5/13

I exit my car after reversing onto the small dirt pad off road by the trailhead.  I take a moment to criticize the angle in which I parked, debating whether if I pull out and squeeze right a little more another car could fit in.  

When I finally turn towards the trunk to retrieve my pack and boots I notice an old man standing in front of a pick-up truck parked a couple hundred feet up the road on another small pad.  He stands tall, with his hands in his pockets, big grey beard hanging from his wrinkled face.  

He’s staring at me.  Something I find unnerving, so I raise a hand and nod my head to him.  A friendly greeting.  Gesture of good nature.  He doesn’t take notice though.  Or doesn’t show it.  Just keeps staring.  

I decide to let it go and continue to the truck of my car.  Tie on my boots. Strap on my pack.  I close the tailgate and turn around.

Same posture.  Same cold stare looking at me.  

A boldness takes over and I find myself walking in his direction though the trailhead is in the opposite.  I try to make my gait as casual as possible.  Like I’ve been walking this dirt road for miles.  Not a care in the world.

Before I know it I’m standing before him.  His beard looks like it weighs a ton and his eyes feel like I’m peering over the edge of a cliff.  I open my mouth to speak but can’t really think of a proper place for words.  

Then a twig cracks as a woman emerges from the tree line with a medium sized mutt.  As I turn my attention to her, I realize that he does the same, walking towards her with open arms, they join warmly with a long kiss as the dog barks at a playful chipmunk, and I wonder whether I truly exist at all.

5/12

I’m hiking up the side of a mountain in the Olympic National Park on a narrow exposed ridge.  As I hunch forward with each step, sucking air into my face as effectively as I can, amazed that my heart has the ability to beat so deafeningly, I understand what the sign at the trailhead meant when it described the incline as “steep” with a “thirty five percent grade.”  It dawns on me that I am not as prepared as intended.  This is awful.

But as I’m pressing forward, trying to keep balance, making sure not to slide down the drop to my left, I hear something ahead of me.  A familiar rustle.  Footsteps.

I look up from my boots to see a small Asian lady coming down the trail from up ahead.  She ambles along quite quickly, with trekking poles feeling the way before her feet, she arrives in front of me faster than I anticipated and I take the opportunity to stand aside on the ledge of the trail for a break, which surprises her.  She lets out a pleased gasp and smiles at me from behind the bug net draped off the brim of her hat.  Then she looks past me, down the trail, and back to my eyes.  “Ah,” she says, “you are alone, as well.”  And there’s a warmth to her grin, a knowing ease, a settled contentment that makes me want to drop before her white sneakers in tears. Let her know how truly alone I am while hugging her ankles.  Let her know the mistakes I’ve made and relations I’ve squandered.  Let her know how off path I’ve truly gone.

But I just smile, and nod my head.  “Yes,” I say, “alone.”  And let her pass me by to continue my journey.  

5/10

Her name is Kelly and she’s a bartender at Wally’s Seafood on the waterfront. She bikes to work most days, a short ride, as she lives just down the street in one of the oldest houses on the block.  Bright pink rhododendrons, which she is quite proud of, adorn the small garden in her front yard.

She points them out to me from the rear patio at the restaurant over looking the bay.

“Here, put my sunglasses on; it’ll help you see them.”  She carefully slips the sunglasses that were balanced on her head around my ears and onto the bridge of my nose.  The graze of her cold fingers sends shivers down my sweaty back.

I look towards her house, into the sun.  The burst of vibrant flora against the otherwise bland stretch of green grass and white worn houses is refreshing.  I feign a deep interest, complimenting and admiring, just to keep her glasses on me a little longer.  But just as casually as she placed them on, she removes them, and moves on to the next guest.  Pointing to her front yard.  And placing her glasses on others’ faces.

10/23

There's this moment when we're on the mountain together.  When the reflection of sunshine on snow makes my eyes ache.  When I look over at the dark wisps of hair extending from beneath her blue beanie, playing on the pale skin of her long neck.  When she searches through her backpack for her lens case and takes care in attaching the zoom to the camera on her iPhone, trying to frame the waterfall before us just right.

I turn my gaze toward my feet and say, "I suppose I just always want to know." Then I pause and look up at her, "but I guess I can't."

And she turns to me.  Nods.  Then turns her attention toward the camera again.  Takes the shot.

And I feel like I've never known less.

10/22

I stand beneath the awning outside of work for a few minutes.  The rain is relentless.  A thick curtain pouring from the fabric above me.

I didn't bring a coat, so I stand in my grey hoodie.  Waiting for the inevitable soaking.  It's then that I notice something sticking out from the door handle of my car.  A piece of white jutting from the black of the handle.

As I move forward and enter the down pour, I imagine an advertisement of some kind awaiting me.  Something about a new restaurant in town.  A coupon for groceries.  Maybe a traffic ticket of sorts.  I pull my hood against the wind.

When I reach my car, I realize it's none of those things though.  And my pulse rises with excitement.  I let my hood go.  Let the rain beat on my forehead.

It's from the girl.  I know it.

The paper was torn from a small notebook, folded into a bow.  The blue ink bleeding through each crease.  I carefully pull it from the handle and get in.

The paper tears immediately as I try to untie the bow.  I grunt in frustration and blast the heat.  Put the note on a vent.  Watch it intently, thinking about pots of boiling water.  My impatience gets the better of me though, and before I know it I'm fiddling again.  Flicking and picking at each fold and groove.  Cursing my thick fingers for not being more sensitive.  Careful.  Dexterous.

But it's worth it when I finally peel the piece fully open and reveal the running words.  Let them penetrate my shelled heart.  Let them take over.  And it's then that I know I'm not as awful as I think am.  Only then that I know there's still beauty and hope and love out there.  Only then that I know it all really is ok.

And I sit like that for some time.  With the note on my lap.  And a warmth in my chest that I could get used to.

10/21

We're walking in the woods.  There's three of us and it won't stop raining.  The two girls are up ahead of me.  I can hear remnants of their conversations through the pitter-patter of rain drops on my drawn hood.  Something about photography.  Or trips to Japan.  Or fading friendships.

And though I'd love to be closer to the girl with black hair and pale skin.  The one with the spell binding gaze and silky smooth voice that makes it so hard to follow the sense of her sentences.  The one I haven't stopped thinking about for months, but I don't try to keep up or chime in.  I even slow my pace.  Take a moment or two to stop and look up at the forest.  At the sagging, soaked leaves and moss hanging from sprawling branches.  Let the distance grow between us.

It's not until we reach a quick moving stream that we all come together again.  The water is only ankle high, but the black haired girl did not bring waterproof footwear.  So, when the brunette easily steps through the flowing stream and looks back at us from the other side, I see an opportunity.  A moment to prove my worth.  My value.  Maybe make myself noticed.

I begin picking up larger rocks and placing them on the bed of the stream in a line of sorts.  Shore to shore.  A bridge.

I return to the black haired girl with a smile.  With the water rushing over my boots, seeping in through newly discovered cracks and soaking my wool socks, I smile at her.  But her attention is on the current.  On planning her voyage across.  

So I extend my arm.  Still smiling.  "You can hold my hand," I say, "I'll walk you across."

But my words are hardly out before she's hopped passed me, submerging a foot completely as one of the stones rolls over.  She doesn't pause at all.

Then they're both walking on ahead.  Farther into the forest.  Out of view.  And I'm left in the stream.  With one arm still reaching out for something and a frown that won't go away.

10/20

Weighed down.  Was it the rain?  The grey skies?  The low barometric air pressure?  Or was it that mood disorder that has gone undiagnosed for years?

Hard to tell.

The morning starts well enough though.  I'm in high spirits. I don't mind it so much when I'm standing behind the cash register at work and someone approaches to ask about the taco menu displayed above my head.  It doesn't tighten me up the way it has lately.  It doesn't cause me to go rigid, crippled with apprehension.  That doesn't happen. And the interaction appears to end without catastrophe.  

It's not until afternoon.  Sometime afternoon that the weight settles in.  When it starts bearing down on the corners of my smile.  When it weaves its way through my spine and curls it into a slouched, distorted mess.  When it drops the anchor and takes takes me with it.  

I go under.

And it's not so bad, down here on the seabed.  A little darker.  A little more quiet.  Doesn't seem like too bad of an idea to burrow into some sand and stay for a while.  Loosen up this spine.  Address this frown.  Return to the surface in due time.

Yes, that sounds good.