I live in this little house next to a very large forest. A little winding road that I had never ventured on makes its way through the trees toward a far off place. Sometimes, in the late evenings when the sunlight twinkles through the canopy and hangs all the shadows I look down the road with glazed eyes and wonder what could be. I remember that fateful night, watching the shadows through the crack of the door, listening to the familiar creak of the front steps, listening to the footfalls fade into the distance for the last time.
The routine every morning is the same. I wake as the first hint of sunlight touches the dawn. After tending to a morning fire, I gather food from the garden and cook some of it over the flame. Most of the time, I just eat the vegetables raw. During the colder months when the garden yields less food I must search the forest for its food and herbs and the delicious roots that I do not have a name for. After breakfast, I carry in water from the creek and spend most of the day tending to the garden, collecting firewood, and going on long quiet walks into the forest.
I never get lost when I go inside. It’s almost like a special gift of mine. I can walk miles and miles away from home until the canopy blocks out the sky. I guess that’s why I started to grow bolder as the years wore on.
It all started one evening when the sun went down, but I didn’t feel the sleep coming. It felt like electricity was buzzing all along my body. That was the first time I went into the dark forest.
A forest at night is very different from the forest in the daytime. Somehow, at night things seemed to come alive even more so than during the day. It was exhilarating. There was a special, raw pleasure of weaving through the ghostly moonlit trees, a time when nerves are fried and eyes open wide, with pupils dilating, senses drinking in all the sensations of the world. It is the time when you can feel the warm blood moving through your veins, from the heart to your organs to every finger and toe, aware of every detail, every subtle stir of the leaves.
I always bring the little book with me, a colorful thing from my childhood. Deep in the forest, I take it out, flipping the ancient pages and remembering. Gently hand carved onto the front is the image of two parents holding the hand of a small child. It was a minimalistic image, stark naked against the background, a couple of stick figures with no noses and simplistic smiles. It always made me a little sad, staring at the little lines on the page. I had learned to read a bit, and there were other books in the house, but this one had no words. Inside were more hand drawn pictures.
On one page, a bunch of young children stood in front of a red building called a school, animated and chattering excitedly with each other. On another, a woman in a red coat picked up apples from a supermarket.
On the darkest nights, walking alone through the forests, I thought I could hear the silence. If silence had a noise, it was an imperceptible shrill constant screeching, always there. It had long drilled its way into my mind.
One time, as I was taking my night time stroll, I nearly stepped on a very long black snake. I exclaimed out loud, surprised at the sound of my own voice. Curiously, the snake paused, and lifted its head.
“Pardon me.”
“You can talk,” I said, less surprised than I should be.
“So can you. I’ve seen you many times before. This is the first time I’ve heard you speak.”
“Because I am alone.”
“Why are you alone?”
“Because nobody lives around here.”
“How come no one lives here?”
“How come you ask so many questions?”
“How come you ask so little?” The snake tilted its head momentarily, then slithered away. I stood still, perhaps a little dazed. The words tasted strange in my mouth. I walked back toward the house. A steady breeze slithered its way through the forest. The moon was full tonight. And on the other side of the trees was the road to nowhere.
I crouched very low to the ground. There it was, like an endless black river, slithering straight through the forest at night. Suddenly, headlights appeared from around the corner. I covered my eyes from the dazzling light. Amazingly, the car came to a stop and a man hopped out. He was a scary looking man, well over seven feet tall, wearing all black and shiny leather shoes. He stepped smartly onto the pavement. He turned his head and looked right at me. Our eyes met. I froze.
For a second, all was silent again. The full moon shone like a misty spotlight down on us, so that the ground looked powdery like frost. And then I could have sworn the trees started whispering to one another in the breeze. I heard magical things sweep through my mind, and my heart was racing, and my mind scrambled like eggs, all on this moment, focusing on the scary man with his big black hole of a car and the long, winding road to nowhere. He held out his hand, which was covered with white gloves, shining under the silvery light. He spoke one word: “come.” For a moment I was on the very edge of anticipation. Then I hesitated. “What do you want from me?”
There was no answer. My heart threatened to pound through my throat. I turned and fled into the woods.
The nightmares flashed through my head. The gloved hand, tantalizingly close, yet so far away. The stony expressionless visage of the man in black on the road to nowhere. I shook myself awake. I screamed. I crammed my head down on the pillow and tried to drown out my thoughts.
The next night I went out again. Slowly, I crept back to the place where I met the black snake. It was a very dark night. The new moon yielded no light. The ground was saturated with darkness and the silence sharper than a knife. I crouched and waited. The man didn’t return. He didn’t return that night, or the next, or the next, or the next.
I fell into a deep depression. I took out the little book more often than ever, to feel the pages turning in my hand, to smell its familiar scent. I vowed that next time would be different. I stopped eating, and my already light frame became thinner and weaker. I stared at myself in the creek. There it was: hollow, sunken eyes, uncharacteristic pale skin, stark black hair. I looked like a corpse. It startled me beyond repair, and shook me into action.
As the night of the full moon approached, I began my preparations. I piled firewood in a great stack in my room. I grabbed a bag, packing in my most precious belongings, which was nothing more than old dusty clothes that did not even belong to me, and the book. Carefully, I burned away the brush in a circle around the house. I collected water from the creek and ate from the garden for the last time.
The day arrived. As the sun set, I set the firewood ablaze. The orange and yellow flames blackened the walls of my house. It let out a long groan and collapsed in a dark heap on the ground. In my hand I held the book. I hesitated for a second, then tore off the cover. “For memory,” I told myself. Then I tossed the rest into the flames, where the fire ate the pages and the little children and the supermarket and sent smoke flying high into the sunset.
The moment was arriving. As the sun disappeared, I raced into the forest, feeling more alive than ever, almost glowing from the anticipation. The forest darkened and the full moon took its place in the sky. The silver night was deathly silent and beautiful. I was expecting the snake this time.
“You’re back,” He said to me.
“I won’t be back,” I told him, and then waited patiently by the road.
It didn’t take too long this time. The black car appeared around the corner, and the tall man with the white gloves stepped out. He held out his hand. Once again, the moonlight splashed over the snow-like pavement. Magical thoughts flooded my mind and every cell in my body squirmed with excitement and life. He waited. I thought: take it, just take it! Take his hand!
It happened in a moment. Something let go in my head, like a dam releasing rushing water, and to hell with the consequences. There wasn’t time to think, there wasn't time to regret. I grasped the gloved hand. I was free! Free, unstuck, moving on, waiting to feel the pavement and the road and the forest and the time rush by like a boat on a stream, hurtling outwards to outer space, to nowhere that is somewhere, to the line where the sky meets the land, higher than even birds fly, and more alive than ever before.
I got in the car. As the man closed the door and drove me off to who knows where, I heard the snake say: “Many never escape from the road to nowhere.”