Red Wings in motion
448 Words
Chapter 2 —
Roxy didn’t go home.
Not really.
Home was just a place where her things lived. She preferred movement—anything that made it harder for her thoughts to catch up.
The highway stretched out in dull morning gray as she drove past the edge of town, sunglasses too big for her face, coffee shaking in the cup holder like it was nervous too.
The world looked softer once you got far enough away from people.
Less demanding.
Less judgmental.
A cardinal flashed across a telephone wire as she passed the old exit for the state park.
Roxy slowed without thinking.
“There you are again,” she muttered.
Like the bird was following her.
Like it understood timing.
⸻
The Trail
The state park hadn’t changed much.
Same cracked sign.
Same faded map.
Same dirt path curling into trees like it was hiding something.
Roxy stepped out of her car and immediately felt it—air that didn’t smell like cigarettes, perfume, or regret.
Just pine.
Just earth.
Just real.
She adjusted her sneakers, stretched her shoulders, and started running.
At first, it hurt.
Her lungs complained. Her knees protested. Her body felt older than her mind wanted to admit.
But then something shifted.
The rhythm took over.
Step.
Step.
Breathe.
Step.
The world stopped shouting at her.
That was the thing about running—her thoughts couldn’t all talk at once when her body was busy surviving.
Wind cut through the trees, brushing her face like a hand that didn’t ask for anything back.
For a moment, she wasn’t 54.
She wasn’t “Roxy the mess.”
She wasn’t anyone’s disappointment.
She was just motion.
Alive in the simplest way.
A flash of red moved ahead through the branches.
Cardinal.
She laughed out loud, breathless.
“Okay,” she said between steps. “Okay, I get it.”
⸻
The Shift
She didn’t notice when the running turned into hiking.
Didn’t notice when her pace slowed.
Didn’t notice when the thoughts started creeping back in.
Mia.
Eli.
Voicemail.
The word disappear.
Her chest tightened—not from exhaustion this time, but something heavier.
Memory didn’t arrive gently for Roxy.
It crashed.
⸻
A little girl in a kitchen doorway.
Yelling down the hall.
Nobody looking at her.
Learning early that being quiet meant being invisible.
So she became loud.
⸻
Roxy stopped walking.
The forest was still around her, but suddenly it felt too close.
Too aware.
She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
No one answered.
Of course no one answered.
The cardinal landed on a branch above her, watching.
Not judging.
Just there.
- Writer
