The Path to James

by Jane Radford

  I fall asleep with the fantasy of a fresh start. I dream of discarding the sins of my past to don an unencumbered future with my woodland goddess. She is pure and sweet. Beautiful and intelligent. She is everything I have ever wanted. And with these perfect thoughts of golden beginnings, I sink into oblivion.

  Chapter 17

  Like most true hikers, I wake before the sun. I rouse from my sleep only to find myself cradled within James' embrace. He is fast asleep, but even unconscious he manages to utilize his body as dead weight to pin me to his mattress. Effectively imprisoning me—my perfect, naked restraints.

  When I move to leave, his arms reflexively tighten, pulling me to him, then release. Even subconsciously he wants me, but is willing to set me free.

  I gift him with a feather-light kiss on the corner of his lips. I don't want to leave, but I know what future a relationship holds. He will find me sweet and engrossing. I will find him witty, affable, utterly perfect. And then, as our endorphins and oxytocin peter out to tolerable levels, his disinterest will inevitably ensue, followed by my despondence at having lost the dreams and future that I had been craving.

  I slip out from under his muscled arm. He is still fully naked. By leaving, I solidify the perfection that was yesterday. I scoot to the edge of his bed and allow my legs to dangle off of the side. I hate the feeling that I am missing something.

  I get up from his bed and shuffle across the floor. I can see well enough in the moonlight to find my way without bumping into anything. I lean a hand against the railing as I walk down his walkway, toward the stairs.

  Down the stairs, in the kitchen, I find my pack waiting for me. The backpack smells like sleeping in the dirt and meager snacks to pass as meals. I pick it up and sling it over one shoulder—it feels like the key to my freedom and the means to reach all of my dreams.

  I stop again, feeling as though I'm missing something. What if I could have it all? What if I could take my freedom and have James in the process? I drop my pack back onto the ground.

  I have an idea.

  Reaching into the long pocket I pull out a pen and my map. I unfurl the paper onto his kitchen island, the same space I'd made love to James hours before. Taking my pen I map out my path. Using the light from my cell phone, I mark Three Island Crossing, Niagara Springs, Shoshone Falls.

  Down to Bear Lake. Entering Wyoming I'll find Bridger National Forest, Medicine Bow, and leave from there into Nebraska.

  Nebraska, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York. And after all this, if I still crave more, if my wanderlust has not yet been sated, I will sweep back in a lower arc, hitting the states that I missed and ending back on the west coast in Southern California.

  I'll type out my articles in my motel rooms, scrawl notes on the trail, write by flashlight in my tent. Publish them on my blog, on travel forums, on state websites. I am making this happen.

  Over every landmark and national park, I write an approximate date above it. If I know the hotel I'm staying, I mark it down. When I'm finished, I write “If lost please call,” followed by my phone number. At the top of the map, I scrawl a simple question.

  Before I forget I reach back into my bag and pull a bruised apple from the rest of the bundle. I rest it on the map, as payment for safe passage.

  Pleased with myself, I grab my pack from the floor and pull it onto my shoulder. Like a true hiker, I'll head out before dawn to greet the day on the trail.

  I walk to the French doors leading into James' backyard. I can't help looking back as I open the door and step into the doorway. Even in the dark his home is inviting. It's hard to leave knowing he is sleeping peacefully upstairs, but the crisp morning air pulls at me. The crickets call me to the wilderness.

  I am supposed to travel. I am meant to wander. I can't stay.

  Taking a deep breath, I step out into the cool morning. The grass crunches under my feet, the moon makes way for the coming sun. The trees wave in the breeze and I don't look back again as James' home dissolves behind me.

  ***

  When I wake the sun is glaring into my windows. The air is stagnant, my bed is empty. I sit up, “Alex?”

  There is no reply.

  I jump out of my bed, fully naked. “Alex?”

  Nothing.

  “Shit,” I grab for my pants and head over to my balcony. Like my dreams, Alex has dissipated in the dawn.

  I throw the door to my balcony open and step out into the morning. The sun has warmed the earth, the songbirds sing their melodies, the breeze ruffles my bed-tussled hair. Somewhere out there she is wandering my woods, but I can't spot her from here.

  She is gone.

  It would be impossible to spot her in the ocean of trees. I reluctantly force myself back inside. There is no point in staring out into the forest like a lost puppy. If she had wanted me, she would have stayed. She would have at least said goodbye.

  I frown. My bright future has darkened once more. Why change what I am if I have nothing to be better for?

  I pull on a shirt and head for the second floor walkway. Every step is now a painful reminder of making love to Alex, of pulling her over my shoulder and carrying her off to my bed, to my pool, to the climbing wall. I hadn't been enough to hold her interest. I hadn't been enough to convince her to stay. I can't blame her for that.

  I descend my stairs. My seductress had been so unexpected. She'd materialized from my woods to alter my world forever. She destroyed my contented solitude and then simply left as soon as she'd finished. Though I'm grateful for the memories, my stomach sinks at the possibility of never seeing her again.

  I walk into my kitchen where the kiss of pizza and the scent of her hair lingers in the air. I close my eyes at the memory of taking her atop my counter. I open my eyes and see the apple on the kitchen island. Ripe. Golden. Its skin is bruised from bouncing around in Alex's pack. I pick it up and bite into its skin without thinking.

  The fruit is initially sour with a burst of sweet. When I look back down, I see the map that Alex had been holding when I had first seen her. There are little X's bowing from west to east, from Oregon to New York. I look at the dates above all of her X's. I notice the number—her phone number—she had scrawled for me at the bottom.

  Flattening the map over the counter, smoothing out the creases, I find the one sentence she had written in her fluid script. I think back to the pool, of swimming after her only to emerge from the water with her nowhere to be found. I think of her one tantalizing question. My hand trails over her writing.

  The words “Will you chase me?” are caressed under my thumb.

  Reading that one perfect question over and over, I already know the answer. It's exactly what I had given her yesterday. My response remains the same—

  “Always.”

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  Coming January, 2014