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“One more time, and this time turn to your right.”
“My right?” I turned. “What am I’m I supposed to be seeing?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to Montana,” he replied with a snicker.
“Gran—”
“I’ve never been but I’ve heard it’s beautiful. Is it?”
This time I knew what he was trying to do and it was working. How could it not when I really stopped to admire the nature around me. “It really is, Grandpa. Kinda feels like I stepped into one of Henry David Thoreau’s novels.”
“Which one?”
Of course he’d ask that. Thinking about it as I walked down the trail that sloped towards the water I recited a quote for him so that he’d know which book I was referring to—“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
“Walden.” He sighed happily. “I should reread that one.”
“Me too. I guess it will make more sense when I’m actually in the wild and not on a rooftop in some major city like London,” I teased.
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to guilt me or just sulking, meanwhile I’ve sent you to spend some time with your favorite author.”
“And I’m excited…but on the other hand, finding out your favorite author is an asshole isn’t the greatest feeling in the world.”
“Language!”
“Sorry. Finding out that your favorite author is a jerk…isn’t the greatest feeling in the world.”
“Malachi is…” He sighed. “Like I told you before, Malachi is a good person with—”
“With a bad past.” I finished for him. “I know. I do run his fansite.” Meaning I knew his biography…though it was short. He was born in St. James Parish, Louisiana on November 2nd, thirty years ago tomorrow. He lived there until he was nine, when his mother packed up the family car and moved to New York with the hopes of breaking into Broadway. It wasn’t until a year later, that she met my grandfather at a casting call for Les Misérables, however instead of gaining a role as one of the extras, Grandpa cast her as Fantine. One of the biggest shows of all time, with a big name director, along with dozens of people thinking she was undeserving, must have been the reason why she cracked under the pressure. The night of the show she got drunk, and without leaving him any choice, he kicked her off the set. The next morning she committed suicide. Grandpa had been looking out for Malachi ever since. I’m sure he knew it wasn’t his fault, but Grandpa still couldn’t walk away from it. After that, Malachi’s life was pretty much standard. He went to Princeton on a scholarship, studied English and Art History, and published his first novel a month before graduation which was a runaway bestseller. After that he’d basically dropped off the face of the earth until his accident last week.
“Esther? Esther—?”
“Huh?” I shook my head clear and turned back around towards the slope. “Sorry I got lost in my thoughts for a moment. I’m so tired and this damn taxi…” I glanced to my right and then my left. No. No way. “YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” I screamed.
“What? What is it?”
“The taxi’s gone!”
“What do you mean gone?”
“I mean gone!” I screamed as I stood on the main road and looked back the way we came. “As in not here! As in I’m in the middle of nowhere without my bags or my wallet! I don’t even have a jacket! GRANDPA!”
He said nothing. Not nothing like he couldn’t believe it nothing, but nothing as in my phone service was gone!
“COME ON!”
Kicking the air and jumping in rage I turned around and of course because I was obviously cursed, there was not a single car in sight. I fought back the panic that was rising in my soul as I tried to think. I wasn’t sure what else to do but think.
“Okay Esther, breathe.” I coached myself while fanning fresh air to my nose. “That’s right, keep breathing…keep breathing. You’re okay. You’re okay. I mean it feels like the setup of a Stephen King novel, but come on, I’m sure the murder rate is much higher in New York.” I paused. Was I trying to make myself feel better or worse? Whatever the murder rate was it didn’t matter if you were the person being freakin’ murdered!
“Why did I fall asleep?” I didn’t even know how far anything was from here! But chances were there was town close by. Going back was safer.
No. For some reason it didn’t feel right to turn back. I wasn’t far from the house. I can make it.
I wasn’t sure where the confidence came from or why I thought I had the ability to navigate myself to someone’s house. I mean the closest I’d been to the woods was Central Park! “Ugh! That’s kinda of depressing,” I muttered to myself. Staring back at the lake I hoped my service would kick back in as I walked back down the slope to the spot that I was in before. However, not even the signal bar service came up. Just the words No Service as if were mocking me.
“Not all those who wander are lost,” I whispered to myself as I walked closer to the lake. I wasn’t sure if walking on the road was the best choice…especially after reading Hitchhikers by Teddy Grey.
