I felt like I was dreaming. There’s something timeless, intriguing, about the way that the woods are wild. In this world where we hold tight to control so much, the woods are the one place where that control is released. Gods rule the woods, not man. As I stepped into those woods on that day, I shrugged the weight of the world from my shoulders, but conviction, the feeling of purpose, stayed. I felt like I was dreaming, the green leaves shifted and light cleared the shadows from a space in the path. I felt like I was dreaming, my eyes seeing and my ears hearing, but from a distance. The gentle trill of birds, the subduing rustle of the leaves, and my heart beat cold and slow. I stopped in front of a bench along the path. The gross stamp of human dominance. I sat.
People go to the woods to escape. What was I escaping? Loneliness, I guess. I had friends. I mean, people said “hi” in the halls at school. I sat with a group at lunch. But when summer came, they were busy. They had jobs, parties, family to visit, and vacations to go on. And I didn’t. I was bored. Even in the evenings, when my parents came home, they just talked about work. I watched TV. I read books. Fictional characters, they were the friends that never failed to entertain whenever you needed it. But they weren’t real and I wasn’t doing anything. I needed a purpose. The world was spinning around and around day by day and I was there and everyone else was somewhere else. At dinner, I closed my laptop or my book and wearily blinked into reality but all the stories were swimming in my head and I felt like I was dreaming. There was no reason to keep going because all I was doing was living other people’s stories.
The world was turning on its axis, and I felt like I was dreaming, and I was going to kill myself. Conviction, the feeling of purpose, and my heart beat cold and slow.
I got up, my legs sticking to the bench where my shorts ended. A smaller path ran into the woods. I followed it to a river, and stood looking across. A branch ran from my end to the other side. It was thin, but the bark was rough. It was high above the water, maybe ten feet up. I might fall. I would get hurt. I was alone and no one would find me for a while. I stood there, my mind blank. I stepped out and then walked across, one foot in front of the other. I didn’t even notice as bark turned into dirt again beneath my feet. These woods were full of hills, little mounds and valleys that hid what was up ahead. I liked not knowing what was next.
I didn’t see it at first, because there was a hill in the way. But then I came over the rise and I saw something out of place. A cabin, its straight edges and square corners stark against curving trees and a flowing mosaic of leaves. Nobody could be living in it, at least not year round, because the walls were simply stacked logs with gaps in between. I didn’t even think there was door at first, but then I saw it; the thin plywood was thrown wide open. I took a step closer. All I could see was some trash. A few cans, a grocery bag, an old mattress. It was ugly. That’s all I could think. The smell was even worse. Gross. I stepped closer, onto the threshold. There was some more junk to the right of the door and to the left . . . oh my god.
I stumbled backwards and tripped over the door frame, landing on my elbows, breathing hard. I covered my mouth to keep from letting out the sobs and screams that tried to escape and bit my hand. I crawled backwards from the cabin.
It was a dead body. Hanging from the ceiling. I slowly drew my hand away and wiped it on my shorts, leaning forward with my palms on my knees. I slowed my heart with tense, concentrated breath. I got up. I crept back to the doorway, clinging to the door frame, afraid to fall into the room. The rope came down from the rafters and wrapped around his neck. He sagged from the loop. His eyes were dull and glassy and his face pale. He was wearing a red shirt and sneakers and jeans with a belt. I stood in the door clutching the wall until my knuckles turned white, staring.
The morning before he died, he must have put on those jeans. For some reason, I got stuck on that thought. He tightened his belt and pulled on his shirt just like he did every morning, but by the time he reached this cabin, he had had purpose burning in his chest. I knew.
I felt like I was dreaming, and my heart beat strong and loud. The world was spinning. Conviction. I knew what I had to do.