Get Lost

by William White

They’d had a fight. Another one. Maybe the third this week? She told him to “get lost”.

And that’s exactly what he did.

They lived next to the Humboldt National Forest. Six million acres of raw land. Trees, mountains, wildlife. No roads, no buildings, no people. He had driven his old truck to the very end of an abandoned service trail. Parked, left his phone, his maps, his flashlight, and even his compass. Locked his truck and walked into the woods.

That was three days ago.

And there’s no doubt about it.

He is lost.

But he’s not alone. Her dog Buddy had jumped up into the cab of his truck as he was leaving and he’d thought, why not?

Unfortunately he hadn’t brought any supplies along. Nothing to eat or drink. Water hadn’t been a problem as there are plenty of creeks and streams in the forest. Food was another matter. He isn’t the type of guy to eat berries off of bushes. He’d probably get the poison ones. He’s more of a Burger King kind of guy. Fast food. Fries. Diet Coke. Like that.

Nor had he worn appropriate clothes. Cargo shorts (with empty pockets), his worn out high tops with the holes in the toe. His sweatshirt is thick and warm, but the nights had been a lot colder than he thought they’d be.

And the dew. The falling dew left his clothes soaking wet and cold until the sun was high in the sky.

The dog on the other hand seemed fine. Small red husky with a dense coat. Buddy is built for cold weather. Insulated. But Buddy is a house dog. A coach potato. The closest Buddy has been to the great outdoors was going to the dog park and he wasn’t too fond of that. When Buddy jumped into the truck he probably thought they were going to 7th Heaven for burritos and nachos.

He looks around. Nothing looks familiar. In front of him a wide opening, the mountains looming on either side. Behind him the woods. He’d spent the better part of the morning fighting through those woods and he sure wasn’t going back. A wide stream crosses in front of him. He walks over and kneels down. He scoops water in his hands and drinks, the water is shockingly cold. Buddy takes a long drink.

He remembers something someone told him once about streams and getting lost. The idea is that you follow the stream and eventually it will lead to some kind of civilization. But in a six million acre park he wasn’t so sure. The stream could lead him deeper into the wild instead of out of it.

Looking up he sees clouds forming behind a mountain to his right. The clouds are dark and thick. Rain clouds. Great. That’s just what he needs. Turning away from the clouds he starts walking along the stream. The stream bank is rough and rocks twist his ankles. Buddy hops along, following. The two follow the stream until, finally, they disappear from view.

The clouds behind the mountain rumble a deep, rolling thunder.

She sits on her sofa, the police detective sitting in a chair directly across from her. He is old and tired looking. A rumpled suit, tie with a stain on it, worn shoes in desperate need of a shine. She wonders how many times he’s done this, talked to people like her.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” he says. “Anything at all?”

She stands up and walks to the window. On the desk she sees Buddy’s collar. She picks it up and holds it in her hand, fondling it absentmindedly.

She looks out the window. Storm clouds, it’s going to rain.

“I told you, we had a fight.” she says.

“And you told him to get lost.” he says.

“Yes,” she says, “I told him to get lost.”

The detective closes his notebook and looks at her back. Her sees her shoulders shake and he knows she’s crying. He looks around the apartment. Lots of pictures. On the coffee table, on the end table, on the walls. Pictures of the two of them. They look very much in love. Very together. Very happy. And there’s a cute dog too.

The detective stands and tucks his notebook into his back pocket. He sighs. He looks at her again. He feels so sorry for her as he says,

“Maybe, that’s what he did.”

*******

Illustration by William White