I had a fight with my mom. She was upset about me quitting cheerleading. We had another fight about it, and I freaked out. I screw something up, and mom gives me that look; the one where she purses her lips real tight and opens her eyes real wide with a look that says; "You done screwed up, girl." Then I cry. Then she gets frustrated, because no one can deal with a daughter who has anxiety disorder 24/7.

But when the fight is over, and my tears are dry, I take my medicinal supplement, and go on a walk. Nature calms me. Plus, I practically grew up at a nature center, what with my Field-Center owner dad.

But today, I decided to do something different. Why walk along the trails again? I thought. Same thing every single time. So I changed it up.

Charging up my elbow, I football tackled the trees at the side of the trail, and face planted into the woods. Burying myself in the bushes to hide my embarrassment from a couple walking by, I found my jeans splattered with mud. I laughed, drawing war lines on my face with the mud. It was cold, but it would be freezing for anyone else, because once again; Nature Kid. I don't get cold. That's why when that couple was wearing their 3-season coats, I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

Why did they bother with the coats? It was still summer guys. Okay, SURE, it was like, 3 days away from going back to school, but still. Summer vacation wasn't technically over yet, and I wanted to milk it for all it was worth.

I started walking in any random direction through the forest. I found a tiny creek, that was more mud than creek. The mud squished into the holes in my shoes. Was I deterred? NO SIR! I hoisted up my sweater tied around my waist and jumped over, my foot falling in the water. I shook off my shoe and kept walking.

I had been walking about 20 minutes when I came across a fire pit. I had made it out of the thick of the woods, and was now standing in a section of short grass and mudslides, covered by the bright yellow sun that day. The wood in the pit was wet from the rain, but it had been used recently. I picked up the coal from the pit, and scrawled my name on the side of one of the rocks surrounding it.

Bobby Lane, 2017

Yep, still usable as a writing utensil. It's a trick my dad taught me. Black-burned wood can be used to write on things. It's messy, and gets all over your fingers, but which part of me seems like I would care?

I mindlessly shoved the burned wood in my sweater pocket and kept walking. Then I found the hills. They were these tiny, but steep little bumps along the forest path. I checked out the imprints in the mud. Bike tracks. This was someone's obsticale course. There was even a curling side loop, with grass crawling over the edges. I followed the bike marks, and started to run. Once the marks stopped, midway through the woods, I looked up to see where I was.

I was in the REAL thick of the woods now. It was darker, but not spooky. Maybe that's because I'm an impulsive freak who doesn't fear anything other than normal conversation. So I hoisted my sweater-belt, and went hiking along the faint path that was flatter than the rest. Flat path is traveled path. Our footsteps shape the land. That's right dad. So where will those footsteps lead me?

Just a few minutes into my walk, I found it. The treehouse. The wood was fresh, it was brand new. It seemed to be in good condition. At first, I thought the broken ladder out in the front was the only way up. Maybe it was busted. But that wouldn't stop me. I would climb up the trunk if I had to. When I went around to the back of the tree to find another way up, I saw the second ladder attached to the tree. There was a blue and white rope hanging from whatever was up there. The rope was clean, so it had to be brand new. If it wasn't, it would have been exposed to the elements by now.

Holding onto the rope, I climbed up the ladder and lifted myself into the treehouse. It was a two-floor sucker with no roof. The bottom floor was obviously much wider, with the smaller top half acting like a roof for half of the bottom floor. There was another ladder going up to the top floor. I touched my muddy hands against the wood.

"Jackpot." 

*Continued in THE TOKEN TROUP*