Skullduggery To Recovery: Prologue

I ain’t as young as I once was.

The Smoky Mountain death trap taught me that.

That’s the thing about mountains, they don’t lie. We can moan, piss, and cuss all we want, but when the mountain is looming ahead… you can either climb, or lay down and let Mother Nature take you.

I couldn’t help but think about that as I stared out the windshield at the smoky Tennessee hills before us. My girlfriend, Erika, and I were taking our annual pilgrimage to clear our minds and muddy our boots on the winter trails of Pigeon Forge.

Named The Smoky Mountains for the blue mist that hovers over the peaks and valleys, there had been literal smoke, fire, and death in the months prior to our visit.

The Great Smoky Mountain Wildfire of 2016 claimed 14 lives. Originally thought to have been set by two teenage arsonists, it was later determined to be caused by downed power lines.

The energy between Erika and I was a bit tense. A few days before, my employer and I had parted ways. Needless to say, she was concerned.

This radical lifestyle shift was a blessing and curse. I finally had the time to devote to the business I had been building for the past couple years, but I was also losing some damn good money.

All this with three kids, a mortgage, and two car payments.

I had bounced back from much worse many times before, and had immense faith in my ability to overcome adversity. In fact, I was ecstatic. The environment was so bad at work that half the team had quit in the past few months, and I’d become so disillusioned with the unethical practices that I was sabotaging my own employment.

But still, I was curious about my own climb back to the top. It wasn’t a matter of if I could do it, but how. As long as I had my health, nothing could stand in my way…

We continued up the mountain, Erika napping in the passenger seat while Sturgill Simpson played on the radio.

“I seen Jesus play with flames in a lake of fire, that I was standing in…”

...

“We’re here.” I breathed, shutting the engine off.

She stirred a bit, and drifted back to sleep. I stepped out and went in to pay for the weekend stay.

Thankfully, my parents had a timeshare, so we were only on the hook for the cleaning fee. One of the ways I justified the trip under such jobless circumstances.

We unloaded our luggage, and I kicked back on the balcony with my telescope. The night of February 10th was special. There was a trifecta of celestial events: the penumbral eclipse, a snow moon, and a comet.

I watched and waited for an hour….nothing.

A knock at the door. Papa Johns.

Two slices and some beers later, Erika suggested we set off in search of the celestial trio that had been evading me all night. She knew damn well I didn’t want to miss this.

Looking back, it was probably not the best idea to post up right outside someone’s window with a telescope. The last thing we needed was to pop up in the Tennessee Herald as the Bonnie & Clyde of peeping Toms.

Luckily, that didn’t happen, and we caught a small glimpse of the moon. After another half-hour or so, we packed it in and headed back to the room, slightly dejected at missing the comet streaking across the winter sky.

The intoxication of anticipated freedom from the 9 to 5 allowed me to shrug it off. Besides, there was a shower big enough for two back in the condo, and she was ready to pop another beer.

To be continued….