For the Better

CW: This story contains small mentions of death.

“Everything is changing.” Those might be the truest words I’ve ever spoken, said to no one but the lovely cabin that stands before me. But I feel that they will hang in the air here in this place forever. I step into the car, place my foot on the gas, yet I hesitate putting pressure on it. I am not ready to leave my home behind.

I know I had to sell it. I do not make enough money to continue driving all the way here, especially with gas prices skyrocketing. Not if I want to be able to have luxuries such as heated and filtered water, decent clothes, even food. With my new apartment in the city, I can have all those things. It just hurts so badly to say goodbye.

The new owners of the cabin are moving in tomorrow, and I have to leave now. I can’t be here wishing for something I can no longer have when they arrive. I have to be gone. But I can stay here for a few more minutes. I look out my window to say my last farewells to my home.

Snow embracs the ground, fluffy and shining. I can see my breath as I slowly let it out as I take in the beauty of my cabin one last time.

Frost covers the window panes, which are almost opaque from the grime which has crept into them over the years. The chimney looks lonely, no longer letting out comforting wasps of warm smoke to make the winter nights more bearable. But the cabin itself stands stoically, as if accepting its fate. It seems to be telling me to be brave. 

I sit up a little straighter. If my home can be brave, then so can I. I think back on all the memories I have here, hope that doing so will make it a little easier.

My first day of eighth grade. Mom is watching me take off my coat after a horrible day, and she sees the tears glistening on my face. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask what is wrong, just takes me over to the fireplace where gentle flames are crackling. She fetches a blanket and a mug of cocoa, then sits beside me. The fire roars brighter as I start to sob in her arms, as if it is trying to comfort me on its own.

The day I finally got a job. The cabin is brighter than usual, all the bulbs seem to have been replaced. I celebrate late into the night, and fall asleep watching snow fall on the windowsills outside. The floor is frigid cold, but it seems to warm ever so slightly as I drift off, the house inviting me to rest with it.

The day Dad got sick. I screamed, raged, pounded my fist against the wall. I wanted to break it. I was so angry. But the cabin never breaks, it just sits there and allows me to hit it again and again.

The day I met the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The house creaks all day, like it is crying happy tears for me. 

The day that person left me. The house is silent, knowing I need to be alone.

The day Mom passed. The cabin seems to die with her.

There are tears in my eyes as I finish reliving my memories. The cabin has always been braver than I was. It helped me through my hardest times and celebrated with me in my best times. It did not die with Mom, it was preparing me, trying to help me to cope with the grief on my own. Telling me to grow up, to change for the better.

It knew this moment was coming, when we would have to say goodbye.

I open the door to my car. It sticks for a moment, but I push it harder and it complies. I slowly walk up to my beautiful home. Snow crunches beneath my feet, and the air around me is so cold and damp that little icicles alight on my lashes. The outdoors smell of fresh pine, and birds are chirping nearby. 

As I reach the cabin, I gently lay my hand on it. The house is warm, and after a second of hesitation I rest my forehead on it. “I’m going to miss you,” I whisper. “I know you can’t hear me, that you’re not really alive, but sometimes it seems as if you are. So… Thank you for everything. You’ve saved my life so many times.” 

The cabin seems to shudder as I slowly, slowly, remove my head, and then my hand from the wooden beams. I walk back to my car, get in again. This time I don’t hesitate for long. I push the gas, and back out of the driveway. As I drive along the rarely used road, I feel a sense of peace that I haven’t had for a very long time. 

The new owners of my home will take care of it. They will grow to love the cabin as much as I did… As much as I still do. 

I am ready to start a new job, one that pays better. I’m ready to move into my apartment, to start a new life there. Prepared to find new friends, and maybe a new love, whom I would grow old with. Possibly even a new true home, eventually, one which would help me as much as the cabin has. Or maybe not. But I am ready for whatever adventures fate has up its sleeve for me, because I know I can survive them. The cabin taught me how to do that.

As I pull up to my apartment, walk inside, and begin unpacking, I feel the ghost of a smile creep onto my face. I haven't smiled at all since Mom died, and it feels good.

Everything is changing, yes. But maybe, just maybe, it is all changing for the better.