Aspen

Aspen stared upwards at the sky, her gaze following the path of the hawk. She squinted to see it as warm thermals and powerful wings drove it further up and away from her. Finally it was a dark smear on the pink dusk horizon and then gone.

She wished she could fly away too. She was tired and hungry this adventure was getting old and dull now. Had she been maybe 3 or 4 years older, she might have been scared, or at least worried, about her current situation.

Aspen was only eight. Therefore she was blissfully unaware of what had happened and how her world had turned upside down at 3:40pm earlier that day.

She sighed, wiped sweat off of her forehead and turned to walk back to the truck. The hood was propped open and her father bent under it, and as she came closer she could hear him cursing the 14 year old Ford Ranger. Sadly, even at a tender 8 years of age, none of them were unheard to her.

"FUCK!" Tommy shouted, then winced when he realized she was standing at his side.

"You are not supposed to say that..." Aspen smiled up at him, hoping her teasing tone would cheer him up. It did not seem to help. "The phone died." She held his silver and black phone up, twisting it this way and that. The metallic silver lining the sides of the phone caught the last rays of the setting sun, reflecting back a pinkish light.

Tommy groaned irritably and yanked the phone from her hand. Aspen could tell that he was fighting the urge to yell out more curse words. She felt guilty.

"I'll plug it in." She reached out, ready to solve the problem.

"The charger thing is broken. I told you to leave it alone, now we don't have a phone. I have no way to call anyone to help. The battery is dead." He turned and walked a few feet away from her, raking his hands through his short black hair.

"I'm sorry Daddy." Aspen held back tears. "Are we still going to see Pawpaw?"

Tommy walked quickly to her and picked her up and hugged her, chasing away the tears and guilt. "Yes, of course. It's just gotten a touch trickier."

Both of them looked down the road as they collectively heard the vehicle approaching before it's lights became visible. Aspen felt Tommy tense as he lowered her back to the ground. The car, not going particularly fast to start, slowed as it passed them, then stopped. Tinted windows rolled down and a very, very old lady stared back at them through the window.

"Will it turn over at all?" She asked, showing real concern.

"No, ma'am, battery is dead. I have cables and if you have a few minutes, I might be able to start it."

"Sounds like a mighty fine plan young man." She got out of the car. "I have no idea how to get the hood up though." She informed Tommy and walked straight over to where Aspen stood, watching the proceedings with interest and hope.

"And what might your name be, young lady?" The old lady patted Aspen on the head. Never having been a shy or quiet child, Aspen was more than happy to share her life story.

"Aspen. I go to a catholic school. My mommy is catholic and works there so it's free for me." Aspen busied herself with getting a closer look at the rings on the old lady's hand than had patted her seconds before. "What's your name? How old are you? Do you live here?"

"My name is Violet and I am 87 and I live in Georgia. I am on my way to the Havasupai Reserva-"

"WE ARE TOO!" Aspen screamed, and jumped up and down in shock and excitement.

Tommy, who had left his attempt to pop the hood to rescue Violet from his daughter, now ran to where they stood by the truck. He interrupted the shrieking child and pulled her back. "I am so sorry. She gets so intense so fast when she is excited. Please forgive me."

"Oh, there is nothing to forgive. Children should be allowed to have as much fun as they can when they can. All to soon they grow up, and fun becomes a unattainable ideal. She is perfectly fine." Violet stared at Tommy then smiled. "What's this about going to the reservation?"

"Oh. Well, yes, we are headed down to the reservation. My father lives there. I am Havasupai. I take Aspen there every summer for a few weeks."