No place called home

Joseph takes a few steps forward, then a few steps back.
Neil J  Anthony

i -
   The trail leading to his spot seemed steeper than he remembered. Seemed to go further as well. Finally, the trees  thinned, giving way to the clearing where he made his last camp each year. 
   The last month of autumn, he set out hiking in this vast wilderness. He had four sites, each used one week for base camp. It was the final week of this year. The first time in many years that he did the trip alone.
   Upon reaching this, his favorite place, he had to take five and recharge.
   
   Joseph was still in pretty good shape, considering his age. Tall, a full head of dark hair peppered with grey. Dark complexion, cornflower blue eyes, what some would call  'gunslinger eyes'. The wisdom his years brought knew when he was pushing too hard.
  
   He reached into his pack, and, after some digging,found the trail mix and a canteen, still half full.
Munching on the raisins, nuts and whatever, he washed it down with a long pull of water. He thought to himself that he'd best get a move on. 
  
    Looking past the trees that fell away from this place, the top of a rise. He could see the sun, lowering towards the horizon. 'Still plenty of time,' he thought, 'long as I get the lead out.'
   After pitching his somewhat spacious, two person tent, he double checked the rigging. The weather was fickle around here, and strong winds were common. He didn't want to return from meandering the woods to find himself without shelter.
   Satisfied, he busied himself with the rest of his gear, methodically unpacking and setting things the way he liked them. He found the skeleton of last year's fire pit, and cleared out the debris that accumulated since he'd last been here.
   He still had plenty of light to gather enough wood for this evening. Tomorrow he will worry about stockpiling. He still had to make it to the stream, to fill his canteens; past the far edge of the small clearing, and down the trail a few hundred yards. He wanted plenty of light, as this wasn't a forgiving place. 
A misplaced step could easily put him in the hospital. 
   
   The woods seemed to lean in just then, as a late
 afternoon gust brought a chill into his bones, knowing the nearest hospital was nowhere within reach.
   After gathering enough wood for tonight, and enough water to last through the morning,  he built his fire.
   The flames cast eerie shadows upon the backdrop of the thick stands of trees.  Creepy, like demons alive in the forest. The wind had picked up as suddenly as the day grew dark. Smoke from the fire blew with the confused gusts, changing direction at will. He had a hard time staying upwind, and the smoke seemed to follow him.
   
   After supper, eyes red from the smoke and half closed from fatigue, he had the days last cigarette.  Looking out towards the trees, listening to the animals out there he couldn't see.  Standing up, he flicked the butt into the dying embers, and blew the smoke into the  night. It was already cold enough that each time he exhaled, it looked as if he was still smoking.
   He unzipped the door of his tent, entered, and zipped it back up behind him. He placed his boots and jacket just inside the tent. He didn't need some animal taking off with them.  It would be a nightmare getting out of here barefoot.
   He slipped into his sleeping bag, the lantern turned low, and, after his long and strenuous day, he fell quickly into a deep sleep.
   The woods seemed weary as well, for the winds had died, and they too went quiet.
ii -
   Joseph sat up, startled awake. Pulled from his deep, dreamless slumber, into the absolute pitch black of the wilds at night. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he'd been out.  He had no idea what even woke him up in the first place.
  Then he heard it, fully awake this time. The creepy sound of a barn owl, out there somewhere.
   Hoot. Who - hoot, piercing the otherwise silent forest. 'Making it seem even louder than it probably actually was,' he thought. 
   
   Then, there it was again. And again.
    'Creepy,' he thought. 'Creepy when you're at home in the backyard with some buddies, tossing back a few cold ones. Out here? Alone? Downright haunting.'
   
   There it was again. Hoot  Who. Hoot. Then the silence, creeping back in all at once. It was so quiet, that the silence seemed loud, the way silence can, sometimes. 
   Then, the owl's tone and pitch changed. Went to a much higher register and seemed to say, 'Wh-wh-who? Wh-wh-WHO!?'  
   This filled him with a horrible emptiness he couldn't explain. As if ghosts were lost in the cemetery, unable to find their graves. He felt how alone he was out here in this vast wilderness. Thought of his beloved wife, dead these last ten months.
   'God, how forty five years raced by in the blink of an eye, while these last few months seemed to crawl on so slowly.' He missed her so much just then, tears slipping from his eyes, cutting  canyons down his face. His loss seemed to fill the whole world.
   There was the owl, it's new screech, filling the silence again. It took him back further, to when he was just a small boy, maybe eight or nine years old.
   Joseph and his father were on their way home after an afternoon together. Little league, and little Joe's team was not doing too bad. Maybe even contenders this year. After this afternoons win, the team headed over to the nearby pizza place. 
   Stuffed, and satisfied, having too much pizza topped off with an ice cream, they were both ready for a late afternoon nap.
   Not quite a mile from home, maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred feet ahead, there was a horrific sound. 
   Joseph's father let out a scream, scaring the boy.  There had been a head on collision, right there, just ahead of them. The car that had been traveling in their direction flew off at a crazy angle, smashing into a car that has just pulled up to the stop sign from a side street.
   It didn't look good. In fact, quite the opposite. People were getting out of their cars and running up to the scene to see if they could help.
   Joseph saw a woman, running through the front yard of the house two doors down from the intersection, screaming hysterically. 
   No one in the car at the stop sign survived. Three children, two boys and the youngest, a five year old girl, and their father. A thirty-four year old, well respected, responsible man. Taking the kids to the park and for ice cream, so mom could have a break, that Saturday afternoon. 
   They had just backed out of their driveway, Mom waving, telling them she loved them, mouthing silently to her husband, 'thank you,' and thirty seconds later, three were killed instantly. The little girl was crushed from the engine that came loose from the car that deflected into it, and she could  be heard for some minutes. screaming.
   This was the first time he recalled that memory since the day it happened. How odd, that once home, the boy went to his room thumbing through his baseball card collection.
The father told his wife, in a somber, quiet voice what happened, without going on much with gory details. After that, they never spoke of that afternoon again. Joesph never thought about it whatsoever, until now.
   There he was, sitting alone in the pitch black, listening for the silence to be interrupted. Hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't. He wondered why he'd never thought of that day. The poor woman.  The loss, suffering and guilt she must have carried with her, the rest of her days.
   The therapists that are so popular these days would call that a suppressed memory. Some trick the brain pulls, effectively deleting unpleasant experiences. That way, the person that particular brain is running has less stress, nightmares/terrors, and the like. Just looking out for its best interests, that brain is.
   This unpleasant memory may have been suppressed, but it was back, in living color and commercial free.
   He began to understand where his dislike of certain things, and his outright refusal to even consider a few random, seemingly harmless things in his life must have originated.
   Things like ice cream. After that day, no ice cream passed his lips. As an adult, refused to even have any in his house. Pizza always made him feel anxious. Children? Another thing this cold, heartless thing we call 'life' can take back. No good reason given, no matter how much it's begged. 
  Suppressed memories.
Sitting there, alone. Darkness stretching to all points. He wished just then that he had a dog.  Why he didn't have one at his side, right now, escaped him. He was lonely as hell, feeling as if he would never see another living thing in this life. 
   He heard movement out there somewhere in the trees. Something big from the sound of it. Coming towards him. He began to get very nervous. Then it turned away, running deeper into the woods. "Thank God," he whispered, looking skyward.
   He sat out there for some while, smoking and contemplating. Wishing his wife were here with him now.
"If wishes were fishes, the seas would be full,'' he always told their children, "the seas would be full of fishes."  His wife's magical laughter always followed whenever he said this. This brought a smile, not just to his face, but to his soul as well. In that moment, Joseph was as handsome as any man ever was.
   He fished another cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lit his smoke and took a long drag, exhaling through his nose.  He felt the calming effect immediately, glad he never listened to his doctor about quitting. Doctors! Like they knew anything.
   The night got steadily colder as the calendar changed, and the march to daylight began again. After a while, tired of these thoughts and reminiscence, he called it a day, again. Retiring back into his tent, he slipped into his warm sleeping bag. He thought sleep would come hard this second time around. 
   As he lay, he thought of a poem he'd read a long time ago. Could never remember the author, but remembered the poem, word for word. It ran through his head now, as he lay, searching for sleep. It was called 'no place called home.'
   The light has gone from  the window again,
   and the laughter has died in the dead man's throat.
   All songs left unsung, for the children have left us.
   A tear meets a sigh, they decide to elope.
   The warmth of the candle trembles in fear, as the night breathes it's tale with it's shrieking of winds.
   All secrets held close, like the moon, in reclusion.
   And the light has gone from the window again.

   Unbeknownst to him, whenever this ran through his mind, his lips silently mouthed the words.
   The poem faded with his thoughts, and he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

   To never wake again.
iii -
Some weeks later, two forest rangers were out in the area, assessing wild fire risks. They came up the trail, and saw the tent at the far edge of the clearing. They knew how folks out here wanted their privacy. They turned their backs, and began retreating down the trail, respecting those wishes.
   As they were descending, they heard the unmistakable hoot of a barn owl. They looked at each other in surprise. That species is very nocturnal, and is rarely seen in the light of day.
   There it was, flying towards them from a thick stand of trees! "Is that owl about to dive bomb us?" The younger ranger asked his older, more seasoned partner, who replied, sounding incredulous, "by God, I think it is!"
   And it did. Several times, hooting and screeching the whole time. It would dive bomb, then fly towards the clearing at the top of this trail, before turning back to dive bomb them again.
   "I think it wants us to go back up there," and the younger of the two nodded in agreement. So they went back up the trail, curiosity pulling them. Once they
got to where the land flattened and the trees gave way, the owl swooped down towards them again. 
   Then it flew away to the far edge of the clearing, and began hooting even more than before. It landed on a tree branch just beyond the tent. The pair began making their way over to the tent, calling out and announcing that they were forest rangers. Asking if anyone was there? Is everything alright?
   Getting no response, they walked closer, until, all at once, they were hit with the powerful and unmistakable smell of death.
   In this manner, Joseph was found, and laid to rest, rather than rotting alone out there, undiscovered.
   There was a huge turnout at his funeral. The forest rangers attended, and were thanked by quite a few people there for their diligence, and for bringing Joseph home. 
   The man had a huge impact on the world around him. Those that knew him could depend on him. His kind words, wisdom and deeds left an impression on those affected for decades. 
   People came from all corners of the country, paying their respects for this wonderful man, who died alone, in the backcountry, in a tent on top of a rise, looking out over the treetops that fell away from that place.

Neil J. Anthony
Feb. 14, 2022