Two and a half years later, a soldier drove down the empty dirt road alongside the river in an old, familiar pickup truck. It had been cold for days, and the wind had just started whipping around earlier that morning. Now, as he drove alongside the river, the snow was just starting to fall, in bursts of snow squalls.
Suddenly, he spotted the large boulder in the middle of the river. He pulled into the open space surrounded by bare trees, and climbed out of the pickup. He limped to the water’s edge, and tested the ice. The cold snap had been going on since he arrived back, so he was confident the ice was thick enough to hold him, but with moving water, you just never know.
Slowly, he made his way onto the ice, sliding his gimpy foot along the surface, and pushing off with his good leg. The ice creaked underneath his weight, but did not crack, and he made it to the boulder with ease.
He ran his gloved hand over the surface, seeing the many initials carved into the stone. As he made his way around the large rock, he thought about all the other people who had special memories of this spot, even though he was convinced that none of them could possibly match his.