by John Cariani
“What’s wrong?” repeated East.
The woman shone her flashlight on East and suddenly gasped again and cried, “Oh!” She had found what she was looking for.
“What?”
“I need that!” The woman was pointing at something East was holding.
East looked down to where the woman was pointing.
And was surprised to find a small brown paper sack in the crook of his arm.
He had no idea he had been holding it.
Or how long he had been holding it.
Or how he had gotten it.
Or that the woman had been holding it the whole time they had been talking.
He simply hadn’t seen it.
When the woman had hugged him a few moments ago, it had gotten lodged between their bodies and a seamless transfer occurred—so seamless that neither East nor the woman realized that the bag had exchanged owners.
East held the small brown paper sack out to the woman, and the woman snatched it from him. “Thanks,” she said, holding the bag close, relieved to have it back.
“Sure,” said East.
And then the woman clicked off her flashlight and put it back in her backpack and resumed looking at the sky. And hoped that East would go back inside his house and let her do what she needed to do.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Because East was too intrigued by this woman.
And he wanted to know why she was there.
So he said, “So … I don’t mean to bother you, but did you say—when I came out here and asked you if there was somethin’ I could do for you—did you say that you were here to see the northern lights?”
“Yeah,” said the woman, happy that East wasn’t asking her about the brown paper sack that she had just recovered. “I’ll only be here tonight. I’ll see them tonight. And then I’ll be gone.”
“Um, well … you never really know if you’re gonna see ’em, you know. They’re not on a schedule or anything. So you might not see ’em tonight.”
“Oh, no! I’ll see them!” insisted the woman. “Your latitude is good.”
This was true. Almost, Maine, is just far enough north that the northern lights appear there fairly frequently. And—good thing—because the woman had forgotten to renew her passport, so getting to Canada would have been tricky, and she didn’t have the time—or money, really—to get to Alaska, so Almost was her best option for doing what she needed to do.
“And the time is right: there’s no moon so moonlight won’t obscure them,” continued the woman, and she looked up at the sky, and East did, too, and together they tacitly confirmed that there was, indeed, no moon. “And—most important,” the woman added, “solar activity is at an eleven-year peak right now, so everything’s in order, and boy, you have good sky for it. It’s so huge here,” she gushed, “and dark.” The woman shifted focus earthward and scanned the horizon. “And, you know, it’s flatter here than I thought it would be. I thought it’d be more mountainous.”
“Nah. Mountains are way south and west. We just have some hills. And woods. And farms.”
“Oh.” They took in the landscape the woman had just described. And then the woman asked, “So what kinda farm is this?”
“Potato.”
“Oh, yeah, you said.”
“And broccoli,” added East.
But then he remembered it wasn’t a potato and broccoli farm anymore and was about to correct himself when the woman asked, “So you’re a farmer?”
“No. Used to be. But not anymore.”
“Oh.”
“I sold off most of my land a few years back after my folks died,” explained East. His mom and dad had hit a moose on their way home from a Maine Potato Board meeting in Presque Isle and only the moose survived. And East still wasn’t quite over it. “And now,” he added, “I’m a repairman.”
“Oh.”
“I fix things,” he explained. And then immediately wished that he hadn’t. Because it’s pretty obvious what repairmen do.
And then the woman snorted. And seemed to be laughing.
“What?” asked East, hoping she wasn’t laughing at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just—you’re not a lobster man.”
“Um … nope.” East stifled a laugh, because the woman said lobster man—instead of lobsterman.
“And I guess I thought that everyone from Maine was a lobster man and talked in that funny way like they do in Maine. But … you’re not a lobster man, and you don’t talk that way.”
“Nope.” East was smiling a little, eager to debunk a common misconception. “You’re not Downeast. You’re up north. And we don’t really have an accent up here.”
“So I’m hearing.”
“And, plus, the ocean’s a couple hundred miles away, so … it’d be an awful long ride to work if I was a ‘lobster man,’” continued East dryly, making sure to say lobsterman the way she did—like it was two words—because he wanted the woman to know he was having a little bit of fun at her expense.
“Yeah, I guess it would be,” laughed the woman, rolling her eyes at herself, and then they laughed together at her misconceptions and at his dry wit until they realized they had nothing else to say.
And the strange lightness they had been feeling filled their insides again.
And that feeling confused the woman. And she suddenly remembered that she was on a mission and that she needed to get back to doing what she needed to do in order to accomplish it.
So she said, “I’m sorry—you know what? I really need to get back to…” And she pointed to the sky to let East know that she needed to get back to doing what she was there to do.
“Oh, sure,” said East.
“And—I really appreciate you letting me stay here. And look for the northern lights. I just really need to do this, and … thanks for being so understanding and accommodating—”
The next thing either of them knew, East was hugging the woman.
And then, just as suddenly as he was hugging her—he wasn’t.
Because he had pulled away from her.
And was now standing stock-still, facing her, a little stunned.
The woman was also a little stunned.
“Oh, gosh—I’m—I’m sorry,” stammered East.
“It’s okay,” said the woman. Even though she wasn’t sure it was.
“Are you okay?”
The woman wasn’t sure she was.
“I’m real sorry I did that,” East added, imagining what it must have been like for this small woman to have had a big lug of a man like him come at her and wrap her up in his arms. “It’s just…” The strange lightness East had been feeling grew inside him—it felt like it was possessing him, even—and it seemed to take control of his body and push the rest of the sentence he had started out of his mouth and make him gutturally blurt out, “I think I love you.”
And then he felt like everything stopped.
And he found himself unable to breathe. And unable to move.
And his face was the picture of contrite befuddlement.
The woman’s eyes widened and bugged a little as she took in her host’s unexpected confession. And then she recoiled a bit and may have even taken a step or two away from East as she skeptically uttered, “I’m sorry—what?”
And East started breathing again and conferred with himself for a moment. And decided that what he had just said was indeed true. “Yeah. I saw you from my window—no—wait: I didn’t actually see you. I just … felt … like you were out here when I was looking out my window … and…” He thought some more to make sure what he was about to say was true. And when he was sure it was true, he continued, “And I loved you. Before I even saw you.”
And then East shrugged helplessly.
And everything was silent and still.
And East stood facing the woman, still looking contritely befuddled, trying to process what he had just said.
And the woman stood facing East, trying to proces
s what she had just heard. His profession of love was a little disconcerting—because it had come from a complete stranger. But it seemed sincere and, ultimately, harmless. So the woman was gentle as she quashed her lovelorn host’s romantic overtures. “Well … that’s really nice of you to say, but, um, there’s something I think you should know: What you just told me? I’m not here for that.”
“Oh, no!” East really didn’t presume that the woman was there for him to love her. And he couldn’t quite believe he had just professed his love to a complete stranger—even though there was no doubt that he loved her. “I didn’t think you were!” he contended, defending himself.
“I’m here to pay my respects,” continued the woman. “To my husband.”
“Oh, no,” groaned East. He had just told a married woman that he loved her.
“Yeah. My husband. Wes. I’m here to say goodbye to him. ’Cause he died recently.”
“Oh, no.” East had just told a grieving widow that he loved her.
“Yeah. On Tuesday, actually.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” And that was all she wanted to say on the subject. Because she really didn’t want to get into it.
But something about East made her want to get into it.
So she did.
“And the northern lights—did you know this?—the northern lights are actually the torches that the recently departed carry with them so they can find their way home to heaven, according to the people who first lived here.” The woman knew this because she had been reading The Big Book of Who, What, Where, When, and Why with her story-time kids at the library. And one of the entries was about what the northern lights were—and where, when, why they appeared. “And, see,” she continued, “it takes a soul three days to make its way home to heaven, and Wes died on Tuesday night—three days ago—and I flew in to Presque Isle on Wednesday—in the morning—and then I hiked Wednesday and Thursday and today, until I found a spot that was dark enough … and that felt right. And when I got here today, well, it just felt right, and it’s so dark here, and—anyway—this is Friday! This is the third day, so, you see, I will see them—the northern lights—because they’re gonna be him. He’ll be carrying one of the torches.” The woman looked up and started scanning the sky. “And, see, I need them to be him, because I didn’t leave things well with him, so I was just hoping I could come here and say goodbye to him … but what you just said—just a second ago? That’s going to get in the way of me saying goodbye to him, I think, and so I think I’m just going to go find another place to do what I need to do.”
And the woman started making her way toward her tent so she could pack up and go, and, as she did, East protested. “No—wait! Please don’t do that. I’m sorry!” The thought of the woman leaving made East’s insides feel heavy and dark. And he realized that they had felt that way for a long time. And he didn’t want them to feel that way anymore, which made him desperate for the woman to stay, and he begged, “Please don’t go! I don’t really know what happened.”
“Well, I do. I know what happened,” retorted the woman sardonically.
The woman collapsed her tent and started packing it up into a small pouch and converted the poles that gave it its structure into trekking poles. East marveled at the amazing design but was surprised to find that he was more interested in the woman than he was in the excellent design of her ultra-packable tent. Which she probably saw in the same catalog that she had found her expensive and stylish clothing in.
“Please wait!” East begged. “Like I said—I’m not the kind of person who does things like … what I just did.”
The woman continued to break down her campsite.
“Please—don’t go,” pleaded East. “Just—do what you need to do, and … and I-I-I … I won’t bother you.”
The woman realized that all she wanted in the world right now was for this guy to stay and bother her, and she had no idea what to do with that feeling, so she ignored it and continued packing up her things so she could be on her way.
“Maybe just consider what I did … a-a-a-a … a very warm Maine welcome.”
From any other guy, such a hokey appeal would have been creepy. But from East, it was earnest. And charming, somehow. And it took the woman by such sweet surprise that she stopped packing up her things.
And the lightness she had been feeling filled up her insides again. And seemed to make her acquiesce and say, “All right.”
East was overjoyed that the woman was going to stay in his yard. And he immediately apologized again for hugging her: “I’m real sorry I did that.”
“It’s okay,” the woman said, in a way that made East feel like it really wasn’t and that she would like for him to stop apologizing and stop talking to her and let her do what she was there to do.
And East took the hint and said, “Well, good luck. And if you need anything—somethin’ to eat or some heat … or the bathroom—just give a holler.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
East was a little embarrassed that he had just offered the woman his bathroom. But she’d need a bathroom sooner or later, he figured. So it wasn’t an unreasonable thing to have offered.
And then he turned and was about to go—but, before he did, he realized that he didn’t know the woman’s name. And she didn’t know his. So he said, “And, just so you know: I’m East.”
“I’m sorry?” asked the woman, turning to East.
“My name’s East.”
“Oh.” The woman considered the unusual name. And then asked, “Like the direction?”
“Yeah,” East answered, and he went on to explain his unusual name, like he had done countless times in his life. “It’s short for Easton.” And he took a few eager steps toward her as he explained his name. “It’s the name of a town—that way”—East pointed east—“where I was born.” And then he offered more of an explanation so the woman wouldn’t have to ask for one. “There was a mess-up on the birth certificate: a son, Easton, born in the town of Matthew, Maine. Instead of the other way around.”
The woman seemed to pity East when she learned the origin of his unusual name. “Oh,” she said with a wincing smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t name me.”
The woman smiled, conceding East’s point.
“And—anyway—I like my name,” continued East.
“Well, good.”
And then the woman congratulated East on his recent birthday.
And East thanked the woman and appreciated her thoughtfulness.
And then the woman—who had completely forgotten why she was where she was—asked, “So … Easton, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, I passed a sign for there on my way here, and, by the way, where is ‘here’? I couldn’t find it on my map.” The woman pulled her cerulean gloves off with her teeth again and pulled a map out of her jacket pocket.
“Um … well—”
“Where am I?” asked the woman, unfolding her map.
“You’re in unorganized territory. Township 13, Range 7.”
East went on to explain that over half of Maine’s land area—an area the size of the states of Vermont and New Hampshire—was unorganized territory. Back when the country was being put together, surveyors went out and started mapping the wild places. And those wild places were divided into townships that were about thirty-six square miles each. Almost was one of those townships.
The woman looked on her map for this “Almost” place, but East warned her, “It’s not gonna be on your map, ’cause it’s not an actual town, technically.”
“What do you mean?”
“See, to be a town, you gotta get organized, and we never got around to getting organized. So we’re just … Almost.”
“Oh.”
“Plus, we’re almost in Canada.”
“Okay.” The woman nodded.
“And almost not in the United States.”
“Okay.”
“So … Almo
st.”
“Okay.” Appropriate name, supposed the woman.
And she wondered what in the world this “Almost” place was.
And then decided that she needed to get back on task and said, “Okay, well—I’m just gonna do what I need to do, here, if that’s still okay?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” said East, and he reminded the woman again to let him know if she needed anything and the woman said, “Thanks,” and East turned to go. And as he did, the woman added, “And my name’s Glory, just so you know.”
East turned back to the woman and felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again and said, “Hi, Glory.”
And Glory said, “Hi.” And felt the strange lightness fill up her insides again, too.
And Glory didn’t quite know how to deal with the lightness she was feeling and suddenly directed her focus back up to the sky.
And East didn’t know how to deal with the lightness he was feeling, either, so he turned and started to make his way back to his house.
And he felt a deep, strange sense of loss as he did.
And so did Glory.
And then Glory realized that she was feeling a sense of loss because she had actually lost something.
Or was missing something.
And then discovered that the small brown paper sack she had been carrying was no longer in her possession.
“Oh, no!” she gasped. East heard Glory and stopped and turned to her. “Oh, no!” uttered Glory again. And she dug her flashlight out of her backpack and started searching the area for what was missing.
But it was nowhere to be found.
“What’s wrong?” asked East. He saw her flashlight beam dancing on the snow, and when he shone his Maglite on her, he saw her frantically searching the area around her campsite.
“Glory?” he called, rushing back to her. “Are you okay?”
Glory was emitting strange grunts and groans and gasps as she searched.
“What’s wrong?” repeated East.
“My heart!” called Glory.
“Huh?”
“My heart!” Glory repeated, clutching at her chest, her breathing labored.
East wondered if she was having a heart attack—even though she seemed far too young to be having a heart attack. “Where is it?” gasped Glory, searching more frantically.