Page 57 of Hopelessly Wild


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I am.

But he’s right.

This is a yearning my heart won’t let go of, and it’s as though a strange force is pulling me away from my family.

I promised I’d do anything he asked.

Is this a dream? I still can’t believe it.

But I’m writing the letter to Dr. Anderson tonight before Albert changes his mind.

So that’s how my grandfather agreed to let Gran go.

The rest is all history.

I flip the pages, and there are only a couple of more entries, and then there’s a wad of blank pages now a creamier color, tarnished over time.

Resting her diary on my chest, I close my eyes and imagine what it was like here fifty-eight years ago.

I need to find Brenda when I return home and ask for Gran’s journal of when she was in the jungle.

The burden of the secret no longer has to be Brenda’s alone. I wonder how much she knows and whether she too was sworn to secrecy.

* * *

A dark blanket has fallen over the village, and the deafening chatter of insects and creatures is enough to keep me awake. My heartbeat refuses to slow, despite my efforts to remain calm. I’m no longer naïve. I’m aware of the predators lurking beyond the village boundary. Even though I’ve convinced myself the Watache have moved on in the direction on the map where Samuel has sent them, my thoughts snowball with the possibilities of potential threats. Beyond the doorway of our hut, the darkness pulsates with life, death to preserve life, and a hunger by every species to survive.

I’m just a number.

A statistic.

No more important than any other individual or animal in surviving what life throws at us.

Why am I still alive?

What purpose do I hold?

What good can I do besides feed my selfish need to be with Samuel?

It’s the first time I’ve been alone in the village at night since my ordeal, and my subconscious is playing havoc with my mind.

I wouldn’t even know if something or someone were sneaking up on me or even outside the hut because the bloody monkeys and insects are deafening right now.

The clicking and mindless chatter stops. My hearing pricks and thoughts sharpen. I listen intently as it usually means there’s a predator close by.

When the raucous returns, my shoulders slump, and I let out a long breath, hoping the danger has passed.

I need to pee, and I’m struggling to wait any longer for Samuel to return from the waipa.

Stepping carefully down the few steps of his hut, I pad toward the green web enticing me closer. Spinning in a full circle, I assess no one is around, so I squat the best I can, and as far as my stomach will allow, and simply pee.

Nothing is simple, and I pass the loudest fart ever.

“That wasn’t me. That was you,” I whisper to my daughter.

“It makes finding you easy with flatulence like an elephant.” Samuel’s voice comes from behind me.

“Oh God, did you hear that?”

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