By Niles Reddick.
The drive from Atlanta to the Smokies wasn’t a long drive, only three hours, but we’d been stuck for an hour because of a wreck, which wasn’t the fatality we had assumed because thousands of vehicles inched along with many jumping lanes to get ahead and didn’t. In addition to the traffic, the twins in the back were on their phones and periodically asked how much longer. My wife responded the same way each time they asked, her voice never shifting to show her annoyance at our daughters.
Because of the variable interest rate increase on our mortgage, we decided to drive to a vacation spot rather than fly. Our kids thought the mountains would be boring, they’d whined, but I had done my research and rented a cool three-story cabin for a three-night minimum with a pool table, ping pong table, jacuzzi, and the most incredible view of the mountains. We planned to visit Cade’s Cove, ride horses, tube down the river, go to Dollywood, and shop a bit at the outlet mall. They weren’t aware of my plans. I just told them that they’d have to trust me, but unlike their younger years when I was their protector, their God-like and brilliant dad, and got hugs and kisses, I now got eye rolls, if their heads moved upwards away from their phone screens.
After Knoxville, we knew we only had twenty minutes to the Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, and Gatlinburg exit, it was getting dark, and while my wife tended to rely on the GPS, I didn’t and read road signs since I’d memorized directions to the cabin. I made a wrong turn, and the GPS rerouted us, but we finally spotted the gravel road.
“Something may be wrong with my eyes,” my wife said. “I’m seeing flashes of lights. The twins said they saw them, too.”
“They’re fireflies,” I said. “I think I read there are nineteen varieties in these mountains.”
“Who cares,” came from the backseat and was followed by, “How much longer?”
Seeing the reflective cabin numbers on a post, I turned, and our SUV climbed the driveway until a cabin came into view, its porch light on.
When we walked inside and turned on the lights, we were mesmerized by the wooden ceiling, antler chandelier, leather sofa and chairs, bear rugs, and big screen television. The loft had two queen beds for the twins, our bedroom had a king, and aside from the games in the basement, there was a movie room with recliners and a jacuzzi on the patio. It was a direct contrast to our ranch with a bonus room in the cookie cutter suburb of Atlanta. The twins wanted to know the Wi-Fi code before we got our luggage out of the SUV, and while we got our things, we heard a grunt in the woods next to the cabin along with rustling.
“You don’t think that’s a bear, do you?” My wife asked.
“It could be,” I said. “They say there are at least 1900 bears in the Smokies, about two per square mile, which is pretty dense.”
“Well, hurry up,” she said.
“They mostly avoid humans,” I reassured.
“I don’t want to test that theory.”
While the twins watched tv and texted with friends, we stepped outside on the back deck, marveled at the strawberry moon, the stars, and the dark view in the distance, the colossal image of the Smokies. We all slept like hibernating bears and awoke refreshed and ready to explore. We were even more impressed with the cabin in the daylight and the view of what the Cherokee people had called the blue smoke on the mountains, but mid-morning after a filling breakfast, we drove the winding up and down road over to Cades Cove where we visited a restored mill, cantilever barn, and homesteads in addition to seeing a mama bear and two cubs meandering by the split rail fence.
“How cool,” I heard from the backseat, followed by the clicking on pics on their phones. We followed Cades Cove with horseback riding for an hour. I couldn’t imagine how our early society’s main form of transportation had been horses, but supposed people simply accepted circumstances, made the best of it, and didn’t anticipate the future. Even today, I can’t imagine future transportation of flying cars, like the cartoon Jetsons zipping through the sky, and certainly couldn’t imagine how that would work with the traffic in Atlanta.
After a quick lunch at a diner, we went tubing on the Pigeon River. We wore the life vests and the water shoes we got in the store. The water was cold, but it was fun, and after some time, we were guided to the rocky bank and got on the shuttle for the ride back to our SUV. Since we were close, we stopped by the outlet mall, so we could surprise the twins with back-to-school shopping: the smaller Kate Spade purses, Ralph Lauren polos, and jean shorts from J. Crew. Unlike most twins, they didn’t dress alike, but they enjoyed snapping modeling pics with their new items on their phones and sending them to friends.
We picked up food from Five Guys to take back to the cabin, and because of the heat, we left the windows of the SUV cracked at the cabin. I thought we had been cheated because I’d ordered a hot dog and hamburger and an extra cup of fries, but the fries and dog were missing. We ate the rest, and I mused I didn’t need the dog or extra fries anyway. We watched a movie and then headed to bed, so we could enjoy Dollywood the next day.
After all was quiet and dark, my wife and I bolted out of bed at what sounded like breaking glass. I expected home invasions in Atlanta, but not at a cabin in the mountains. I took an oar from the wall used as decoration, and the twins stood at the top of the loft stairs.
I flipped on the lights in the great room and on the porch, but saw no broken glass, opened the front door, my wife right behind, the twins scurrying behind us to see, and saw a black bear in the backseat of our SUV, the window shattered. He was eating something, and I hit the oar on the side of the house, and yelled, and the bear scurried out the window. He stood on his hind legs, let out a growl, went to all fours, and meandered toward the porch grunting. I slapped the oar again against the cabin, and the bear turned and ran down the driveway and into the woods.
“Good grief!” I closed the porch door, locked it, and stood there, hyperventilating.
“I don’t believe it,” my wife said.
“I guess I forgot to roll up the windows, and he probably smelled the fries and burgers.”
A Five Guys paper bag was on the gravel driveway by the SUV, and the twins admitted they forgot the bag with my dog and fries.
They both hugged me, told me they were sorry, and how they thought the bear might charge up to the porch and kill us. “Thank you, Dad. We love you.”
I hung the cracked oar back on the wall and at first light, I found a cardboard box to cut and duct tape and to cover the missing window until I could get it back to a glass shop in Atlanta. I also wiped the leather seats down and cleaned glass, leaf, and dirt debris left on the seat from the bear’s paws.
The next morning, we headed to Dollywood and the twins rode most of the rides in the park. Their favorites were the Tennessee Tornado, the Drop Line, and the River Rampage. We had a nice lunch there and enjoyed the Dollywood exhibits, took in a show, and learned more about Dolly’s life, a real American dream story–rags to riches. Plus, she was a philanthropist, had even helped fund a COVID vaccine, started the Imagination Library, offering free books to children. We even speculated she would make a great President. We stayed for the evening drone and fireworks display before making our way back to the cabin, hoping the bear was long gone. We tip toed inside and heard no strange noises in the woods.
The twins said this had been the best vacation ever.
My wife asked them, “Better than the Bahamas and New York?”
“Yes,” they said.
Personally, I wished we had booked a week, and I dreaded the drive back to Atlanta until we were on I-75 and my wife began to receive texts from the parents of friends of our twins. The texts illustrated the proverbial fish story that was minnow size at the beginning, but by the last person had become a killer whale.
First text: “Are you all okay? We were told a bear broke into your cabin and raided the refrigerator and cupboard.”
Second text: “We heard you all had to fight a bear that broke into the cabin.”
Third text: “Is your husband in the hospital? We heard he was mauled by a bear and needed facial reconstruction surgery.”
The last one had me laid out in an East Tennessee funeral home, and they wanted to start a Go Fund Me account to help my wife and twins.
By the time we were close to the Atlanta bypass (which wasn’t a bypass anymore), I wanted to sell out and move to the land of the blue smoke.
BIO: Niles Reddick is author of a novel, four short fiction collections, and two novellas. His work has appeared in over five hundred publications including The Saturday Evening Post, New Reader Magazine, Cheap Pop, Flash Fiction Magazine, Citron Review, Hong Kong Review, and Vestal Review.
Website: http://nilesreddick.com/
Twitter: @niles_reddick
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/niles.reddick.9
Cover Photo from https://www.gatlinburg.com/great-smoky-mountains/black-bears/
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