by Sarah Noffke
“You know I could have driven,” I say to the road but meant for Dahlia.
“That’s okay, I wanted an adventure, not a car wreck,” she says.
“I’m a bloody fantastic driver,” I say.
“Yes, dear, but your driving is a bit aggressive for my taste,” she says.
“Well, at the speed we are going now we will never arrive to the bee farm or cheese factory or whatever other revolting place you have in mind for us,” I say.
“Well, I’m hoping you will keep an open mind about our next destination,” she says with a yawn. “Reynold, just follow the GPS and we will be there in an hour or two.”
“Or three,” I say, eyeing the speedometer. “You realize that this beast can manage speeds that would put the tractors in Peavey to shame. Feel free to step on it.”
Pops chuckles. “Oh, Ren, not everything is about speed and efficiency. You’ve got to learn to enjoy the ride.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, instantly dismissing his awful cliché advice.
“I’m just so thrilled to be on a family vacation,” he says and then slaps the steering wheel. “Who would have thought? You and me on a road trip. It’s about the best experience I could have dreamed of.”
“You should really get out more,” I say.
“Well, and to have you, Adelaide, Lucien, and Dahlia all together. Well, I’m one lucky man,” Pops says.
“It is wonderful being all together, Reynold,” Dahlia says, a smile in her tired voice. She sounds like she’s about to drop off into Middling dreams.
“I agree,” Adelaide sings from the back. “Even if Ren loathes my very existence, I’m glad we’ve taken the opportunity to do this trip together.”
“You all are going to make me throw up,” I say.
“And I appreciate you guys allowing me to tag along,” says a voice that I don’t recognize.
I twist around to see a woman sitting next to Adelaide. She’s in her thirties and has boring brown hair and glasses and looks just like an accountant with a rap sheet.
“Who the fuck are you?” I say to the lady.
“I met her back in Eureka,” Adelaide says, giving me a proud smile. “She asked for a ride and I figured no one would mind if she joined us.”
Dahlia, who is half asleep, waves absentmindedly at the back. “Whatever,” she says.
“The more, the merrier,” my pops sings.
“No,” I say to him. “Not whatever,” I say in Dahlia’s direction. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I say to Adelaide.
“Oh, shocking, I’ve screwed up again by your standards,” she says.
“Not by my standards,” I say. “By any sane person’s standards. You all apparently aren’t that. Not anymore.”
“I’m not an axe murderer,” the lady says.
“That’s what all axe murderers say,” I say to the woman, who looks somewhat amused.
The hitchhiker then laughs. “He’s funny,” she says to Adelaide.
“Who are you?” I say, realizing we are in the middle of nowhere now but I’m going to drop this thing off at the next sign of civilization. I have really softened up.
“I’m Jessica. But I go by Sica,” she says.
I shake my head at her. “What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. Who goes by the last part of their name?” Then I remember Leen and Ephanie, the dumb woman with the idiotic advice.
“I do,” Sica says with a shrug.
“Addy,” I say, looking at my dumbass daughter. “Why the fuck did you bring a hitchhiker into our vehicle?”
She gives me a mischievous smile. “I was bored.”
“That’s because you’re boring,” I say, realizing she did this as another tactic to try and irritate me. It really is her hobby.
“But honestly, I just felt compelled. I think she’s one of us,” Adelaide says with a giant wink. “You know, a DT. A reamda ravelerta. A sleep journey person. A—”
“I know what you mean. And if this woman was then she wouldn’t be hitchhiking. Did you ever think of that?” I say, resisting the urge to rip back there and strangle my offspring.
“Laide is right,” the woman says, pointing at my daughter. “We are really all one. We are the same. I am you and you are me and we bring people along because we are all connected.”
“No, no, and fucking no,” I say to the woman.
“Ask her where she’s going,” Adelaide says, looking excited.
I roll my neck, feeling a strain start to press into my muscles from being turned around in my seat.
“Jess, where the fuck are you going?” I say.
“Sica,” the woman corrects. “Jess is my sister.”
“How the fuck do you have a sister by the same name?” I say.
She shrugs. “My parents thought it would be cool,” the woman says, drawing out the last word like a fucking hippie would. “And I’m going through space and time, man. That’s where I’m headed.”
“See,” Adelaide says. “She’s one of us.”
“No, she’s on drugs,” I say.
“Aren’t we all on something?” the woman says.
“No, Sue, some of us are trying to hold onto our brain cells,” I say.
“What’s the point? Intelligence is infinite,” the hitchhiker says.
“No, stupidity is. Intelligence, I’ve found, is rare and possibly something most humans are allergic to,” I say. “And since this conversation with you is making me feel dumb, why don’t you shut your mouth unless you want me to hit the eject button for your seat.”
“I told you he’d let you stay,” Adelaide says. “He’s really a humanitarian, my father.”
“Thanks for allowing me on this part of your adventure, Nold,” says the woman, who obviously wants today to be her last on earth.
“Shut the fuck up, Jessy,” I say to her.
***
The ocean disappears on our left almost at once when the road veers to the right and then all at once we are cloaked in a green darkness. I look up from my book to find trees. Trees every fucking where. Massive trees with bark as red as my hair.
“Oh, we’re almost there,” Dahlia says, waking from her dreams.
“Almost where?” I say, an edge to my voice.
“Don’t be mad, but I’ve always wanted to see the redwoods. I knew you wouldn’t like the idea, but I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind for me,” she says.
“Dahlia, you know I don’t do trees…” I say, pressing my eyes shut, my fingers pushing into my temples. An old anxiety storming back.
“Then stay in the car,” she says as Pops pulls into a turn-out. “I picked up a picnic at the town back there, though, and think you should join us.”
“No fucking way,” I say, staring out the windshield at the massive beasts towering everywhere, surrounding me like a bunch of demons about to close in on me and suffocate me with nightmares.
“Have it your own way,” she says as the lot pile out of the car.
Pops slaps me on the shoulder. “Hope you change your mind, son.” Then he slides out and joins the women and toddler as they stretch and walk off into the forest.
I pull up my book, certain that the last thing I’m going to do is join those pain in the asses as they cram cheese and crackers into their mouths. Then I remember I have to take a piss, which I should be able to do just outside of the vehicle. And then I can be back inside the compartment with a long stretch to read my book which offers the distraction I need.
I open the door and jerk with surprise when I find Jessica standing nearby, leaning beside the SUV.
“What are you doing here?” I say with disgust.
“Waiting,” she says simply.
“Well, sod off. I’ve got to take a piss,” I say.
“In a minute. I wanted to tell you something first,” she says.
I consider getting in the woman’s head and making her climb up a tree and jump, but decide against it. Something in her eyes gives me a curious p
ause.
“You seem like a man who has lived half a life,” Jess says.
“I’ve fucking had more experiences than anyone on this planet,” I say.
“And yet you’ve never experienced the shade of a tree or the laughter of a child or the heartbreak of losing a loved one,” she says, too much confidence in her words. And how could she know all that?
“I’ve lost people,” I say, my voice tight. I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with this halfwit.
“Yes, but have you ever allowed yourself to experience that loss or have you only shoved it away? Retreated from the pain? My guess is that you’re not a man who has dealt with the loss. That’s why it marks your eyes, and restricts your past and therefore your future,” she says.
“You know nothing,” I say with a hiss.
“Maybe, but I will offer you one piece of wisdom I learned on my travels.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say.
“Then don’t, but I’m going to say this anyway,” she says with a prideful smile. “The future is a product of the demons we lay to rest. Get over the past to enjoy what’s to come.” And I don’t like her use of the word demons, knowing I’ve just described the trees as that.
“That’s shitty advice,” I say.
“Maybe so, but couple it with other words of wisdom and it might help you,” Sica says.
“Help me with what?” I say.
“With finally being present, not restricted by the loss of the past and the fear of that loss that will come in the future,” she says.
I give the woman a cold stare, not certain how to respond.
She looks up at the dark canopy overhead. “I can’t think of a better place to bury your demons,” the woman says and then turns and walks into the forest, humming a song I know and yet I can’t place.
I’m in a slight daze when something on the ground catches my eyes. I lean over and grab the object. It’s a key. But not a regular one. It’s an old-fashioned skeleton key. It’s attached to a wooden keychain. And on it is engraved the name “Sica.”
“You dropped this,” I say but when I look up the woman is gone. I consider leaving it but instead I trudge forward into the darkening forest.
Chapter Sixteen
The forest air is rich with the smell of dirt and chill, laced with so much moisture my shirt feels instantly wet. Jessica took a path that is partially obscured by bloody ferns. The fucking weeds are everywhere, it appears. And the trees, they’re more like buildings. I’ve never been to the redwood forest. It’s one of the few places I haven’t seen because why the hell would I want to. But the love of my life had to see some overgrown trees and now here I am. People go off and get cancer and then I have to do everything they say.
The key in my hand is warm. I’m not sure why I feel the need to get it back to the woman. Maybe the do-gooder mentality from the Lucidites is slowly starting to wear off on me. All I know is the key feels familiar in my hands, like I’ve held it before. Or seen it maybe. It’s copper and rusted in places and edged in green patina in other places.
“Jessica!” I call out at the edge of the woods.
There’s a stirring in the distance. Leaves move from someone or something retreating or approaching.
“I’ve got your key,” I say like a fucking idiot to the trees.
Again something shakes a small twig-filled tree, but this time on my right.
“Are you there?” I say, louder this time.
“Huh?” I hear the woman say, although her response could have been a bird.
“Jessica, is that you?” I say, and with every passing second I feel like a bigger moron. I turn back to stare at the SUV, sitting in the parking area, roughly ten yards away. I could be comfortably sitting in there, reading my book, and not out in bloody nature.
“I’m here,” she says, but on my left, and she sounds so far away.
“You dropped a key. I have it,” I say, rolling the thing around in my fingers.
“What?” she says, her voice now directly in front of me.
What the fuck is going on?
“Your key!” I yell at top volume. “I have it!”
“Will you bring it to me?” the woman’s voice sings and she sounds closer, although I can’t see anything besides trees stacked on top of each other.
“No, I bloody won’t bring it to you,” I say. “I’m going to leave it right here.” I hold the key up, about to drop it on the earth below.
“Presently, I’ve got myself tied up in some thorns,” she says.
“Well, it will be here for you when you get your git ass out of there,” I say, my fingers about to release the key.
“No, don’t. I can’t lose it. Everything gets lost in the forest. I’m just right here,” she says, and her voice sounds like it’s on the other side of the closest tree to me. “Would you be a dear and help me out. I’m hurt from the thorns. They’ve tangled me up pretty badly.”
I turn back to the SUV and then to the forest.
“Presently, you’re all I have,” she says, and her voice reminds me of Dahlia’s when we spoke on the pier. It was pleading and weak and tender and struck a note in me.
My chin rises and I regard the beast in front of me. Trees. Huge trees with trunks bigger around than the Audi behind me. These monsters that are hundreds of feet tall tower over me. Precarious branches hanging from them. The whole scene in front of me is organic and untidy and in need of a serious manicure. The British would never keep their forest in such a sorry state, all overgrown and smelling of rot.
“Please,” Jessica says, her voice so much closer than before. “I need help.”
What am I really afraid of? I’m a man who can create illusions and control minds and teleport. These are just stupid trees. I look at the sign beside the path. It reads “Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park.”
“All right, Jedediah, make sure your trees fucking behave themselves. I’m going in,” I say, walking forward. The ferns caress my slacks as I enter the path. The earth under my feet is soft, probably covered in a billion dead leaves. Fucking dumbass trees and their disorganized ways. It takes longer than I figured to walk around the tree where I suspect Jessica has gotten herself tangled up. Maybe the length of time it takes is because the fucker is so huge, or because each step is followed by a tentative pause. Am I really worried about being knocked out by a branch like Jimmy? It would be something I couldn’t easily escape. Like him, I probably wouldn’t see it coming. And then I’d be gone from this world. Away from Dahlia with no way to comfort her.
But truly, after everything I’ve been through, am I really afraid to die? That doesn’t seem realistic. And yet, everyone must fear their own death on some level.
“Where are you?” I say when I don’t find Jessica behind the tree.
“I’m over here,” she says, and her voice is quieter, a few yards off. “I’m past the first line of trees.”
“Of course you bloody are,” I say, turning back to the road; however, I can barely see it now. I’m not that deep into the woods and yet it feels like I am.
I stalk forward, the key clenched in my hand. I could just teleport over to her, but I don’t know where I’d land. And I’m growing more pissed by the second that this little errand is causing me to do the one thing I haven’t done in all my life: hang out in nature. Even before Jimmy’s death, I never spent much time outside. I didn’t appreciate what a showoff nature always is. I’ve always been powerful, but in the backwoods I’m mostly powerless. And that’s a problem, but I’m not sure why. My thoughts, which seem to be spinning around like cotton candy on a spool, have me distracted. That’s probably why I march farther than I intended and off the path by the time I realize I still haven’t found the daft woman tangled in thorns.
“Where the fuck are you?” I say, turning about. All I see now are trees. No road. No sky. Just trees.
“Past the point of return, I’m afraid,” I hear her voice behind me, even deeper in the woods.
“What?” I say, and her words trigger the message that Leen said to me at her farm. And then like a storm following a steady wind, the tour guide’s words stream through my head. Ephanie had also spoken about the past. What had each woman said? And as if the play button on a recorder has been pushed I hear their voices in my head, one on top of the other.
The past can’t be undone.
You need to enjoy the present to not regret the past.
Nor can it be redone.
The present is a bitch until you realize it’s all you have.
Get over the past to enjoy what’s to come.
I halt. What’s going on? I hold up my hand and realize I’m shaking from adrenaline, but this makes no sense. I’m always steady. And yet, I have no idea what’s going on right now. I’m deep in the redwood forest, chasing after a stranger and replaying conversations I had with bloody nutters.
“Jessica, where are you?” I yell.
“Past the point of return,” she repeats, her voice like it’s coming through a tunnel.
“What? I thought you just got yourself tangled in a patch of thorns.”
“Not me. You,” she sings, and the last word sounds like a call from an owl, almost melodic.
