Facing Forever

When I came back outside that evening, Boo was still there. He followed close as we explored the campground. It was strangely desolate. A gust of wind blew the rusty playground swings back and forth, making a creaking sound. 

“It’s creepy here,” I said to Dad.

“Must be the off-season,” he shrugged. “Besides,” he added, grinning, “isn’t it nice having the place to ourselves?” 

When it was time for bed, Maggie insisted Boo stay, but Dad said we had to let him go because he belonged to someone else. I opened the RV door to let Boo out, but he just stared up at me and whined. 

“Go on,” I said softly. Finally, he hopped out reluctantly, and I watched him slowly walk across the park and disappear into the trees. 

I made my way across the park to the edge of the woods. The vines were so dense I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me. Spanish moss hung in long silver tendrils from the trees. I glanced back at our RV. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Just then, something rustled in the leaves. Boo pushed through a thick bunch of palmettos and wagged his tail. 

“Hey, you,” I said, patting his head. “Are you going to show me where you live?”

Boo let out a small bark, turned, and disappeared through the wall of vegetation. 

I plunged in after him, stumbling over twisting tree roots protruding from the ground. Vines clawed at my shirt and tore at my legs and feet, scratching my skin, but I kept going. I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling under a branch, and my foot struck something sharp. The ground was wet. Swamp water seeped between my fingers. 

Standing up, I scraped a sticky spider web off my face and peered into the woods for Boo. There was no way I wanted to get lost in this jungle.

I heard his whisper-bark and spied him standing in a small patch of sunlight on a barely discernible trail. 

And then he was gone again. 

I looked down. Blood soaked my flip-flops. Scrapes and cuts laced my feet. A deep gash on my heel throbbed. 

Behind me, I couldn’t see anything but foliage. It was as if nothing else had ever existed. 

There was no turning back now. I took a deep breath and forged ahead. 

Boo was standing in a clearing when I finally caught up to him. Beyond him, in the shadows, sat a dilapidated building surrounded by a weedy parking lot. The windows and doors were all boarded up. A crumbling fountain sat in front. I could tell it had been beautiful once, with intricate curls etched into the stone. Now it brimmed with stagnant water and bugs. 

A large, faded sign on top of the building declared, “Eternal Springs Resort.” 

Boo leaned against me. One of his hind legs trembled.

“You OK?” I asked. In reply, he limped behind the building along an overgrown path. 

“Not another bushwhack in the swamp,” I groaned.

I found Boo in a sunlit patch on the bank of a stream, drinking. Gingerly, he eased himself into the water. 

“Great idea,” I said, kicking off my flip-flops. I put my feet in the cold water, watching the blood wash away. 

Closing my eyes, I listened. Leaves rustling. Birds chirping. Stream gurgling. A magical oasis in the swamp. 

“Grandpa would have loved this,” I whispered. 

Grandpa, so full of life, so . . .

Woof! 

I looked up and saw Boo prancing toward me with a stick in his mouth, like a puppy. Whatever had been wrong with his back leg seemed fine now. His limp was completely gone. 

I chased him along the stream for a while, wrestling the stick from him and playing fetch. Finally, I flopped on the ground and Boo curled up beside me, panting. I buried my face in wet dog fur and felt the tight knot that had been twisted up inside me for weeks start to loosen. 

“Let’s go,” I finally told Boo. 

And that’s when I noticed it: The skin on my feet was completely healed—new as a baby’s.

Since there was no sign of Boo’s family, Mom and Dad said we could adopt him. But before we took him home with us to Maryland, Mom wanted to have him checked out. 

We found a vet just down the road from our campground. Dr. Brewster wasn’t much taller than I was, but she looked like she could wrestle an alligator.  

“Seems healthy,” she concluded after checking Boo’s eyes and ears.

“How old do you think he is?” I asked. 

“Could be 5 or 6.” She took off Boo’s collar. “Hmmm. These tags look old. Ancient, really. I’ll run a check on the number.” 

Dr. Brewster left the exam room. When she returned a few moments later, she was shaking her head. 

“According to these tags, this dog is 75 years old. The tags were registered to a dog named Roscoe in 1947.”

Dad frowned. “Well, the records must be wrong.”

“My granddaddy was the vet then. He kept impeccable records,” Dr. Brewster said. “It’s more likely that Roscoe’s tags ended up on Boo somehow.”

“Or he found the Fountain of Youth,” Mom said with a chuckle.

Everyone laughed—except me. A strange feeling was washing over me . . .

When we got back to the campground, I told Dad that we couldn’t keep Boo.

“I’m pretty sure I know where his family is,” I lied. “It would be wrong to take him.”

“Are you sure?” Dad seemed surprised.

I was. Somehow that stream was keeping Boo alive. Bringing him home with us meant he would die one day. 

“We have to leave him here,” I said firmly.

“But you said . . .” Maggie sobbed. 

“Get out of here!” I yelled at Boo. 

Boo looked at me, confused. 

“Go home!” I shouted, shooing him away. 

Boo slunk into the woods, head low, tail down, whimpering.

Mom touched my arm. “Nate . . .”

I jerked away and ran into the RV, feeling horrible and nauseous and hating this vacation more than anything.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Maggie had cried and cried and cried. “You said Boo was ours,” she’d wailed over and over.

“Nathan’s right, honey,” Mom had said. “Boo belongs here. With his family.”

“We’re his family,” Maggie had whined. “We love him.”

Suddenly, I remembered my last day with Grandpa. I’d been sitting next to him in the hospital room when he’d opened his eyes and taken my hand. 

“Don’t look so sad, Nate,” he had said. “It’s my time. I’m ready.”

I wanted to shout at him, “No! You can’t leave me!” 

But I hadn’t said anything. 

“I’ve had a long life,” Grandpa had whispered, gripping my hand harder. “A life filled with love and family. What more could I ask for?”

I sat up in bed. 

I knew exactly what I had to do.

I slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and stepped outside. 

A wall of swamp fog had crept in from the forest, enveloping the parking lot entirely. I couldn’t even see the playground. 

The thought of looking for Boo at night filled me with dread, but before I had taken a single step, I heard a familiar sound.

Woof! 

Boo emerged from the fog, eyes shining, tail wagging. I knelt beside him and buried my face in his damp fur. 

“Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s go home.”

^{This story was originally published in the April 2023 issue.}