The bush plane's engine roared through Reid's bones. He pressed his forehead against the cold window, watching his breath fog up the glass in slow, methodical blooms. Below, an endless sea of dark green stretched toward the horizon, broken only by silver ribbons of rivers and mirror-bright lakes.
His hands gripped the armrests as another wave of turbulence rattled through the cabin. The seat beneath him creaked with each bump and dip.
"First time in a small plane?" The pilot's voice crackled through Reid's headset.
"That obvious?" Reid adjusted the mic closer to his mouth, his voice cracking.
A laugh echoed back. "Your knuckles are whiter than fresh snow."
Reid forced his fingers to relax, flexing them one by one. He shifted in his seat, the worn leather cool against his neck. The forest below morphed into a blur of emerald and shadow. His phone sat useless in his pocket - no signal for hours now. No more texts from friends. No more videos. No more anything except trees, water, and sky.
His stomach lurched as the plane dropped several feet. Through the windshield, clouds gathered in dark clusters ahead. The compass mounted on the dashboard swung with each gust of wind.
"Weather's getting interesting," the pilot said.
Reid's throat tightened. He focused on his breathing, counting each inhale like his counselor taught him. One. Two. Three. The vastness outside pressed in, wild and untamed. No streets. No buildings. No civilization for hundreds of miles. Reid had taken 2 other charter style planes from the city,, each one carrying him further and further north, but this last plane had to be the most interesting: A simple plane the piolet referred to as the cub, which reid had momentarily been excited to be able to sit in the cockpit with the piolet, and after setting him up with the co-pilots headset, they made a terrifyingly shaky takeoff. Now he had been in the cub for some time, and was no longer filled with the thrill of flying, and had relapsed into dark thoughts and melancholy memories.
The realization of isolation was never closer to him than looking out at the wilderness - real wilderness, just like in the nature documentaries he'd only ever half-heartedly paid attention to. Another part wanted to curl up in his bedroom back home, surrounded by the familiar hum of his gaming PC and the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.
The plane banked left, and Reid's stomach rolled again. Through breaks in the clouds, he spotted a cabin nestled against a lake shore - a tiny brown dot in the green expanse. His grandfather's home. His home now, at least for the summer.
His fingers found the worn edges of the acceptance letter in his jacket pocket. The prestigious coding camp was supposed to be his ticket to an early college track. Instead, here he was, flying into the middle of nowhere because his mom was gone, and there was nowhere left for him to go now."
The engine's pitch changed, and Reid's heart jumped into his throat. He glanced at the pilot's hands moving across the controls, steady and sure. Outside his window, the trees grew closer, individual branches becoming visible through the swirling clouds.
* * *
The plane dipped through another pocket of turbulent air. Reid's stomach lurched, but it wasn't the motion that made his chest tighten. The sensation transported him back - back to the cold pangs of anxiety shooting down his limbs, rolling diarrhea from the anxiety of his mother's condition, the antiseptic smell of bleach and death, back to the rhythmic beep of monitors, back to her.
Mom's hand felt like paper in his grip, blue veins mapping rivers beneath translucent skin. The hospital sheets draped over her like snow, stark white against her pallid complexion. Her fingers twitched against his palm, and he leaned closer.
"My brave boy." Her voice came out as a whisper, barely audible above the hum of medical equipment. "Promise me something?"
Reid nodded, throat too tight for words. A strand of her dark hair - so like his own - had fallen across her forehead. He brushed it back with trembling fingers.
"Promise you'll give your grandfather a chance." Her green eyes, mirrors of his own, fixed on his face. "He's rough around the edges, but he loves you. Just like I do."
The monitors beeped faster. A nurse appeared in the doorway, then another. Someone tried to pull him away, but Mom's grip tightened.
"I love you, Reid. More than all the stars." Their old bedtime saying. She'd point out constellations through his bedroom window, teaching him their names, their stories.
"More than all the planets," he whispered back, but her hand had already gone slack in his.
The bush plane hit another patch of turbulence. Reid blinked hard, forcing back the hot pressure behind his eyes. His fingers found the smooth surface of his phone, thumb tracing the edge where her last text message still waited: "Everything will be okay. You're stronger than you know."
She'd sent it the morning before the seizure. Before the doctors discovered the clot. Before everything changed.
Now her voice existed only in voicemails he couldn't bring himself to delete. Her laugh lived in videos he watched late at night when sleep wouldn't come. Her smile frozen in photos that felt more distant with each passing day.
The compass on the dashboard swung wildly as the plane pushed through another cloud bank. Reid pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching his breath fog the window just as it had fogged her oxygen mask in those final moments.
"I don't know how to do this, Mom," he whispered, words lost in the drone of the engine. "I don't know how to be here without you."
* * *
Reid's fingers traced patterns on the breath-fogged glass. The drone of engines faded as his mind drifted back to that sterile office, with its rows of metal filing cabinets and fluorescent lights that cast everyone in a sickly pallor.
Ms. Peterson had worn a navy blazer that day, her silver hair pulled tight against her scalp. Papers rustled as she shuffled through his case file.
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"Your grandfather has agreed to take custody." Her voice had carried all the warmth of an automated message. "He lives in a remote area of northern Ontario, but-"
"Ontario?" The word had stuck in Reid's throat like a sharp piece of ice.
"Given the circumstances, we believe this is the best option." She'd adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, peering at him over the rims. "Unless you'd prefer foster care?"
The walls of her office had closed in around him. A child's laughter echoed from the playground outside, the sound piercing through the thin walls like a knife.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice, Reid." But her tone had said otherwise.
Back in their - his - apartment, Reid had stood in his mother's room. The bed remained unmade, just as she'd left it. Her favorite sweater draped over the chair, the soft purple fabric holding the last traces of her perfume.
He'd packed methodically, each item a weight added to his chest. The photo albums went first - memories trapped behind plastic sheets. Then his clothes, folded with precision his mother would have praised. His gaming console, the books from his shelves, his rock collection. All of it sorted, labeled, boxed.
The apartment had grown hollow, emptying itself of life with each sealed container. The walls that once held their family photos now showed pale rectangles where frames had hung. The kitchen counter, where they'd cooked so many meals, stood bare and cold.
"Time to go," Ms. Peterson had announced from the doorway, her clipboard tucked under one arm.
Reid had taken one final look at the space that had been his whole world. The sunlight streaming through the living room windows caught dust motes dancing in the air - the last dance this home would see.
"Can I-" His voice cracked. "Can I have a minute?"
She'd checked her watch. "Make it quick."
Reid walked through each room, his footsteps echoing. In his mind, he heard the ghost of his mother's laugh, saw her sitting at the kitchen table with her morning coffee, felt her arms around him after a bad dream.
The apartment had shrunk, somehow. Or maybe he'd grown too big for it, like Alice in Wonderland after drinking the potion. Either way, it no longer fit.
* * *
Reid knelt beside his bed, the worn duffel bag splayed open like a hungry mouth. His fingers traced the zipper's teeth before reaching for the framed photograph on his nightstand. Mom's smile beamed back at him, frozen in time at the beach last summer. He wrapped it in his softest sweater, tucking it between folded jeans and t-shirts.
The closet stood half-empty, hangers swaying with phantom clothes. Each item he packed felt heavier than the last - his favorite hoodie, the book she used to read him, her silver locket.
"Ten minutes, Reid." The caseworker's voice drifted through his bedroom door.
His hands trembled as he zipped the bag closed. The room looked wrong now—bare walls where posters had hung and empty shelves that once displayed his treasures. This space had been his sanctuary, filled with fourteen years of memories. Now, it was just walls.
"I don't want to go," he whispered to the empty room. But Mom wasn't here to fix this. She couldn't wrap him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay.
Reid recalled the city below the plane when him and the piolet had first taken off, a maze of concrete and glass shrinking into miniature. Reid had watched his city disappear beneath clouds. Somewhere down there was his school, the park where Mom taught him to ride a bike, her favorite ice cream shop.
Now, he was on his way to live with an estranged grandfather—just a name on official documents and a gruff voice on one awkward phone call. The man lived alone in the wilderness, miles from civilization. There was no internet, no television service, no friends, just a single Satellite phone to be used in emergencies and to schedule goods to be flown in a few times a year.
Reid's stomach churned as buildings gave way to endless forests. The life he knew vanished with each mile, replaced by an ocean of green that stretched to the horizon. The caseworker had called it a "fresh start." Reid called it exile.
His throat tightened as the last glimpse of the city faded into the distance. The concrete jungle that had cradled him since birth became a smudge on the horizon, then nothing at all.
* * *
Centennial Park came to mind - not the vast untamed forest beneath the plane, but the neat paths and carefully maintained gardens where he and Marcus used to spend their afternoons. The memory surfaced clear as crystal: Marcus attempting to skateboard down the handrail, wiping out spectacularly, then laughing it off over shared fries from the food cart.
"Want the last one?" Marcus had asked, holding out a ketchup-drowned fry.
Those simple moments felt like scenes from someone else's life now. The worn wooden bench where their group gathered for lunch, trading snacks and sharing terrible jokes. Emma's infectious laugh when she told stories about her little sister's latest adventures. The way Tom could turn any situation into a ridiculous conspiracy theory.
Reid shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. Below, a lake appeared - wild and irregular, nothing like the rectangular pond where they'd sailed paper boats after spring rain. His chest tightened as he remembered the last time he'd seen his friends, three days after Mom's funeral. They'd stood awkward and uncertain on his doorstep, clutching a care package of his favorite snacks.
"We'll video chat every day," Emma had promised.
"Yeah, and we'll come visit," Tom added.
But there would be no video chats where he was going. No visits from old friends. Just trees and rocks and a grandfather he barely knew.
The landscape grew more rugged with each passing minute. Jagged peaks pierced the clouds, their snow-capped summits indifferent to his presence. In the city, he'd known every corner, every shortcut, every bodega owner who'd slip him an extra candy with his purchase. Here, nature sprawled vast and unknowable, making him feel smaller with each mile.
His phone sat useless in his pocket - no bars, no connection to his old world. Back home, it would be lunch period now. His friends would be gathering at their usual table, the space where he used to sit already filled by someone else. Life moved on without him, while he flew further into isolation.
A patch of turbulence shook the plane, jolting Reid from his thoughts. The wilderness below seemed to mock his city-boy sensibilities. No concrete, no streetlights, no corner stores - just untamed earth that cared nothing for the comfort of fourteen-year-old boys who'd rather be anywhere else.
* * *
The plane banked left, its wing dipping toward a massive lake that stretched like polished glass between towering pines. Reid's stomach lurched as they descended, the forest rising to meet them. His knuckles whitened against the armrest, each breath shorter than the last.
"Hang tight, kid. Water landings can be rough." The pilot's voice crackled through his headset.
The lake's surface rushed toward them. Reid caught glimpses of rocks along the shoreline, weathered logs floating near the edges, a wooden dock jutting into the water. His brain scrambled to make sense of the raw wilderness surrounding him.
The floats touched down with a splash that rattled his teeth. Water sprayed past the windows as they skipped across the surface like a stone, each impact jarring his spine. The roar of the engine changed pitch as they slowed, leaving a widening V-shaped wake behind them.
Through the spray-spotted window, a figure emerged on the shore. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man stood with his hands in his pockets, unmoving as the plane approached. Even at this distance, Reid could make out the gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, the well-worn flannel shirt, the way he seemed as much a part of the landscape as the trees themselves.
His grandfather. Orin Wilder. The stranger who was supposed to become his family.
The plane glided toward the dock with gentle momentum. Reid's heart hammered against his ribs as the distance closed between them. He searched for traces of his mother in the man's features, some familiar angle or gesture that might forge a connection across the gulf between them.
Orin raised one hand in greeting, his expression hidden beneath the brim of a weathered hat. The simple gesture carried weight - acknowledgment, welcome, expectation all rolled into one. Reid lifted his own hand automatically, then let it fall back to his lap as uncertainty crept in.
The plane bumped against the dock's wooden pylons, sending small ripples across the lake's surface. In the sudden quiet after the engine cut out, Reid heard birds calling from the forest and waves lapping against the shore. Everything felt too real, too immediate. No car horns or sirens to drown out his thoughts. No crowds to hide in. Just him, his grandfather, and the vast wilderness that stretched in every direction.