he started talking about how we would never get what life was about if we kept on going in the direction we were going," he continues. "You know, alot of other stupid bullshit." "I can't believe it," I scream. "This guy is some kinda sick freak or something. He takes assholes like you and just ages them. But the innocents like me, what does he do to us? He turns us into women." "Yeah," mutters Dawson. "Innocents, that was somewhere in the guys speech. He made it seem like Brey and Linda were innocents." "What the hell is wrong with this picture," I scream. "How could something like this happen?" I'm on the verge of crying. In less than twenty-four hours the foundations my life has been built on have collapsed. "Do you think I know," Dawson shouts. "If I did I'd be myself again, that's for goddamn sure." "I can't believe you'd do that to Linda. If you ask me you deserve all this shit you got." "Go to hell." "Sorry." "Whatever, just go away." He turns and walks back into the bedroom he was sharing with Linda. Another fear takes over my body. Am I older too? Or am I a stupid kid again. I rush to my room, hoping to find out. What I find amazes me. It doesn't calm me down any, but it eases some of my worry. I still look like a normal twenty year old kid, except, of course, for the fact that I'm a woman. In shock I climb back downstairs and join my lover, her father, and my best friend in a shocked a silent vigil. Eventually we are joined by the other two. We sit, there is nothing else we can do, except maybe hope and pray, and we all do that too. Otherwise, we don't move. We eat in silence, sleep in silence, and wake in silence. The first full day of our new lives passes without anyone even muttering a word. Brey and Linda are the exceptions. At noon they begin to whisper silently to each other. Eventually they stand and walk together out of the room, exiting the hellish atmosphere of the cabin for a more natural environment. What do those two know that I don't? I wonder. Curious, bored, and hoping to momentarily take my mind off of my predicament I stand and follow them. My skin moves in an unpleasant way and my clothes hang off of my body uncomfortably. Still, I grit my teeth and ignore the odd sensations that come with each step. Outside the sun is shining, the birds are whistling some happy, pleasant tune. A dry wind cools the sweat that has accumulated on my body inside the sticky cabin. I sigh. Brey and Linda are sitting under a tree, staring at the clouds. I may be mistaken but I can almost see a smile on their lips. "Alan," says Brey in a solemn voice. "I knew you'd follow us, we gotta talk to you." "About what," I mutter. "Everything," laughs Linda. "Well," I say with a sneer, "you two seem to be taking all this well." "That's because we've had a chance to talk about it, figure out what's really going on here." "And what the hell would that be, and does it give me an answer on how to get to what I was before?" "In some ways, yeah, I guess it does," says Brey. "Sit down." I follow his directions, ignoring the additional mental anguish that comes with each stretch of my messed up skin. "Alan, what that old guy did was give us another chance to live right." "Huh?" "None of us were doing it, we were all wrapped up in a million different mistakes that couldn't be fixed if things were left the way they were before." "But how does adding three decades to Dawson's life allow him to live better. How does putting me in a position where I'm about to slash my goddamn wrists help me live better, and you guys, kids again, what's up with that?" "Dawson and my wife were loveless, uncaring people. What happens now is they're forced to depend on each other, and maybe that way learn to like something besides themselves." "I don't follow." "Of course you don't," says Linda, "not yet at least, just listen for a few minutes." "Whatever." "It's like this. Dawson and Renea are the kind of people who take everything as being for their purpose only, you know, and they needed to be put in a position where the feelings of someone else become important. "It doesn't matter that they're closer to death, because if they died acting like they do now then their life would have been worthless. It's like, now, even though they're older, they get a chance to live." "And then," adds Brey, "you got people like me and Linda. All of our lives we've sat still and let other people walk all over us, so now we get thrown back into our childhood to maybe start acting normal. We're the opposite, they spent all of their time with the me, me, me, we spent all ours with the give and never take. Either way it's a terrible way to live." "You and Amy," says Linda, "are a perfect example of what a great couple should be like." "So then," I ask, "why did he punish an innocent like me?" "It's not punishment, Alan, it's a new opportunity. And you're not an innocent. You couldn't forgive her for something that happened an eternity ago." "But she broke my trust." "Not everything in this world depends on trust. Sometimes love is a bunch of blind lies, I don't care what the self-help people say, you sit there and you lie to yourself and you lie to your lover and you lie to all the people around you. That isn't what matters, what matters are the emotions." She stands, letting the light run through her pale brown hair. For a minute I am reminded of the child that I once knew. The child I fell in love with and have never hated. I look at Linda and realize how little she has changed. Even after ten years she remains as naive and faithful as she was as a kid. That is why she has always been one of the beautiful people. "You have something special with Amy, Alan," she continues. "The way you look into each others eyes and the way you touch each other gently on the hands when your bored. You need to love her, or you'll never be complete." "You have had your places reversed," says Brey, "to teach you that it does not matter who or what you are." "You just need to love her," adds Linda. "Otherwise you're gonna be lost forever." "But how can I love a man?" I whimper. "You don't get it yet," she says, somewhat irritated, "it's not loving a man or a woman. Amy could be a donkey and you could be a little white rabbit for all any of it matters. I know this sounds Hallmarky but you're different pieces of the same puzzle. You're the perfect blending of two minds into a single, beautiful soul. Don't you get it, that's why the guy did this to you. That's why your the way you are now. Until you understand this you'll never be happy again. But once you do you'll be in heaven." "You're saying that I should just forget that she went behind my back? But what about you, you haven't forgiven Dawson? At least you better not have forgiven him." "No, and Brey hasn't forgiven Renea, but it's different for us. We were settlers, we took a mediocre piece of crap and now we're paying for it. You got the shiny new apple, the cookie. You found the other half of your soul. Something like that shouldn't be broken for a stupid argument or a fling that ended months ago. "Have you ever considered that maybe the reason it was so important to you is because you're afraid of how deeply you depend on Amy. That's the same reason she did the thing with Jeff. She saw, maybe subconsciously, that she would never be whole without you and so she tried to avoid the work and the commitment and the pain that takes. "Alan, you're just as afraid as she is, but you're luckier than anyone else. Don't you get it? You have one of them there fabled soul mates, the things of fiction and chick-flicks. You're set!" "I...I don't know," I whisper. Brey and Linda feel otherwise. Silently, without looking at me, they walk back into the house, leaving me alone to contemplate nature, both that of the world and that of man. I look west, towards the towering cliffs and the dense, blue forests. I sigh. Somewhere up there, I realize, that old buck is standing next to his young bride. Knowing, perhaps, that she could have any stud, but realizing that for some emotional reason she wants only him. At that moment I wake up. At that moment I see the world as it truly is. I re-enter the dark cavern, avoiding the painful glances of Dawson and Renea. Linda looks at me and nods her head, sending me a warm and knowing smile. 'Go to him' her eyes say, 'become complete.' I know what I must do. I walk over to Amy's corner and look deep into his brilliant green eyes. Somewhere inside of them, beyond the craggy face and the rough jaw I can see a pale glimmer of what I once loved. I open my mouth, close it again. I sit down and shut my eyes. "I'm not sure why I got so mad at you, Amy," I whisper. "I am," she replies, her head hung low, "I know exactly why you did and I can't blame you." "No," I say, "you're wrong, I was wrong to get so indignant over ancient history. You loved me up there and that's all that should've mattered." "I...I still kinda do love you Alan," he mutters. "I do too," I say under a hushed breath. "What the hell is wrong with me," I whimper, "why do I always have to go out and actively tear apart anything good I have." "I don't know," he says, a tear forming in his eye, "but I think I do it too, that's what Jeff was all about. Me and you, we were getting along too well, I couldn't allow myself to be happy." "Why not!" I demand, "why do we do this kinda stuff to ourselves, why?" By this time I am crying as well. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" We both look away from each other, trying to hide the tears, trying to hide the regret. Total silence descends. "Goddamnit," shrieks Dawson suddenly, "I can't stand this quietness." "Well what the hell do you want me to do about it," I ask, my voice filled with two days worth of anger and confusion, coupled with the uncomfortable medley of emotions I feel for Amy. "Do you think I'm some kinda barmaid set to drudge up a party for your hairy ass?" "Not at all, you stupid bitch," he replies coldly. Silence again, painful silence. I can't stand it either. Moving slowly I cross the room and approach the old, beaten record player. On it sits the only piece of music in the building, the 'Canon in D major,' by Pachebel. In an effort to kill the painful silence my hand slams against the on switch as my head turns to look at Amy, pulling my lips into a smile. I want to show him that the music is intended to drown out any thoughts of hate or rage that might linger in my mind. The needle jumps, misting the air with a fine, ancient dust. For a moment the speakers shoot static, and then it begins. The subtle violins take on an essence of their own, filling the room with beautiful and at the same time tragic music. I feel an infinitesimally small, silent tear bud in the corner of my eye. A similar gleam of light trails it way down Amy's face. Everything is suddenly right in the world. Outside the light dims and the clouds gather. Slowly, without any rush, the piece works its way towards it crescendo, replacing intensity and anger with pure, wonderful joy. In the pale light Amy reaches out to me. We clasp hands. I have never danced to a classical piece, and I have never followed anothers lead, but it is impossible to move poorly to the magical music that is filling the room. Calmly, lovingly, we canvas the floor, staring deep into each others eyes. Nothing seems wrong, everything makes sense. His hands trace my figure, pulling me closer. There are still tears in my eyes, but they are tears of love and joy. Whoever I am, whatever I become, I know that Amy will stand beside me, leading when necessary, following at other times. Soon we are joined by Brey and Linda, then, tepidly, the adulturous Renea and Dawson. There is no verbal invitation, it is not needed, we simply dance, locked in eternal embrace with our soul mates. Vonnegut once said that 'everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.' It is a perfect description of this moment. In loud, wonderful pulls the violins finish, dying again, but leaving in their wake six people who have found god. "I love you Amy Lynn," I whisper. "I love you like I've never loved anyone before and like I'll never love anyone again." "I love you too, Alan," she says through sobs of joy. "Whatever you are and wherever you are, I do." The night deepens and the lights come on. I think of the torn and battered buck, watching, perhaps, from the woods as three black figures move in and out of the window, casting black shadows in it's white field of illumination. I can picture him, standing next to his doe, loving her and loving life. I know he enjoys the song that repeatedly echoes from the cabin, filling the woods with the sounds of life and happiness. In my mind I wish him luck, then return my attention to Amy. "Do you forgive me?" he asks. "No," I reply. "How can I forgive someone I'm not angry at?"