To Zero To Two

Somewhere, between the twelve trees we just passed, the first forty hours out here, the most recent fifty twig snaps, and four major wind gusts, and we stopped seeing the mountain. The trees became too tall, stopping from letting us know where we were. The sun went, hidden behind the clouds like a child afraid of the dark and hiding under the sheets. The trees hide any evidence of moon and every grey barked and feathered tree looks the same. The snapping twigs beneath our feet feel, sound and look all the same.

Have we been riding this merry-go-round the whole time and never noticed? Just spinning and in circle after circle and never realized that we were stumbling over the same right angled roots, fallen trees and their stumps? I was sure that eventually, if we were going in circles, we would get dizzy. But maybe I was wrong.

Now that it is dark, we make camp, grab the lighters, gather identical twigs scattered on the ground like eggs during an Easter Egg Hunt, crumpled up leaves, large stones, dead animals, acorns, pinecones, paper we are no longer using, and trash we gathered along the way. We start the fire to keep us warm and heat up whatever food we have left.

We don’t say much; in fact, we barely look at each other. “We need to locate the mountain or some sort of landmark soon or we will be lost out here even longer than we have already been.” I say, and he nods in agreement.

We tried climbing the trees earlier to see what is beyond… This. The branches got too small and our body weight got too heavy beneath the fragile branches. We couldn’t get high enough to see beyond this forest. We found a source of water and only talked when necessary following the river. That is the only landmark we have.

I’m not even sure how we got lost out here. Is it my fault or his? I set up the tent and make our separate sleeping bags, spread them out on separate sides of the tent.

The fire burns and I watch it glow. We make hotdogs, which I hate and make his stomach turn, but it’s the only thing we have left to eat. I take a bite, and ignore the mixed meat taste and the fishy texture in my mouth.

I stare; I stare as the light flickers on my face. I stare as the wood burns, and creates a red glow as ash falls and it creeps down the twigs. I watch the smoke as it rises to the air, leaving ash floating to the ground, and I watch some embers burn on the ground and fly in the air. I tune into the crackling of the fire.

Then he coughs, clearing his throat.  I look at him and stare at the glow on his face, as it flickers and enhances his jawline. Sometimes if I listen closely, I can hear his vocal cords banging against his body begging him to sing. I’m sure it is killing him not singing, he hasn’t sang since we realized we were lost out here. Or maybe I am wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to sing anymore, and I just want him to sing. It has been months since I heard him sing last. I lose a breath every time it crosses my mind.

I decide to go to sleep, so I climb into the tent and say goodnight, but he doesn’t say it back. I lay on my sleeping bag, and close my eyes, and immediately drift. I wonder what he has been thinking about in these months of silence and distance while we walk these autumn, now winter woods.

I hear him come into the tent, and zip it from the inside. I find that I want to get close to him for warmth, but I know I am not allowed. Soon I am asleep. I awaken a couple of hours later to a snap at the branches and swear that I see something more. I unzip and look for the intruder, monster, thief, bear, raccoon, deer, boogieman, roommate, murderer, serial killer, my mother, his mother, someone to scare us, and someone to rescue us.  But the wind whistles and blows, and the trees move, just like they did from inside. It’s just the tress. I think to myself and go back inside the tent to sleep.

I awake, in my room, in my bed, the one he carried up here and helped put together, there are pictures surrounding me, snow on the ground outside my large window and he is states away. We are in the same dark woods and forbidden forest that we were in last night. Nothing has changed. I wonder if we will ever make it out.

Are we going to keep spinning on the carousal in circles until someone gets dizzy, and sick, too much to continue?

I walk out of my bedroom door, the streamers still up from yesterday morning. I took time to look at the picture of him hidden in my closet. It is only when I am in desperate need of a reminder, I pull it out. Wishing I had moved my thumb over his hand when we were praying, or that I had said something, told him the story before others got to him. But I had put the picture back, knowing I wouldn’t look at it again for a long time. He doesn’t know I have it. I often forget that I have it.

My sister told him it was for a project, but she sent it to me to remind me of that entire summer, and everything God did. A part of me wanted to roll my eyes, the other part wanted to thank her because it has been months since we were in the clear. Since we could see the mountain, and the sun, since trees were not murders and thieves hiding in the cracks between the flakey stumps of old trees.

I sigh and say good morning to my roommates who are sitting on the couch and at the table eating.

Not today, we are not making it out today.

But someday.

I hope, I pray, I beg, I plead, I joke, I laugh, I touch, I feel, I tumble, I jump and swing that it is someday soon. Because I can’t survive out here, in this cold, in this silence, in these dimly lit woods much longer.