Akilina: Out of the Woods

by Patricia A Bowmer

I don’t want to look. I don’t want to think of them.

  Nevertheless, the memories came fast: her father riding a bicycle he’d altered so he could sit upright to see more of the world; her mother buying the most useless, most vibrant items at neighbors’ garage sales; their Sunday walks; the cluttered home that never got light no matter how many lights they switched on.

  So much I miss. So many things I wanted to say, that I’ll never get to. She closed her eyes. So many things in my life they will never get to know. Why did you have to die, damn you!

  When she opened her eyes the butterflies were still there. Her stomach wrenched with the urge to throw something into their midst. She swallowed hard and looked down at her muddy green hiking boots and the rough stone bridge under her feet.

  The butterflies flew: they were not concerned with her anger; they were simply butterflies.

  “I love you, very, very much.” Her mother had written that in a birthday card. Halley had forgotten about the card, until she’d found it years and years after her mother’s untimely death, as she searched for herself in a box of mementos.

  I love you very, very much, Halley thought. That doesn’t stop, does it, that love? I’ve got to believe it doesn’t stop.

  She raised her eyes to the butterflies, and found her anger was spent, as if it had spread out among the rocks and the water, had lit upon the wings of the butterflies and been lifted away.

  But the grief remained.

  She watched the butterflies, feeling heavy and unable to move.

  Some of them were at rest on the river stones, while others flew gently above. Some landed for only a moment, and others stayed for a long, long time. Like souls, living different length lifetimes. As if earth and heaven were that close, that one could simply alight from a stone and flutter above. And land, and flutter, and land. Could the difference between living and dying be so simple, so free of pain? Could death be nothing but a lifting off, a fluttering above?

  Maybe they are right here with me. We love you, very, very much.

  Standing on the stone bridge, she slowly un-wrapped her arms, suddenly conscious of the way she had been holding herself together. She placed warm palms onto the cool wooden railing of the bridge. Here, I leave my grief. She felt it flow from the cavities of her heart, down the blood vessels in her arms, into her long fingertips, and from there, into the railing of the bridge. From the bridge, it ran into the landscape, which was surely large enough to hold it. She let her hands drop to her sides.

  She stood still a long moment, thinking and then rested her hands again on the bridge rail. “And here, I also pick up my joy.” This time she closed her eyes, and let joy and life pulse through her.

  After a long moment of silence, she opened her eyes. The butterflies were still flying, but they were bluer than before. She allowed herself a small smile.

  The pools of water below the butterflies looked cool and inviting, a welcome contrast to the heat of her tears. She took a deep breath, and bent down to the nearest pool. It was invigorating to splash her face and arms with water. The dirt that had caked on her slid off in long white lines. She drank deeply.

  She was about to break into a run again, but she paused. Mom and Dad would have told me to take care of myself out here. She filled her canteen, capping it carefully. There, that will get me a little way at least. She began to run again, feeling stronger and better fueled.

  The black edging of the butterflies had soaked up much of her grief; their soothing, ethereal blue wings stayed with her, and lifted her as she ran.

  Gradually, the dirt of the path changed from brown to a warm, brick red. It was studded with rocks, perfect for dancing along at a fast pace. When the path turned uphill, she slowed to a jog. Ferns unrolled long fronds into the moist air. Large leaves shaped like elephant ears were abundant. The solitude was up-lifting. She’d often wanted to run through the woods alone, but had always been afraid. Once, she’d seen a tall woman on a trail like this, running fast, with an air of confidence, of fearlessness. A golden aura protected that woman, an aura of the woman’s own making. Halley’s eyes had followed her as she moved off. She longed to be that free.

  And now…now she was! She laughed with delight, and continued to run until her need to run was satisfied.

  When she finally slowed to a walk, her pulse dropped quickly and her breathing began to quiet. The trail continued. The leaves crunched under her boots like old friends.

  I haven’t felt this way in so long. It’s like I’ve returned to my body, after being away for a very long time.

  The woods now seemed reassuring and welcoming. It was a glorious moment. She breathed deeply of it, drawing it in. The urge to turn back was gone. She stayed with this feeling, feeling its foreignness, embracing it. It had to do with releasing her anger and her grief, with picking up her joy. Finally, she stopped walking. She reached her arms up in the air, stretching her body tall, lifting her eyes to the tree canopy above, lifting her chest, as if praying.

  As she lowered her arms, her eyes lit on her left hand, and she felt a sudden jolt of alarm.

  I used to have a ring, didn’t I?

  A strange buzzing filled her ears and gripped her with a sense of panic.

  What’s happened to it? How come there’s not even an indentation to show where it was?

  Holding her left hand in her right, she stared hard at the finger where the ring should be. It was hard to see – with dismay, she noticed the fading light. It was getting dark. Fast. She looked around her with rapidly growing unease.

  The sun had already moved below the tree line, and the sky was becoming overcast. Suddenly night was here, leaping out at her from the shadows. Even as she let her hand fall back to her side, the trees were fading from green to grey; soon, they would be black. She felt a chill of fear, augmented by the suddenly noticeable coolness in the air. It must be because I’ve stopped running. I need to put on more clothes. Quickly, she pulled her long-sleeved t-shirt over her head, and slipped the orange windbreaker over the top, noting with dismay that the shirt was still damp. The extra layers didn’t help; she quickly began to shiver. Trying to generate warmth, she rubbed her hands together. Her fingertips would soon be turning white as her body preserved heat for her core. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and looked around.

  The path had become misty, as if suddenly peopled by strange spirits. It had been straight earlier in the day, but now it appeared winding and rooted. Her pulse lifted. Even the friendly cathedral trees looked threatening, standing tall and emaciated. She shook her head and took her eyes from the tall trees, looking down to the ground. Got to calm down.

  Her breath caught in her throat – on the forest floor, the tree roots looked like snakes. A bolt of fear shot through her, making her step back fast, breathing out hard, opening her eyes so wide that it hurt and staring hard at the spot where she was certain she’d just seen movement. She waited several moments. It had been an illusion. It was just a tree root.

  “It wasn’t a snake,” she said, experimenting with her voice – it was reassuring to hear a voice, even if it were just her own. She continued to talk aloud, choosing her words carefully. “You’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. You can do this. You’ll find shelter. Stay calm…”

  She fought the urge to run, to panic – that would be the worst thing she could do. It would waste valuable time, and only scare her more. And there would be snakes out at this time of night. She forced herself to take deeper breaths. It was smarter to move slowly, to give them time to feel the vibrations of her footsteps. They were shy creatures, and would just crawl away. If they heard her coming.

  She began to walk again, stepping carefully. The forest became thick with night, and, though she moved slowly, she kept stumbling over tree roots and rocks. The shock of it made her heart thud painfully.

  “See, Fernando was right,” she said sharply. “You’re so stupid! You wasted all that time with your running, and now you don’t have anywhere to sleep. Yo
u don’t know how to do this alone. So smug, feeling so free. And now you’ve failed on your first night, not even finding shelter.”

  She hated the disgust, the bite of the words, but found it impossible to silence herself. Even when she stopped speaking aloud, the voice continued in her head. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

  In frustration, she growled aloud, trying to drown out the interior dialog. The growl was frightening. Uncontrolled. She glanced around her quickly, scared at being alone but suddenly even more frightened that she might not be alone.

  She stopped moving. It was safer to stay right where she was, to curl into a small, hard ball. She closed her eyes and thought of the roly-polys she and her brother used to play with. By touching one of their feathery legs very gently – with care, so they didn’t hurt them – they could make a roly-poly form itself into a round, armored ball that sheltered its soft bits. She remembered the feel of their rough skin as she rolled them around the palm of her hand. When put back on the ground, the roly-poly would wait a moment, then open up again and scurry away. It would be good to be that sort of creature, to carry one’s own armor. Laying herself down on the hard earth, she hugged her knees into her chest.

  The ground was cruel. She had no sleeping bag or blanket. Her backpack, which might have served as a pillow, she’d thrown away. Stupid. Quickly, she ate two of her energy bars and half of the pack of dried nuts. She drank some water from the canteen, but it disappeared too quickly, leaving her thirst far from quenched. She forced herself to save some for morning.

  Darkness quickly engulfed her. With the coming of night, the woods grew louder. Creatures accustomed to the night shadows began to wake and move about. Their calls were like none she had heard before. They might be insects, birds, or large tree-dwelling animals. Their chorus built in intensity, until she had to cover her ears with her hands. This gesture shut out the ache of the noise, but still the cries crept into her head between tiny gaps in her fingers. It made her picture all manner of awfulness in the coming night.

  It became, suddenly, ominously, still. She turned her head and stared up: a slice of sky was just visible between the trees. It had been overcast. Now the sky had turned a heavy black, and as she watched, a yellow hue appeared at the edges. The temperature dropped fast. She knew the warning signs, and her body tightened instinctively just before the first blinding flash of light. It was soon followed by the inevitable boom of thunder.

  The first drops of rain tested her gently, as if for resistance. Then they quickened, thudding hard into her, coldly, and without compassion. The forceful rain stripped away the last remaining pleasure of her day. It ran boldly down her face, washing away her slim confidence. The frequent lightning lit the forest with a blinding white glare, its after-image making white ghost trees dance before her eyes. She shut them tightly. She was in terrible danger of being struck by lightning. If it were going to happen anyway, she didn’t want to watch. I’ve been out in lots of thunder-storms – I’ve never been struck before. The thought seemed worse than senseless, and was soon followed by its logical conclusion. There’s always a first time. She shut her eyes tighter; there was nothing she could do about it. The thunder boomed. She felt the ground rumble under her.

  The rain became a deluge of hungry sheets of water plunging across the forest, falling as if too heavy for themselves, as if they were over-full and their thin skins were bursting. The water could not get back to earth fast enough, and it fell with an unexpected and fearsome urgency. It was relentless. It didn’t seem possible that it could rain so hard for so long, that thunder could be so loud.

  The rain bore down on her, birthing mud, sweeping away the leaves with its rivulets. She didn’t move. She knew she was crying but couldn’t feel the tears flow down her cheeks; they merged with the rain and washed into the earth. The rain needled arrows of cold into her flesh. It ran into her ears and down her neck, inside her thin shirt. It embraced her with icy fingers, intimate and terrifying. She prayed for someone to appear, to help her, to tell her what to do.

  Her violent shivering continued for some time, but eventually, it stopped. This was a bad sign; even her body’s will to live was abandoning her. She stared blankly at the space where the canteen lay – she didn’t move to open it and let it fill with rain-water.

  In the dimmest, coldest, darkest hours of that long night, the rain became alive with murderous intent. Waking in the small hours of the night – the hours that smelt of death – could make even the strongest spirit long to leave this earthly test, to pass onto a calmer, easier place. And she had never felt strong at all. She longed for the freedom the rain offered, longed for it to become a drowning river that would release her from herself.

  It was not the rain that made her long for death, not the night alone. It was facing all the moments that had come before. It was facing her past that she could never erase, the shame of the choices she had made. It was facing herself in darkness.

  She watched herself from some distance, and knew that, for the woman who lay curled on the cold, wet earth, there seemed not a single point of light in the universe, that the point of it all had become impossibly elusive. She was sure that the baby had perished. How could she save it, when she couldn’t even save herself?

  When all was black, her exhaustion led her into a troubled sleep. She dreamt of being swept away by unforeseen tidal waves.

  Through that long, dark night, the man watched as her confidence ebbed away.

  You are right to lose hope. You don’t have the power to save yourself. Soon…soon I will come for you.

  The sun’s warmth on her face woke her, and she immediately longed for the sweet unconsciousness of sleep. She was still here. It hadn’t been a bad dream.

  She was completely water-logged. Her clothes were flattened against her skin, saturated by the rain. Her vibrant orange windbreaker was covered in mud, and her combat trousers had fared no better. She stood up and removed the two outer layers, shaking the windbreaker to remove some of the mud, and wringing out the long-sleeved t-shirt, watching the muddy water drip onto the earth. She tied them around her waist, and shivered in the one layer remaining, the damp red sleeveless t-shirt with the sequined-on queen’s crown.

  Hunger growled through her, followed closely and urgently by thirst. She felt in the pocket of her trousers for the last of the energy bars and the nut mix. It was lucky they’d been in plastic bags. She ate them quickly, without tasting them. The canteen water disappeared almost as fast. That’s breakfast over. And lunch and dinner too. That’s all of it, gone.

  She folded up the zip-lock bags that had held her scant food supply and tucked them neatly into her pocket. The movement was purely mechanical; it seemed pointless to be saving plastic bags in her hopeless situation.

  She stared blankly at the ground, thinking of the confidence she’d felt the day before when she was running, as if searching for it amongst the wet leaves. It was gone. It had been like trying to fill an empty reservoir with one heavy rain. The deluge had only dampened the mud.

  She had a sudden uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Glancing around her for the source of the feeling, she was met by a burst of loud chattering in a nearby tree. It wasn’t, as she’d expected, a bird. It was a tiny pair of lion-like monkeys.

  Their small faces were black, be-maned by a darker orange of rough fur. In sharp contrast to the black of their faces their fur was a deep gold, the color of the sun in a child’s drawing of the seaside. They sat motionless on the tree branch. Their long tails hung down, thin and nearly hairless at the base and down their length, but towards the end, thickened with short, course, darker fur.

  Just like the tail of a lion, she thought. Lion-monkeys, that’s what I’ll call them.

  As if they’d heard her, the tiny smiling lion faces looked towards her, then back at each other, and then towards her again. They chattered back and forth, taking turns. “Ch-ch-ch-ch ch.” “Ch-ch-ch-ch ch-CH.” Their voices were loud and resonating. She felt suddenly
self-conscious, as if they were discussing how messy she looked. They moved their arms about, as if punctuating particular points with special emphasis. They shook their manes. Then, as if they had come to a concordance, for a moment they were silent. They stared at Halley, long and hard. One of them yawned suddenly, and she imagined a tiny roar. Together they broke into a pleasingly fluid motion, swinging away through the trees, arm by arm, using tails as well. They looked like they were on a mission.

  Watching the monkeys move away, Halley’s loneliness hit her hard. Even monkeys had friends. The longing she felt for another was so powerful, she felt nauseous. She moved to shoulder her black backpack, and then remembered she’d thrown it away. She moved off; she couldn’t bear to be still any longer.

  The forest floor was wet and muddy, the leaves soggy underfoot. There was an air of decay, as the leaves crumbled into dirt, providing food for the mature trees. It’s a form of cannibalism, she thought with a shudder.

  Walking was difficult. Where she least expected it the ground deepened with mud, sucking at the edges of her shoes. Water dripped from the trees. When she glanced up, it fell with astounding aim into her eyes, making her blink rapidly. After a short while, she lost the trail, and while she attempted to make progress, she felt she might well be traveling in circles. She had no map and no compass, and even if she had, it wouldn’t help. She had no destination. Her only aim was to find the baby she had heard cry.

  She felt an urgent need to leave the woods, to see the edge of the horizon again. But first she had to find the baby, she reminded herself. In her head, she could still hear its wail. As if I could even help it! Why did I ever come here? I should have just stayed with Fernando. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, to stay with him. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so dark.

  Doubt nibbled at her, a school of small, hungry fish, doubt for her competence, for her ability to make decisions, for her ability to protect herself. The doubt grew sharper teeth with each misstep, with each lost moment.