Lost
I looked around, but nothing about the area seemed familiar. Unhappily, I tapped the needle of my compass, and it continued to spin around wildly without stopping. I had thought I had been good about keeping track of my steps, but with the addition of the compass failure, panic gripped my thoughts. I had no idea which direction I came from.
The forest was beautiful in its untouched glory, and that meant few paths existed. It had seemed a fine idea to go off exploring by myself, but regret set in now that I was in the process of ruining our fourth anniversary. I had never gone off without Brad before, and I didn't understand why I had felt compelled to this time.
With my supply low, the nearby brook offered the promise of fresh water and might lead to the lake where we had made camp, so I headed towards it. As I neared, the gentle lapping of the brook was broken by something unnatural. I listened for some time before recognizing the noise as human, and that it was a cry of pain. I hadn't seen another human all day, and I found myself eager to meet him. I moved quicker along the undergrowth of the forest and came upon the stranger at the water's edge.
Since he didn't notice me at first, I watched him for a moment. Copper strands mixed in his white hair glinted in the sunlight. Elderly folk were not often predisposed to the outdoor sports, and I thought his presence in the forest odd. Although the old man did not look particularly unfit, he had just sliced his finger with his own knife, and I spotted his unshod left foot. The unworn boot lay beside him.
I shifted my weight and a twig snapped. The stranger jerked and almost fell over backward in his surprise. "I'm sorry," I called out guiltily. "Do you want any help?" I asked in the hopes that he wouldn't turn me away. I had the strangest sensation that I knew this man, and I wondered if we had met in previous years. There were other campers that came, especially in the summer months.
After awkward seconds in which we stared at each other, he seemed to have calmed down. "A woman shouldn't be traveling in the woods alone," he chastised.
"I'm not alone," I said quickly. The man raised an eyebrow at me. "And you're alone," I accused.
The stranger replied, "If you're not alone, then I'm not alone either." I didn't see anyone else around.
The camper dug through his pack to fetch the first aid kit. He gestured toward me, and I sat down on the rock with him. While his cut was properly washed and seen to, I explained my own predicament. I hoped that he knew the forest better than I did.
It seemed he did. "You were by a lake, you say?"
I nodded and waved my arms around in an attempt to draw the scene as I described it. Brad and I had set up camp in our usual place. There was an old tree with roots that stretched out into the water, and a canopy of branches that stretched over a flat area. We had first seen this picturesque setting in the autumn when the leaves matched Brad's beard. With an apology to Mother Nature, Brad and I had carved our initials into the tree to mark the occasion of our first visit. It became our tree.
"I do," he said after I had finished. "That's where I was going actually." My heart leapt at the news. The camper continued, "But I fell earlier, and I think it's a sprain. Was trying to make a splint."
Excited at the prospect of returning to Brad, I wanted to leave right away, but if the fellow had a sprained ankle, I knew he should rest a while. I used his knife to make the split and then helped him fasten it. Since there was nothing else to do, we carried on with our small talk.
"My wife and I used to come here every summer," he started. We had something in common then.
"Brad and I have been coming for several years too. There was always something magical about this place," I said as I gazed around. The morning dew still sparkled on much of the greenery. "Sometimes I feel like the forest makes us see things that aren't really there. That tree always looked like a claw to me. It had roots like this," I said, holding out my hand in the shape. I hoped he envisioned the same gnarled claw that I pictured.
The man said quietly, "Or not see things that are."
I thought that was a strange thing to say, so I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I see her sometimes," he said with an odd note in his voice, which was an even stranger thing to say.
Belatedly, I caught the tense usage of his previous statement. "Did you stop coming together?" I asked tentatively.
"I... lost her."
I looked at him and said nothing.
He stared at the moving water. "There was a fight. The local police thought she ran away, but I think maybe she fell," he said. There was sorrow in his voice.
"That's terrible," I said automatically. "I'm sorry."
From his story, I surmised that his wife was likely dead, and her body was never found. I figured the old man had psychological issues dealing with her death and no closure. He remained quiet afterward, and I didn't try to break the silence. I didn't know what to say to him. I shivered at the macabre thought that I might have stepped over her grave without knowing. We stayed like that for some time.
After stretching his legs, the man stood up and gingerly tested his weight. He hefted his pack and moved around a bit. When he started walking along the brook, I got up and followed behind him. Eventually, the brook led to a fog-covered lake, and then we continued along the shore. The sun loomed high in the sky as we traveled.
In front of me, my companion stopped. Facing the water, I scanned the shore of the lake in both directions, but the fog hung thick and heavy. One would have to walk along the shore to spot any campsites.
The old man took a few steps and stopped before a dead tree that stood crookedly on the shoreline. "Look, it's your tree." The claim excited me, even though I knew for certain that he was wrong. The tree he stood at had been struck by lightning. Moss covered most of its bark. I shook my head. "This tree is dead. The tree by the lake had a long branch like this," I said, raising my arm to demonstrate. I didn't even bother with the claw.
The man bent down to trace out a shape on the bark. "See here," he said as he urged me to come closer. "Do you see?" Almost hidden in the bark of the dead tree, faint lines did mark a heart that looked suspiciously like the one Brad and I had carved with our initials. A partial B remained visible, but the other letter had been scratched off where another couple had carved their own heart almost on top of this one. It wasn't our tree. I knew what our tree looked like, and besides, Brad wasn't here. There were no signs that anyone had camped in this area recently.
I stood up to leave. I reasoned that there was plenty of time before dark to trek around the lake and then some. I opened my mouth to announce that thought, but when I turned, I saw no one. The man had a sprained ankle, and he couldn't have gotten away so quickly. I looked around, but nothing about the area seemed familiar.
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