Dying to See You Again | Teen Ink

Dying to See You Again

May 29, 2015
By jasonferrie BRONZE, Upper St. Clair, Pennsylvania
jasonferrie BRONZE, Upper St. Clair, Pennsylvania
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

It’s a humid summer day nearing the end of August. I have a tradition to go on a road trip every year to visit my friend Joey, who moved to Denver about four years ago. I haven’t visited Joey since last September and am anxious to finally see him again. On the plane ride I think about all the fun things we’ll do together once we reunite; we’ll go skiing in the mountains; we’ll aimlessly stroll through the city in day, and relax by a campfire in the evening; we’ll go fishing together, like we always used to before Joey moved. The plane lands and I race off to the parking lot, where Joey is supposed to pick me up. I search for him for a while and start to get frustrated when I don’t find him. Where is he? I call a cab and arrive at his home about twenty minutes later, just as the sun begins to set. I run up to his front door bursting with excitement and knock. At first there is no response, but I start to hear footsteps coming from inside the house. The door creaks open and Joey’s mother peeks out. She looks surprised, almost as if she didn’t know I was coming. Suddenly, her face turns pale. Her odd countenance tells me that something is up.
“Oh, Jack, hello dear, please come in. We have to talk.” I don’t think much of it. I walk in through the foyer and into the den, where she asks me to have a seat.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Holland. How have you been?” I ask. There is a pause.
“Where’s Joey?” I add. “We were supposed to meet up at the airport but I couldn’t find him.” Another pause follows. Joey’s mother now has a pale, distraught look on her face. I know something is wrong.
“Jack I don’t know how to tell you this, but Joey is missing.” It takes me a second to process her words, and I promptly deny them.
“You’re lying,” I claim, half-seriously. I know she wouldn’t joke about that. She silently shakes her head no.
“He told me he was going up to Maybelle last week and he never came back.”
Maybelle was the name of the woods that we always visit when I’m here. At this point I am in shock. I am confused. Mrs. Holland’s voice cracks as she holds back her tears.
“I’m sorry you came all the way out here only to hear this terrible news. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”


I lie in the guest bedroom hours later, still in shock from the news. I decide that I’m not going to just sit here while my friend is missing. I am going to find him, I’ll scour all of Maybelle if I have to. I got up, walked out the back door and began my trek to find Joey. As I arrive to the woods I remember how large it is. Maybelle is a huge stretch of woods, covering acres upon acres of land. About fifteen minutes into my search I come across the pond that Joey and I always fish at. The memories start to come back, causing a tear to stream down my face. Doubt fills my mind. Joey’s been missing for a week and he hasn’t been found, he’s probably already dead. This is the first place they’d search for him, there’s no way he’s in here. Ignoring my thoughts, I continue forward for the next few hours searching for my friend, and I’ve lost track of my position. It’s getting dark and I decide to call it a night. I’m too tired to construct a hut to sleep in, so I lie down in the dirt and almost instantly fall asleep.
I wake up to the distant sound of a gunshot. At first my mind wanders, but then I come to the conclusion it’s just a hunter looking for raccoons or something. I hear a rustle in the leaves. Now I start to worry. I prop myself up to investigate when I see two gleaming eyes in the distance. Someone, or something, is here with me. I spot the creature.
I stand motionless in the place, frozen in fear - too afraid to make a move. My body is numb, my mind blank. It sees me. I know it sees me, and it’s coming for me. It begins to creep toward me. I regain mentality and make a break in the other direction. It was instinctive - my natural fight-or-flight response, and I wasn’t going to stick around to fight whatever it was. The massive animal pursues, sprinting after me with all of its might. Now I realize that running is futile, but what else am I to do? The surrounding woodlands are endless. I look back to catch a glimpse of what I am sure is my demise when I trip over my own two feet. Bad idea. I regain my balance and continue running for my life. The animal is now only yards behind me, and I begin to think that it’s game over.
Suddenly, I see a man directly in front of me waving his arms and shouting. My rapid gasps of breath are too loud to make out any of his words, until I hear a distinct “Duck!” and notice the gun in his hand. I drop to the ground and immediately hear three loud shots. I look back to see a massive grizzly bear lifeless in the dirt. I prop my weary body up. “You saved my life,” I say.
“No,” he denies. He pulls another gun from his waistband and tosses it to me. “We’re still in danger.”


I am confused. Who is this man, and why are we in danger? I instantly think of Joey - was he killed by whatever this man is warning me about? Did this man kill him? I have no choice but to trust him and I ask him what the problem is.
“These aren’t normal bears” he says. “They’re rabid, super aggressive. I own a cabin out here, last week I found my new puppy ripped to shreds in my yard, I can only guess these bears are responsible.” I introduce myself and ask him if he’s seen anyone my age around the woods recently, but he tells me he hasn’t. I tell him about Joey.
“Your friend’s in trouble. We gotta find him right now,” he says. We begin to search, agreeing that we would cover every square inch of the woods until he’s found. It’s still dark out, but we search for my lost friend anyway. Hours pass and no progression. We come across no bears and no sign of Joey. I’m running out of energy, every step is a struggle to take. But the newly emerged sun brings a feeling optimism to my cluttered mind. I regain hope and assure myself that Joey is still alive and well.
Just as I am about to collapse, we hear rustling in the distance. We pursue, guns drawn, anticipating a confrontation. It’s Joey, running directly at us. He’s in the same situation that I had been in earlier, with a bear chasing him down. We don’t shoot at the bear in fear that we might accidentally hit Joey. Instead, we yell at him to duck, but it’s too late, he is already tackled to the ground with the massive animal on top of him. We open fire on the bear, taking it down instantly. I drop my gun and run over to Joey, whose neck has been bitten by the bear. He is losing blood quickly.
“Joey!” I say in a panic.  I pick his head up and assure him that he’ll be okay. Joey can hardly speak. Blood gushes from his mouth as he struggles to speak.
“Pick up your gun. There are more coming.” He chokes on his words, coughing up large amounts of blood as his head falls back to the dirt. He attempts to say something else, but he can barely open his mouth now. His quivering mouth closes, his eyes roll back, and Joey stops moving. My best friend dies right before my eyes.
The man walks up to me and hands me the gun that I had dropped.
“We have to keep moving,” he says.
And so we do. We eventually find our way out of the forest after coming across and killing several more bears. But when I exit the forest I am not happy to be alive. I can’t help but think that I could’ve saved Joey. I thank the man for his help, and he apologizes for my loss. I say goodbye and solemnly make my way back to the Holland’s house, preparing to share the news with his parents. As I open the front door, I am greeted by Mrs. Holland, who looks surprised to see me.
“Jack! I was wondering where you went. You look dirty, where’ve you been?”
“Mrs. Holland, I have to tell you something” I tell her, entering the house. Mr. Holland comes in from the other room and asks what’s going on.
“I just got back from Maybelle,” I admit. “I found Joey there. He’s dead.” Both Mr. and Mrs. Holland sigh. They’re obviously heartbroken, but they don’t appear as sad as I imagine they would. Maybe they’re feeling relief, or maybe they’re just glad to know it’s all over. Either way, my friend is dead, and I could not be more brokenhearted.


The author's comments:

Wrote it for my creative writing class, enjoy.


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