#woods

Two months ago, I almost died. When you imagine your death, most people think they're gonna go peacefully in their sleep at a ripe old age. Very few imagine you'll die because you slipped in an oil puddle in your driveway and cracked your skull on the cement. That's what happened to me, though. My car, an aging beater I had kept for longer than any rational person would have, nearly took me out before I had a chance to sell it. The betrayal cut me deep.

My name is Mark, and this story takes place back when I was in college. I had a solid group of friends who shared my love for hiking and camping. It was no surprise to anyone that we often spent our free time exploring the outdoors. One chilly fall Sunday, we decided to hike a new trail we’d never tried before in a national park. For privacy and legal reasons, I won’t name the park; I’ll simply call it “The Park.”

“Creeeee….KLUNK”, the door of the old pickup groaned in protest as I swung it closed. The truck was far past its expiration date, having rolled off a Ford line in 1962. And now that we were coming up to the new century, it stuck out even more as a relic, just like its owner. “Go’on, git the feed outta the back” my Pa ordered, stepping down from the vehicle. A tall man at 6’3”, he was of slight build, his blue overalls hanging somewhat loosely around his frame. His skin resembled the pair of…

“Peter, can you even see anything up there?” Harry, the oldest yet least mature forest Ranger, said over the two-way. High on my perch in Tower 3, I had a full three hundred sixty degree view of A_____ National Forest that stretched out to the horizon. This was a dumb joke he liked to ask every time I drew the short straw for this position. “Yes, vision is clear. No smoke. No fires. No adverse weather conditions.”

“Can you sign for this?” the impatient UPS driver said after handing me a small box. “I’m not expecting anything. Who’s it from?” They shrugged. “I just deliver ‘em, man. Maybe somebody out there wanted to surprise you with a gift.” I signed, and they headed to their next stop. I looked down at the box in my hands. There wasn’t a return address. Despite its size, the package was heavy.

My parents live up North, and so every Christmas my drive to their house is defined by a lot of grey, brown and white, as well as bitter cold. Never liked the cold. I spent the first 18 years of my life in it, so I think I definitely have an educated opinion on it.

For my thirtieth birthday I thought l would treat myself to a lottery ticket, not just one of those scratch-off kind but one where you actually select your numbers. I had never been an adventurous girl but figured, hey, you only turn thirty once. I'd give it a shot.

It's almost seven. Zoya leans back in her chair, stretching her arms with heavy sighs after a fifteen-page essay. It's due tomorrow, so there's still time for edits - but she's been staring at her screen too long. She peeks out her bedroom window to the right. The last creeping bands of pink and orange sun grow dim across the barren treetops of the forest nearby, bleeding into the horizon beyond her corner of the suburb. The autumn air is cool and fresh, the wind is tame and her work is done…