Cabin Cousins: Part 1

Cousins reunion: a childhood friendship becomes love.

Based on a post by NewMountain80, in 6 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connections.

Chapter One.

It was one of those glorious mid-October days in Minnesota, where morning frost gives way to clear blue skies and temperatures warm enough for wearing tee shirts.

My name is Charles, by the way, nice to meet you. Please don't call me Charlie, or Chuck or Chucky, I hate that. I work at a big box home improvement store near my home on the west side of the Twin Cities. I'm eighteen, and have spent most of the summer since graduating, being overworked and underpaid. I took Saturday, Sunday, and half of Friday off so that I could drive up and spend the weekend 'up north' at the family cabin, near Pelican Lake.

Built by my great grandfather, Olaf Larson, in the early 1900's, the cabin was a place that anyone in my (quite large) extended family was free to use. The cabin itself is rather small, just a single room, adorned with a century's worth of hunting trophies and antique nick knacks. There were spaces in the woods around the cabin yard where people would park their RV's, and some nice grassy clearings for setting up tents. There was someone there on most weekends between spring and fall, and sometimes it was a pretty full house, with ten or twenty people showing up for a relaxing weekend of doing nothing. This, likely the last weekend of decent weather for the next six months or so, was going to be a busy one.

I was halfway through the three hour drive, when my mom called me on my cell phone to make sure I was on my way, and if I had remembered my tent. Yes, I had remembered my tent, and yes, I remembered my sleeping bag and an extra blanket because it was going to get cold at night. Thanks, mom. Then she listed off who was there, and who else was on their way. Aunts and uncles, older brothers and sisters, relatives of every age and variety.

My heart skipped a beat though, when she added as an afterthought that my cousin Melissa Olson, was there. Actually, she was my second cousin, but more importantly, she was my friend. Growing up, my weekends were occupied by exploring the woods around the cabin, fishing and swimming in the lake, or just hanging out around the fire pit chatting and telling stories. Many of those weekends, Melissa was right there at my side. I had more in common with her than with any of the male relatives close to my age, in terms of interests and personality, so often it was just the two of us.

About three years back, there was some kind of family drama that I really didn't pay attention to, but as a result, the whole branch of the family that Melissa belonged to stopped showing up to family gatherings. I was fifteen at the time, and though I was really sad that I didn't get to see Melissa anymore, I was, you know, fifteen. At that age, there is so much going on in your life that, as sad as a change may be, something else always fills the gap.

Once off the phone with my mom, all I could think about was Melissa. Memories of our adventures effervesced in my mind. I thought of the last time I saw her, how she smiled and said "See you next time!" with a quick hug. Through the years growing up, I never really put much thought into her appearance, but remembering that last goodbye, it dawned on me that she had always been quite pretty. At fiftee