A Flash of White

I so badly want to close my eyes and see the colors emerge from the darkness like I did as a small child. The tighter I clench my eyes, the more vibrant the hues of violet and indigo become. It’s like I know that through the stillness in my mind, my eyes are allowing me to erase any pain and hurt that still subsides there. My breathing evens out and becomes a steady rhythm of in and out. In and out. Everything around me becomes a quiet buzz. I’m not moving, just breathing. In and out. Even though my eyes are shut, I squeeze them tighter. Bursts of red come forward from the darkness. It’s like a sea of color rolling towards me in waves. The blues have given way to reds and orange. If I ease out of how tightly I restrict my eyes, some shapes begin to emerge. It’s nothing altogether identifiable, but yet it’s everything I am familiar with. A few more breaths from my core and I hear the words loud and clear, “Shoot, now.”

My eyes spring open and immediately I feel my pupils dilate. The adjustment takes less than half a second and immediately my eyes find the target. It’s moving, fast. Leaves move off to the right, maybe 200 yards out. I watch for the flash. Nothing. I breath again and close my eyes. This time, I am listening. I can hear it, the hum of uncertainty. The tensing of muscles. Snap. And there it is, the clue I was looking for. Except, the snap of the twig came from behind me and not off to my right. I open my eyes and turn my head just enough to see someone is watching me.

Just then, the flash of white I was looking for pulls my attention back to my right. I take a deep breath, resettle the weight of my rifle, aim for the shoulder and squeeze the trigger. The deer turns and runs off to my left, bounding, like the recoil of my gun was some known music it has listened to all its life.

“Your aim was too high,” I hear the voice from behind me.

“Oh yeah? Maybe you shouldn’t sneak up on people when they are getting ready to shoot a gun,” I hiss back.

“You weren’t going to get that Whitetail anyway, D. You know it. I know it. And he sure as hell knew it.”

Still, just to make sure, I shoulder my gun and make off in the direction I shot.

The talking still comes from behind me.

“Why haven’t you been coming around to see me anymore?”

I feel the question more than hear it.

“You know why,” I say without looking back.

“I wouldn’t have followed you all the way out here if I knew why.”

I continue forward until I reach the area where I feel the animal had been standing when I took my shot. The voice is deeper now and closer than it had previously been. I scan the forest floor for signs of blood. I move slowly, inch by inch, checking the ground and all the dried leaves. It’s cold outside today, but not freezing. Which is surprising for November. It snowed on Halloween, so I was set on the snow being here till April.

“Come on Delaney, you know how I feel about you. I just want to see you. I want us to spend some time together.”

With that, I stop walking and turn to face him. Garrett is tall, about 6’1. He has a good stance to him and he carries himself well. His hair is course, but it’s thick. He keeps it cut short and he has the start of a beard coming in. His hair is sandy blonde and in the right light, it sometimes looks red. Right now, in the dusk of the day, his skin has a pinkish tint. His green eyes meet mine as he slows to a stop in front of me. He reaches up with both arms and runs his hands up the length of my arms until they are resting on my shoulders.

“I know we have talked about all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. But, I have to tell you, I don’t care about any of that. I have loved you since the first time I gave you a ride home. Do you remember how long it took me to convince you to let me give you a ride?”

A small smile flutters across his lips.

“Yes, I remember quite well,” I say.

I turn my gaze away from his and purse my lips a little as I speak.

“If I remember correctly, you were giving plenty of other girls rides home from school. Your truck seemed a little too crowded for another,” I say, knowingly.

We have played this game too many times. I know exactly what he is about to say, even before it comes out of his mouth.

“You know it wasn’t like that. Those girls were just friends and I stopped giving them rides as soon as you started letting me get to know you,” he smiles as he says it.

It’s all true. I stop to consider the cheerleaders he was taking home after school. None of them so much as existed after we became exclusive his junior year and my freshman. What a long time ago that was. We dated until he graduated and then we broke up. That was 5 years ago.

He reaches his hand up and cups my chin. I know what he is thinking. I can read it on his face.

“Let me take you home, please,” he says.

“You mean home, to your house?” I ask.

“It can be your house too, if you want. I bought it because I want to share a life with you in it,” he almost whispers.

I shake my head, knowing I can’t do that. I have had this internal struggle for almost a year now. I go back and forth between what I feel like I am supposed to do with my life and what Garrett wants me to do with my life. He wants me to bind myself to him. He wants to get married and have kids. He has a career as a small-engine mechanic. He opened his own shop right out of high school. It’s a good job. He is a good man. But still, something is missing. Something important is missing.

He can read me like a book. His hand falls away from my chin and I see the hurt in his eyes.

Yes, I could go back to his house with him. We could cook dinner and hang out on his couch like we have done a dozen times this year. Later, when it was time for bed, he would expectedly reach for me and I would feel trapped. Not because I can’t say no to him, but because some part of me does love Garrett. I love his heart. I love the way he cares for me and makes me feel special. But, those are selfish reasons to love someone. He may be the best friend I have ever had. We grew into adulthood together. He knows my secrets and I know his. Our families are intertwined. It feels like I am set on this path and I have zero say in my future.

“I can’t,” I say.

“I’m sorry.”

He gives me the saddest look and just shakes his head.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he says.

I give up my search for blood, it’s getting dark. Garrett walks with me out of the woods and back to where we are parked on the wooded lane. I go to climb in the old CJ Renegade my dad lets me use to go hunting. Before I can close the door, Garrett moves between me and the door.

“D, I’m going to have to stay away for a while. If this is what you really want, then I can’t be around you, it’s too painful,” he says.

I look up at him. It’s almost completely dark now. All I see is the moonlight catching his eyes and the brightness of his skin.

“Okay,” I say. “I understand.”

He leans inside the jeep and kisses me on the top of my head. He turns and walks to his truck which is parked up the lane. I hear it hum to life and see the headlights as he pulls off toward the main road.

I sit there for a minute and watch him drive off. Darkness eventually takes over and a shiver runs down my back. I close the door and start the engine. It roars to life.

I’m glad that deer got away. Maybe now, his life will start.

The Feat Ahead

I stayed in that position for what felt like an hour. The screaming had stopped and I no longer heard the sound of something or someone in pursuit. My heart had hammered out the beats so loudly that it was a deep echo drowning out all other sounds.

I reevaluated my surroundings – it was a dense forest. I could hear birds singing to one another, dancing in the tree tops above me. Their careless calls and songs had no place in the echo of my heart beat. A heart beats differently when it’s afraid – a fact I know all too well. The trees here were different than what I was accustomed to seeing around home. They were taller and wider at the base. The smells were foreign as well – more pungent and earthy. I glanced up to try and configure the time of day again, but I had no luck sorting that out from the sun. The tree coverage was thick enough to hide most of the sky.

I looked down at my ratted clothes. I was still sporting my favorite black Lulu leggings and the oversized green shirt I loved to wear most weekend mornings. It was my standard coffee drinking look. Years past – I would have been wearing something very similar while I cooked my three kids pancakes and bacon. Of course – only one of them lives at home anymore and she much prefers coffee for breakfast these days. I smiled momentarily as I thought about how she takes her coffee more on the black side. I have never understood this. It is one of the things that amazes me about her.

At this very inconvenient moment, my stomach rumbled with hunger and brought me back to the more pressing matters at hand. I looked down again at myself. My leggings were filthy and marred with large rips and holes exposing my bare skin underneath. My skin was dirty and covered with dried blood in spots. My mind automatically wondered if it was my blood or someone else’s. One of my Nike tennis shoes was on my right foot – while my left foot had nothing but a black no-show sock on it. My hands were covered in dried mud and felt heavy. I carefully reached up to touch the side of my face where my heart beat was pulsing the strongest and I regretted that decision immediately. I felt the sting of dirt in an open wound and snatched my hand back. As I did so, I realized it was covered in blood, a very red blood. I felt light-headed and started to sweat.

“This can’t be good,” I mumbled to myself.

I bent over and put my hands on my knees. When I stood back up, I remembered I was leaning against something solid. I turned around and faced a moss covered rock face which stretched upwards of 40 feet. It was flat and cool to the touch. Suddenly, I remembered something. I remembered falling. My breath caught in my throat. Did I fall down here? My mind was quickly scanning bits of a memory. I could see my hands, as I was falling. I was trying to grab something, anything. Yes. I had fallen. Yes, I was certain of it. I looked to my left and right. I heard nothing except the shrill of a bird’s song. I decided I needed to investigate. I slowly maneuvered my way along the rock face. I kept my hand on the flat rock wall while I gingerly stepped my way. I kept asking myself questions.

“What’s your name?”

Catherine Lucas, I said quietly in my mind.

“How old are you?”

I am 44 years old, I replied, again in my head.

“What day is it?”

This one was a little harder to remember. I stopped walking as I tried to recall if it was in fact Saturday or Sunday. Sunday. It is definitely Sunday. I continued edging my way along.

“Sunday, the what?”

Sunday, September 17th. My head was throbbing now.

“I need water,” I said to nobody in particular.

I made it to the end of the rock face, where the rock magically disappears into the ground. I glance back – the length of the face stretches about 60 feet wide. I turn back around and look up. Okay, now I have to climb up a 30 foot incline to get to the top of the rock.

“Come on Lucas, you can do this,” I whisper.

I’m trying to encourage myself to take the first steps leaving the safety of the rock as my support.

Damnit, my head is sore.

I brace myself to let go of the wall. I look around, squint a little, and decide it’s either now or never. I take a deep breath, muster all my strength, and push off the rock towards the uphill climb.

I immediately feel wobbly and unsteady. I take a second to stop my body from swaying too far to the left and then I take a few steps. The dirt is loose under my footing and I struggle for about 10 minutes while I press on. About a third of the way up the hill, I feel the ground under me giving way. I am trying not to panic at this point and I am cussing myself for not taking the other shoe off. The unbalance of it has made my trek more of an obstacle. About halfway up the side of the rock wall, I start to feel like I might vomit again. I start to lose my stepping and I can feel the soft dirt sliding out from under my feet. My socked foot has a better grip than my other, which is still in my shoe. I grab at vines and roots sticking out of the ground as I try and pull myself closer to the top. I struggled at this for what seemed to be the better part of an hour. By the time I finally reached the top, I crawled on my hands and knees to the nearest small-trunked tree and propped myself up against it. I was so thirsty, my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth and I was breathing like I had just finished a 15 mile run at high altitude.

I leaned my head back against the tree.

“Three, two, one,” I drifted into the blackness.