The Jungle's Silence

“Dammit!”  Thomas groaned as the reception on his phone dropped from three bars to  none. He made awkward eye contact with Eric in the rearview mirror.

“You  won’t have good reception out here,” Eric said, his tone  matter-of-fact. He was doing Thomas a favor by driving him to a  desolate, rural village in the middle of nowhere. “Surprised you didn’t  realize that. These villages live off the grid. I’d be shocked if they  even had electricity.”

Thomas  sighed and leaned back in his seat, frustration bubbling just below the  surface. Coming to isolated areas like this wasn’t new for him—it was  part of the job as a photographer. But the lack of cell service gnawed  at him. Just this morning, he’d promised Kayla he’d call when he  arrived.

Eric  must have noticed the worry etched on his face, because he added,  “Don’t stress about it. Kayla will understand, I’m sure. It’s not like  you’re headed to some resort. You’re out in the boonies, man.”

“Yeah,” Thomas muttered. “She’ll understand.”

But  that wasn’t what he was worried about. The events leading to their  divorce had been a nightmare—anger, silence, and resentment wrapped into  one fiery mess. Now, after five years apart, they were trying again.  Thomas wanted—needed—to prove that he had changed. He didn’t want the  promise he made to her this morning to be just another broken one.

Resigned,  Thomas tucked his phone into his pocket and looked out the window. The  dense jungle surrounded them like a fortress. Massive trees reached  skyward, vines draping from their limbs, and bushes dotted with vibrant  flowers lined the uneven dirt road.

He  rolled down his window, letting the humid air seep in. Tate, his German  Shepherd, crawled over him and stuck her head out, her tongue lolling  as she took in the scents of the wilderness.

“What do you think, girl?” Thomas asked, scratching her ear. “Think you’ll like it here for the next week?”

As if in response, Tate gave him a quick look before turning back to the wind.

“Guess that’s a yes.”

The  road became rougher as the jungle thickened. Eric slowed the car to a  crawl, muttering under his breath about the condition of the path.

“You  ought to get some good shots out here,” Eric said, glancing at Thomas  in the rearview mirror. “Get a few of the trees, the wildlife, the  villagers—you’ll have Mitchum eating out of your hand.”

Thomas  smirked faintly at the mention of their boss, a sleazy editor-in-chief  who seemed to enjoy crushing spirits for sport. It reminded him of the  night he’d come home fuming about Mitchum firing a crying intern. Kayla  had ranted about men like Mitchum—how they let their tiny scraps of  power rot them from the inside until they ended up old and alone.

Kayla.

Thomas’s  chest tightened. He wondered what she was doing right now. Was she  sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, wondering why his phone was  going straight to voicemail? He shook the thought away.

Eric  must have sensed his distraction. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t worry about  Kayla. If you don’t get reception, I’ll call her when I get back. I’ll  let her know you’re okay.”

Thomas hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks. Just…tell her I’m sorry. For how I left.”

Eric glanced at him. “What happened? I thought things were good between you two.”

“They are,” Thomas said quickly, but the edge in his voice betrayed him.

He’d packed in a rush that morning, already irritated when Kayla started another fight.

“I don’t understand why you have to leave so often,” she’d said. “We’re barely fixing things, and now you’re running off again.”

“You know this is my job,” Thomas had snapped, stuffing his camera bag.

She grabbed the bag from his hands, almost sending a lens tumbling to the floor. “Don’t dismiss me like I’m in the wrong.”

The  anger had surged then, hot and uncontrollable. Tate had whimpered at  his side as if sensing what would happen. Kayla’s next words stung  deeper than they should have:

“Maybe I’ll find someone else to keep me company while you’re gone.”

The  memory of his hand striking her face burned in his mind. He’d felt  trapped, watching himself from some distant corner, helpless to stop it.  And when she whispered, “I’m sorry,” her voice small and trembling, he  didn’t respond. He had only grabbed his bag and walked out the door.

Thomas clenched his fists. He thought he’d changed. He wanted to change. But what if he hadn’t?

The  village appeared like an afterthought of civilization, a small cluster  of huts surrounded by endless green. Smoke curled lazily from fires, and  children played in the dirt, their laughter faint and distant.

Eric parked the car and turned to Thomas. “You sure you’re gonna be okay here? I could stick around a little longer.”

Thomas shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.”

Eric handed him his bag. “All right. Call her when you can, okay? And if you can’t…” He hesitated. “Just don’t screw this up.”

Thomas watched Eric drive away, the jungle swallowing the sound of the engine.

The  week passed in a blur of work. Thomas captured the vibrant life of the  jungle, from the towering trees to the quiet strength of the villagers.  But each night, as the fires dimmed, the silence pressed in. The weight  of what he’d done—what he was—grew heavier.

On  the last night, a storm ripped through the village. The rain came in  sheets, the wind howling like a beast. When it finally passed, Thomas  stepped outside and saw the ancient tree at the village’s edge, its  trunk split and shattered.

He  raised his camera but hesitated. The jagged wood seemed to speak, the  tree’s collapse mirroring his own broken promises. He lowered the camera  and stared at the ruined trunk, hearing Kayla’s voice in his mind:

“You have to stop running away.”

When Thomas returned to the city, Eric was waiting.

“How’d it go?” Eric asked.

Thomas handed him the camera. “I got what Mitchum needs.”

Eric frowned. “You okay, man? You seem…off.”

Thomas  pulled out his phone. The bars were back, stronger than ever. Kayla’s  name blinked on the screen, unread messages waiting.

After a long pause, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“I need to be better first,” he said quietly.

Eric didn’t press him.

As  they walked to the car, Thomas glanced at Tate trotting ahead, her tail  wagging. He would call Kayla. But first, he needed to find the courage  to face himself. For now, the jungle’s silence lingered, heavy but  cleansing. 

And for now, it was enough.