A Kodak Moment

Author's Note: This a longer piece than generally posted on The Outbound, and though based on true events, it is a work of fiction, from the first person perspective of a young woman attending the University of Virginia. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Happy Halloween!

A solitary figure walks through the rain, t-shirt and jeans, down the center of the road, appearing briefly in the yellow light of the street lamp. The weather app on my iPhone shows sunny skies for Wednesday. It rained all yesterday and all today and there is no sign of it stopping.

He takes me from behind and pulls me into his strong arms. His hands outstretched, taking ahold of mine, moving slowly from my chest across my belly, as he buries his head in the crotch of my neck, nestling in my long hair, searching for my ear; but my body remains cold, unresponsive to his warmth. Come lie down, he says. I want to but I can’t. He lets go of me and his footsteps recede into the room.

I stay by the door, watching, looking, hoping, but there’s nothing for me. A tear rolls down the crevice where my nose meets my cheek. A shiver runs down my spine, shaking my body. He is lighting a fire and soon the room is filled with a warm crackle and pop. Still, I stand with the door open, wrapped in one of his flannels.

Why didn’t you come with me? I am startled to hear my voice.

Come here.

I turn and look into his room, the walls covered in Red Sox crap. He is sitting in the rocking chair, pouring Jack and Coke into a blue Solo cup, a stupid grin on his unshaved face. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Wrapping the large flannel tighter around my shoulders, I shut the door behind me and walk out into the rain. An owl screeches as I walk down the colonnade and all of a sudden, silence. The rain has stopped.

From an open window, Jerry Garcia croons,

Sweet Blossom come on under the willow

We can have high times if you abide

We can discover the wonders of nature

Rolling in the rushes down by the riverside.

---

Everyone had wanted to go. We would leave after classes let out on Friday, sometime around noon. Drive into the mountains and hike the AT for the weekend. Ten to fifteen miles a day followed by hours around the campfire, drinking, talking, snuggling. The forecast had called for sunny skies, but as it got closer to the weekend, it wasn’t looking pretty. Interest in the hike began to wane. One after another, my friends texted me, bailing on the hike, how ‘bout next weekend they said; but I knew it was now or never. The more we pushed back the hike, the less likely it would occur. But it was supposed to rain.

The mountains were calling in my heart and I could not say no. I texted my boyfriend, told him I would go alone if no one else came.

Its supposed to rain…good time to catch up on my thesis research…c’mon, stay home and we’ll have a cozy weekend here.

We had planned to leave around noon on Friday after meeting at the Virginian to eat a real meal before subsisting on freeze-dried food and kielbasa for the weekend. I arrived on time as usual, but the place was empty when I showed up. I should have known it wasn’t going to happen but I sent a few texts anyways. Soon my roommate showed up and then my boyfriend. A few others trickled in as a couple pitchers arrived. None of them were going hiking. They tried to convince me not to go—wasn’t safe for a girl to go hiking by herself. It’s going to rain. You’ll be miserable!

C’mon, worst thing that’ll happen is I get wet. Not like it hasn’t happened before. I’ll be fine.

My mind began to waver, but by the time we were back on the sidewalk under ominous clouds, it was made up. I walked home and packed my gear. If only my dog was with me. I had planned on bringing him to school for the semester but at the last minute my mother had convinced me otherwise—he’ll be happier with a place to run during the day; he won’t like the city. Plus, he’s shy. My mother didn’t understand. I needed Bridger, his beautiful red coat and strong body, a friend who never failed me. Bridger needed me. But it was to no avail. My mother had put her foot down and I’d come to Grounds without him.

I loaded my car, told my roommate and boyfriend I’d be fine and drove off. I needed to get away, get out of the city. My father always teases me but I feel at home in the trees and the rocks. Away from all the hustle and bustle and drama that comes from going to school at the University of Virginia. I dropped the windows and put my iPod on shuffle. When I hit 64, Sons of Bill began to echo through the car—

yeah I can hear Virginia calling,

yeah I can hear Virginia calling out to me,

tonight I’ll sleep, I’ll be alright.

I pulled onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and headed south, the crisp mountain air billowing through the windows, blowing my hair into my face, leaving the creepy and abandoned Howard Johnson’s in my wake. The sun struck the fall leaves making them change color, the whole mountainside afire in brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow. I was alone on the road, the mountains and trees and birds all mine. Nothing could have kept me from the mountains, this was my home. I missed nobody and nobody missed me.

---

After several miles, I pulled off the road, unloaded my pack and hopped a shortcut until I was following the familiar white blazes of the AT. That night, I built a campfire and stared into the dancing flames. My mind drifted into the unknown, thoughts swirled in the sky with the sparks; sweet smells and existential pleasures shared and unshared pooled in my head. As the fire died, I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag and retreated into the lean-to, my bag at my feet.

I found myself walking through a field of dead grass, bordered by a stone wall, a lone tree shuddered in the bitter wind. I felt the presence of a being at my side surrounded by light but when I turned there was nobody. I walked through a gate, following the whistling of the trees which pulled me ever upward and yet down at the same time. At the top of the hill was a skull carved out of granite and as it spoke, I awoke.

The sun split the trees and I opened my eyes and after a quick breakfast, I hit the trail the sun filling my muscles with energy as a cool wind whistled through the stately oaks. The day passed in the bliss of solitude and after fourteen miles, I settled down at a lean-to which had seen better days. The sign which told the traveler its name hung by a lone nail and the eaves creaked in the wind. I had still seen no one since I had entered the woods, yet it appeared that a fire had been lit here at least somewhat recently. A stream burbled some ways off and after filling my bottles and dropping iodine pills to cleanse the water, I walked deeper into the woods to pee. As I dropped my pants and squatted, for a single moment there was absolute silence. For the first time, I noticed that there was no breeze. The only sound was the steady trickle as I relieved my bladder. The angry screech of a jay broke me from my reverie and I returned to the lean-to, my bottles full, my bladder empty. I took out my camera and took some pictures of the “creepy” building and after gathering wood, lit a fire and began to read McCarthy. I felt guilty for bringing a book for class on a pleasure cruise, but ever since high school, I’d been infatuated with McCarthy and had jumped at the opportunity to read him in school.

As darkness fell, I cuddled into my sleeping bag and read by the light of the fire until it began to die and I moved into the lean-to and closed my eyes. The skull was speaking but I could not hear it for the wind and the rain which had begun to howl around me upon the hilltop. Lightning struck in the air and the skull was gone and I was watching through a window my boyfriend and my roommate. In a flash I was again in the barren field. Something was hanging from the tree, causing it to creak more than before. I walked towards it and realized that a body hung from a rope. I walked closer and found that it was me.

A cold rain was falling as I opened my eyes to a sunless dawn. I had left my pack outside of the lean-to though my camera was sitting safely next to my head. I gobbled down some soggy pita bread and peanut butter and marched into the chill and steady rain. Soon the trail opened up, out of the trees and I walked across a grassy ridge. Without the protection of the trees, I was soon soaked through but there was nothing I could do, so I kept walking, trudging along, wishing for my dog, for my boyfriend, my comfy bed.

When I was a child, every Sunday morning, my parents took my brother and me to Church in the morning before stopping for pastries afterward. I was raised Catholic but it’s easier to not believe in something and be free than believing in something and having to abide by strict rules and regulations. Those were those Sundays. This Sunday, I walked alone, in the wind and the rain. The rain began to let up after noon and soon the sun appeared from behind the clouds and began to dry me. I didn’t have class until noon on Monday so I decided to stay one more night in the wild, this time without the luxury of a shelter. Monday morning I could thumb my way back to my car and hopefully be back on grounds for class.

As the sky turned from blue to pink to purple, I walked into a generous clearing guarded by a stand of ash, burbling stream running through it. Dead tree limbs scattered the woods and soon I had a roaring fire into which I placed a potato carefully wrapped in tin foil. Poking a stick through my last curl of Polish sausage, I held it over the fire until it began to ooze and its juices popped in the flames. Dinner complete, my mind drifted to the camping trips with my father when he would tell ghost stories around the fire and would comfort me in the night if I woke from a nightmare. I laughed aloud to myself, thinking of the time I had been convinced the neighbor’s Rottweiler was sitting on my bed one night until my mother had comforted me and pointed out the “dog” was simply the shadow cast from my sleeping pillow. I thought of my senior prom night, when I was queen and my boyfriend, the erstwhile punt-returner of the football team, somehow the king. Everyone had said how beautiful I was. I entered my sleeping bag and wrapped myself in a blue tarp before lying down by the diminishing fire. Class starts in twelve hours, and here I am in the woods.

It wasn’t easy to flag down a car the next morning. No one was on the road. Finally, after over an hour, a rusty blue Ford truck pulled over. Sparse, but long whiskers stained yellow by tobacco, flowed from the edges of the driver’s mouth, his age indeterminate. The stone was missing from his gaudy college ring. A POW-MIA hat on his head, his hair the color of dirty snow, pooled over his shoulders, his face like a rocky crag. He grunted with a grin showing his crooked banana-brown teeth and I threw my pack into the bed, before getting in beside him. He said nothing to me until I pointed out my car. I tried to offer him something in return for the ride but he said, no. He grinned and I waved to no answer as he pulled back in the direction we had come.

Jukebox the Ghost screamed through the speakers—

In my lungs I still feel young

But my body won’t play along…

And I dare you to survive

Being grown for the rest of your life

From adulthood, no one survives…

as I pulled out of the gravel parking lot and back onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, headed back to civilization.

---

I arrived home to an email from my Literature and Film professor saying that class was cancelled— more than enough time to shower, upload my pictures to my computer, and maybe even start editing them for posting purposes before 2pm seminar. I lay naked in my clean sheets, the photos filing onto my computer one by one, when my phone pinged with a message from “Boyfriend”—lunch at Bodo’s before your next class? Fuck. There wouldn’t be time to see both my pictures and my boyfriend before class.

I walked home quickly from class, eager to see the pictures from my trip. Opening the door, I saw my roommate had prepared a dinner of mac’n cheese for herself. Oh, shit, I thought you’d be with Danny tonight.

No worries, he has some group meeting. I got pictures from the trip.

Here, have some of the macaroni, I can’t eat all of it anyway.

No, really, I’m fine. I had a late lunch.

Grabbing the bucket of Cheese Balls, I walked into my room and turned on the light before shutting the door. I dropped my bag by the bed, lying down, my head on the same reading pillow which had once appeared as a Rottweiler. Edith Pilaf’s voice trembled through my MacBook, “Non, je ne regrette rien…”

I couldn’t believe I’d taken almost two-hundred photos, but I was soon lost in the first one, a self-portrait taken as I entered the trail. The trees behind me were so rich in color and my shirt matched it perfectly, the highlights of my hair aglow. This potential profile pic was followed by many foliage pictures which I’d have to comb through. And then one with like a blob that wasn’t in focus and only had some trace light in the corner. The next one was the same. And the next one. Weird. I deleted them. The pictures of the old, dilapidated shelter were perfectly framed. Maybe I’d submit one of them for the fall Instagram contest.

I kept sifting through and found the pictures from Sunday, the sun brilliantly reflecting off the Autumn colors after the storm, framed by the epic and ominous cloud formations. A few pictures of my clearing by the burbling brook should have been the only remaining pictures but there were more of the dark grainy photos. I fiddled with the brightness of one of them, then a few more. And I recognized the "blob" and the different places it slept. My mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Edith Pilaf’s voice trailed off, jarringly replaced by The Police. And I thought of the man, driving back in the direction we had come.

Every single day

Every word you say

Every game you play

Every night you stay 

I’ll be watching you.