Lost and Found
This story story was inspired by the Reedsy prompt: You get lost in the woods during a hike. It’s starting to get dark, when you see the glow of a campfire nearby.
Note to self; this is why you never go camping, hiking, backpacking, or anything else that could be classified under “outdoorsy”. You are a city boy. Accept it and move on.
Go, my therapist said. Give yourself some time away from all the demands and chaos surrounding you. Give yourself space to think. A space to ground; whatever the heck that meant. It would be fun. It would be peaceful. It would be good for you. So said my most wise and insightful sage of a therapist.
I was away from all my regular chaos, sure. And I apparently had countless square miles in which I could think all I wanted to. Still not sure what grounding was supposed to be, but I’m fairly sure this wasn’t it. This wasn’t fun, not at all peaceful, and I couldn’t think of any way that being lost in the middle of the woods butting up against national wilderness would be good for me. But there I was, with the sun setting, nonetheless. What was supposed to have been a short little day hike on a moderate trail had turned into an unprepared overnight hike through the middle of freaking nowhere.
I was, in a word, screwed.
For the umpteenth time, I held aloft my cell phone towards the sky and prayed once more to the useless heavens for something more than that stupid circle and its stupid line.
Well. Okay. There was one change on the screen. Instead of having 10% battery life left, I was down to 3%.
Images of rabid wolves with saliva dripping off mile long fangs slowly advancing upon me under a full moon pressed upon my mind’s eye. Thanks, mind. I really needed that image right about now. Were wild wolves even a thing here? I knew they were back in Yellowstone and in Alaska. But those places were thousands of miles from here. Surely there were no wolves here, right? Right? Dang it, I should have Googled that before going.
Note to self; before plunging into the woods like some expert, life long, woodsman from that Mountain Men show, Google your local area for information about all the things that could kill, eat, and or both, before you go.
I let out a long, guttural growl, pinching the bridge of my nose. Okay. Think, self, think. You told Mom where you were going and what you were doing. You made sure to tell the most hysterical person you could think of so if something did go wrong, you could bet the farm there would rescue crews searching for your lifeless body as soon as possible. Surely Mom must have called the cops, forest service, fire fighters, national guard, local news, national news, and anyone else she thought would listen by now. You just have to survive until they find you.
Note to self; fire therapist as soon as cell signal returns.
Second note to self; inquire if future therapist believes time in woods is a good experience. If so, pass.
On to immediate problem, how to survive the night and not get eaten by rabid wolves or anything else here not a rabbit. I had eaten the last of my food hours ago, so food was out. Still had some water left, about a quarter of my last water bottle. A light jacket. Hat. My latest self-help book on finding your purpose in life. Yep. Definitely screwed here. Miles would never let me live this down.
Note to self; kick Miles. Because, Miles. And it would feel good.
Maybe there would be a large tree I could huddle under or some unoccupied rock cave thingy I could use as temporary shelter. There was no telling how cold it was going to get tonight. It was still early-ish summer. The day had been hot enough that I had even rued taking the jacket and wished for a tank top and shorts over my Tee shirt and jeans. Thankful enough for them now. Wasn’t there something about it always getting colder at night at higher elevations? What was the temperature for hypothermia? How would I even know if I got it? An innate and crazy urge to strip? Wasn’t that was happened in that one book back in middle school that I had to read for science?
Screwed, screwed, screwed!
I checked my surroundings for something that might offer some hope. What I saw was….a light? Oh, dear God, please, I’ll start going back to church tomorrow, forget that it’s Monday, if that’s a light from a people person that would keep me alive and safe. It wouldn’t count if it was a wild ax murdering hermit. That would kinda defeat the purpose. But a sane, normal human with supplies to keep me from getting eaten by wolves or freezing to death; I would go back to church for that. Ignore the fact that anyone who would do this whole woodsy thing voluntarily can’t be normal for the moment.
Approach softly. Look for ax. If ax seen, back away slowly, and resume with original plan. Rabid wolves surely would be better to deal with than ax murdering sociopath. Right?
Note to self; Google that if you live.
I got close enough to see a woman sitting on a rock, tending a fire with a large stick. Behind her was a small tent. I tried to get closer to look for a bloody ax; hey, women could be ax murderers too; but my stealth left me as I stepped on a branch and a loud crack announced my presence. I winced and froze. Maybe if I did the whole rabbit thing she wouldn’t notice. Or maybe she’d think it was rabid wolves. Or maybe…
“You can come out now. I don’t bite and I’m not going to kill you.”
…Maybe I’d get invited to join her and a promise that she wasn’t looking to maim or kill me.
Rather sheepishly, I entered into the ring of light provided by her fire. “Hello.” When in doubt, act normal and greet with manners. That’s what my grandmother always said. Who knew that what she said would ever be useful one day? Go figure.
“Can I safely assume that you’re not an ax murder coming to try and kill me?” asked my savior.
“No axes here.” I held up my hands and slowly turned around, letting her fully see my pathetic state.
“First time in the woods?”
She nodded, lips pressed tight to no doubt hide a smile. But the sparkle in her deep brown eyes gave it away. “Sorry.”
“I’m Jane,” she offered.
“Should I be worried about Tarzan sneaking up on me?”
Jane made a face that I’m fairly sure was not amusement nor appreciation.
Note to self; don’t say stupid things like that ever again. Ever.
“Olivier,” I offered, then added, “As in Twist. My mother is a huge Dickens fan.” Okay, was it just me or was it weird to be having this type of conversation in the middle of no where in the dark with a strange woman whom I happened to literally stumble upon?
Note to self; Google that. Also Google how to show gratitude when one’s life is saved from being eaten to death by rabid wolves and/or freezing to death by a very pretty lady. For I suddenly realized that she was very, very beautiful, in fact.
A small chuckle carried across the space between us, even as Jane tried to hide it behind a hand. “Well, Olivier, if you can promise no more Tarzan jokes, you are welcome to share my camp for the night. I don’t have much, but apparently it’s more than you do.”
“I won’t contest that. And I promise. Scouts honor.” I even did the salute and everything.
Jane nodded, still smiling, and scooted over, making space for me to join her at the fireside.
It was that night that I learned the truth behind the statement that not all who wander are lost. And how somehow, when we are our most lost, we can end up finding exactly what we need the most. You see, that was the night I met my wife and the mother of my children.