1

A DAY AT THE PARK

Fear is a crippling disease, and at this point in his young life, Decker Wilde was entirely consumed by it.

He sat on the narrow seat of his bicycle, frozen at the stream's edge, watching the water trickle and glisten in the midday sun. The park was alive with activity—children played, families gathered, and the air was filled with the aroma of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs wafting from the picnic tables. It was the perfect day for making new friends, yet all Decker could focus on was the small stream before him. He hesitated, not sure if he could make it across.

The stream wasn’t deep, nor was it wide. A simple trickle of water, really. Yet, it might as well have been a raging river for Decker. What if he fell? What would people think of him? He glanced nervously at the footbridge nearby, where a few kids were watching. They didn’t seem particularly interested in him, but Decker’s mind filled the silence with imagined whispers.

He could practically hear their voices: “Look at that kid. Why’s he riding through the stream when he could just use the bridge?” They might feel sorry for him if he fell. Or worse—pity him for trying in the first place. And pity was something Decker hated more than anything else.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed his bike forward, the tires splashing into the shallow water. The cold wetness seeped into his shoes, chilling his feet and ankles, but he kept pedaling. The stream wasn’t as treacherous as he had feared, but every small rock he hit sent a jolt through the handlebars, threatening to throw him off balance. His right hand, the only one he could use, shook with each bump, so he gripped the handlebar tighter to compensate.

Finally, he emerged on the other side, his heart still pounding. He looked back briefly at the kids on the bridge. They weren’t even paying attention anymore, their focus shifting to something else. Decker breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. Or perhaps they didn’t care. Either way, he was glad to be past that obstacle.

As he rode into the park, the warm breeze blew through his hair, momentarily easing the tight knot of fear in his stomach. The sun shone brightly overhead, casting a golden hue on everything it touched. Families were spread out across the grassy field, children’s laughter echoing through the trees. For a moment, Decker allowed himself to enjoy the day and the sounds of life around him.

He watched a father holding the hand of his five-year-old son at the top of the slide. The boy was scared, his face a mixture of excitement and fear. But with a gentle nudge from his father, the boy slid down, laughing as he hit the bottom. He immediately ran back to the steps, this time determined to go down on his own. Decker couldn’t help but smile at the scene. That boy had someone to guide him, to encourage him when he was scared. Decker had no such luxury.

His father was gone. His mother, too. All he had was Noelle, and she was always busy. Too busy for things like playing in the park or teaching him how to ride a bike properly. She had her own life to deal with. Decker was just a burden—an obligation she had been forced to carry after their parents died.

The wind picked up, tugging at the edges of his t-shirt. Decker looked around the park, his eyes drifting toward the large oak trees near the edge of the field. Their towering branches stretched high into the sky, casting cool shadows on the ground below. He had always wanted to climb one of those trees, to feel the rough bark under his hands as he hoisted himself up higher and higher until the whole park lay beneath him. But who would do that with him? He wasn’t like the other boys who came to the park with their fathers or their friends. He was always alone.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Decker pedaled farther into the park, his eyes falling on a group of boys playing football. They were older and more aggressive, shoving each other as they fought for the ball. Decker stopped near the edge of the field, watching from a distance. He imagined running with them, tackling, laughing, being part of something. But he knew better than to try. With his weak left hand and awkward limp, no one would ever pick him for a team. No one ever did.

He pushed his bike forward, glancing over at the baseball field where a group of kids were playing catch. They threw the ball with such ease, such confidence. Decker wondered what it would feel like to throw like that—to run, catch, and be a part of something. But no one ever asked him to join in. No one even let him try.

Just as he was about to ride away, he noticed another group of kids playing frisbee in a nearby clearing. Frisbee—now that was something he could probably do. It didn’t require much strength or speed, just aim. Maybe if he got close enough, they’d invite him to play. Maybe this would be his chance.

Decker rode slowly toward them, careful to stay out of the way but close enough to be noticed. He watched them laugh and shout as the frisbee sailed back and forth. He could do this. He was sure of it. He just needed a chance.

One of the boys threw the frisbee too hard, and it veered off course, landing near Decker’s bike. His heart leapt. This was it. His chance. If he threw it back, maybe they’d let him join in. He hopped off his bike, bending down to pick up the frisbee. His hand hovered over it for a moment, his nerves getting the better of him.

But before he could grab it, the frisbee was snatched from the ground by one of the boys. “Hey!” the boy shouted, looking at Decker with a scowl. Decker’s stomach dropped. He had barely registered what had happened before the boy turned to his friends and sneered. “He must be retarded or something.”

The words hit Decker like a punch to the gut. His face turned pale, and his vision blurred as the blood drained from his head. He stood there, frozen, his hand still outstretched as the boys burst into laughter. The humiliation burned in his chest, and for a moment, he felt like he might pass out.

Without saying a word, he backed away, climbing back onto his bike. He could still hear them laughing as he pedaled away, the sting of their words echoing in his ears. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away, determined not to cry. Not here. Not in front of anyone.

As he rode through the park, he spotted a girl standing by the swings, watching him. She had seen what happened. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but Decker didn’t stop. He didn’t want to hear it. Whatever she was going to say, he didn’t need it. She’d probably just make fun of him too. He kept pedaling, faster now, desperate to get away from the park, away from the stares, away from everything.

The trees at the edge of the park came into view, their tall, sturdy trunks standing like sentinels against the backdrop of the distant mountains. Decker slowed his bike, feeling the familiar comfort that came from being near the trees. They were always there, always strong. The tallest ones had weathered a hundred years of storms and still stood tall, even with broken limbs. Their strength gave him a small sense of peace.

But even the trees couldn’t chase away the loneliness that weighed heavily on his heart.

***

Decker approached the mobile home, his bike crunching over the gravel driveway. The house wasn't much—small and worn, with the faded siding showing years of wear and tear—but to Decker, it was home. The double-wide sat on a quarter-acre lot, set back just off the road with a narrow strip of grass and a few sparse pine trees scattered around the yard. Beyond the backyard lay the forest, thick with tall trees that stretched into the distance, fading into the mountains. Decker often found himself staring at those mountains, wondering what it would feel like to stand at the top, looking down at everything far below.

Today, the mountains seemed closer somehow, looming over the house like silent sentinels. Decker wasn’t sure why, but the sight of them made his chest tighten. Maybe it was the way they disappeared into the evening fog, or maybe it was just the weight of the day pressing down on him. Either way, the mountains only reminded him how small he felt—how small he was.

As he rolled up to the front steps, Alex, his English Mastiff, was already at the screen door, watching him. Alex’s tail wagged slowly, but there wasn’t much excitement in his eyes yet. Decker knew that look—Alex was waiting for him to get close enough to pounce with a full-body hug.

Decker dropped his bike near the steps and walked up, his hand already reaching for the door handle. Sure enough, the moment his foot hit the concrete cinder block steps, Alex sprang to life, his massive frame wobbling as he bounced on his front legs, tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, boy,” Decker said, his voice soft as he leaned down to give the dog a tight hug around the neck. Alex huffed happily, his breath warm against Decker’s cheek. For a moment, the tension in Decker’s chest eased, just a little.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, Alex trotting behind him. The house smelled like dust and faintly of laundry detergent—Noelle’s doing, no doubt. She worked long hours at the diner in town, but she always found time to keep the house in some kind of order. Decker felt a twinge of guilt as he stepped into the kitchen. She worked so hard for both of them, and all he could think about was running off into the woods and leaving her alone.

The small kitchen table sat under the single window that overlooked the backyard. Decker dropped his backpack onto one of the chairs and headed to the fridge. He wasn’t hungry, but he figured he’d at least grab something to drink before starting his chores. As he opened the fridge door, his eyes landed on the list taped to the freezer—Noelle’s neat handwriting detailing what needed to be done before she got home.

“Vacuum the living room, clean the bathroom, and fold the laundry,” Decker muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. He still had time to do all of that and maybe—just maybe—set up camp near the edge of the woods like he’d been planning. He’d been thinking about it all day, ever since the disaster at the park. He needed space, something to take his mind off of how things had gone so wrong.

He grabbed a can of soda and sat down at the table, the cool metal of the can soothing against his palm. For a moment, he just sat there, staring out the window. The forest loomed behind the house, dark and inviting. It was funny—earlier in the day, the park had been full of life, people grilling, kids playing, and all Decker had felt was fear. But the woods? They were different. Quiet. Peaceful. Even the thought of being out there, alone with Alex, made his chest feel a little lighter.

“Maybe that’s what I need,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Alex, who was lying lazily by his feet. “A night out there. Away from everything.”

His mind made up, Decker stood and headed for his room. He pulled his small camping bag out from under the bed and began packing it with whatever he thought he’d need—an old flashlight, some matches, a couple of granola bars. He wasn’t planning to go far, just close enough to feel like he’d escaped for a while. Alex watched him from the doorway, his big head cocked to the side as if he knew something was up.

“Don’t worry,” Decker said with a grin, “you’re coming with me.”

Once the bag was packed, Decker left it on his bed and headed back to the living room to start his chores. The vacuum sat in the corner, old and heavy, and as Decker pulled it out, he couldn’t help but sigh. He just wanted to get this done quickly so he could head out before it got too dark.

But things didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped. As he dragged the vacuum across the floor, moving backwards to get the last corner of the room, he lost his balance. His foot caught on the edge of the couch, and with a yelp, he stumbled and fell, pulling the vacuum down with him.

He hit the ground hard, the vacuum slamming into the side of the shelf where his dad’s old boxing trophies sat. One of the trophies wobbled, its metallic figure of a boxer gleaming in the dim light, and then, with a sickening clatter, it fell. The small statue hit the floor and shattered, the gold-plated boxer breaking into several pieces.

Decker’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the mess in front of him. His dad’s trophy. His dad’s favorite trophy. He knelt down, his hands shaking as he reached for the broken pieces. Guilt flooded his chest, and for a moment, it was hard to breathe. His dad had loved this trophy—it was the one he always talked about, the one that reminded him of his glory days. And now it was broken.

Decker picked up the pieces one by one, his hands trembling as he tried to fit them back together, but it was no use. The damage was done. Noelle was going to be furious when she saw this. Worse than that, Decker could already hear his father’s voice in his head, disappointed and distant. He could imagine his dad’s disapproval, the heavy silence that would’ve followed if he were still alive.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Decker whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to...”

But the apology hung in the air, empty and unanswered. There was no one here to hear it. Just him and Alex, and the heavy weight of guilt that settled like a stone in his gut.

Decker set the broken trophy aside, his hands still shaking. He couldn’t fix this, but maybe he could make up for it somehow. He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and looked out the window again. The sun was already beginning to set, casting long shadows over the yard. He didn’t have much time if he wanted to set up camp before dark.

But now, after what had just happened, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. The excitement he’d felt earlier had vanished, replaced by the gnawing guilt that always seemed to follow him. What would his dad think of him now, breaking the one thing that had meant so much to him? Would he even want Decker to go into the woods alone?

Decker sighed and slumped down onto the couch, his eyes wandering across the room until they landed on the small table where a familiar object rested—the rosary. It had once belonged to his mother, a treasure she kept close until the day she died. Afterward, his father had taken it for himself, though Decker rarely saw him use it. Now, it sat there, untouched for years, a reminder of a past that seemed more distant with every passing day.

He hadn't thought about it much, not since that night when they searched for it in a panic, hoping to find some last bit of comfort for his father. It hadn’t been anywhere in the house, and they’d never figured out where it had gone. That night, Fr. Stone had still come, offering the Last Rites, but something had felt incomplete—like a part of his dad’s peace had gone missing with that rosary.

Decker’s eyes lingered on it now, the worn beads glistening faintly in the dim light. It had been his mother’s lifeline, her connection to God, and somehow, it had become a symbol of everything he felt he’d lost. Maybe it was more than just an object. Maybe it held some kind of strength that could help him—like it had helped his mother all those years ago.

But he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Not tonight.

Instead, Decker leaned back into the couch, his hands falling to his lap as he stared at the broken trophy beside the rosary. The guilt weighed heavy on his chest, like a stone that refused to budge. He wasn’t ready to face the woods tonight, not with all these emotions swirling around inside him.

Maybe soon he’d find the courage. Maybe soon he’d finally feel worthy of stepping into the wilderness that called to him. But tonight, all he could do was sit in the quiet stillness of the living room, feeling the absence of both his parents like a void that never quite filled.

And as the wind whispered through the trees outside, Decker closed his eyes, letting the memories of his father and mother surround him, comforting him in the only way they could now.