WILDERNESS
by Johanna Nauraine
It was an early evening in June. We were hiking through the mountains on a barely visible trail. Old pines towered above us. Gene stopped to point out a white wildflower, calling it by name. I bent to sniff it and it smelled like nothing. A cluster of starlings flew overhead. Such ordinary birds, yet we watched them until they disappeared behind the trees, as if they were rare and beautiful.
Gene turned and kissed me, suddenly noticing my silence. Once he turned his back to me and continued walking down the trail, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, looked at my watch and sighed. Only an hour had passed since we’d started out.
I could tell, by the way Gene’s body was leaning forward, that he was completely enthralled by our surroundings. It was almost irritating. He had the curiosity of a child, and was easily mesmerized by unique experiences.
I began humming, something I did when I was trying not to think. The tune was a childhood diddy my father used to sing when he was hammering nails. Sitting on the porch rail while he built something unexpected, I would swing my legs back and forth and keep him company, until the night rose up like a wild animal and painted everything black. Then we’d go inside and watch tv and eat microwave dinners whose dates had expired.
Gene reminds me of my mother, suffocatingly intense. She left when I was 10. My father and I never discussed her sudden departure but, as a child, it bothered me that I couldn’t remember the scent of her hair. I wondered if my father had a hard time remembering her too. Ever after, our house had a hole in it where she had been.
We were rounding a bend when Gene whispered, “Susan, look at that!” He was pointing at an eagle, sitting on a high rock, the wind ruffling his feathers. He looked regal, and quietly strong. I wished to leave him in peace. Mark must have felt the same way because he moved quietly down the trail.
I noticed, the wind was turning cold and I shivered in my shorts and thin tee shirt. “I want to go back,” I said.
Mark looked disappointed, but it was a look I’d grown used to. He sighed and shook his head, as if he couldn’t comprehend such a puny concern.
We began our descent with twilight on our heels. There was a subtle change in the air and birds began to call out to one another. It was almost antiphonal. Their bird song struck me as peculiar and lovely.
By the time we got back to the car, it was dark. Mark fumbled in his pocket for the car keys, on which there was a little flashlight. He pointed the light at the ground so we could see where we were walking.
Both of us slung our day packs into the back seat of the Volvo before getting into the car. We’d left bottles of water in the center console and each of us took one and drank deeply.
“So, what did you think? Would you want to do this again?”
We’d been married long enough to take each other for granted, so his solicitousness surprised me. My mind churned through possible scenarios. If I said yes, would he expect me to do this more often? I looked out the window and said, “Maybe.”
“Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“I probably would have preferred a concert.”
“Well, we could do that too.”
“You say that, but we never do things I propose.”
“That’s not true.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
Mark started the car, our headlights severed the darkness. The dirt road out of the park was rocky and we bumped along, our silence growing into something predictable.
Once we reached the highway, Mark switched the radio to NPR. We listened to a commentator talk about the growing unrest in Albania, the food shortages, the unreliable electrical grid, the failing economy. I thought, how little it mattered, these pockets of disturbance around the globe.
When we pulled into the driveway, I felt strangely relieved. It was good to see our familiar bungalow, like an old toad in the middle of the lawn. I grabbed my day pack from the back seat and hurried towards the front door. Mark was taking his time. He always dawdled when he was mad.
I couldn’t bear another fight. Sometimes I thought we were dead stars, hung in a long abandoned galaxy.
Lying next to him at night, I often imagined what it might be like to be alone, more alone than I already was. Maybe I would get a pet, and find a house somewhere flat, so I could see the horizon roll towards me in a profusion of possibility. After so many years of being quietly invisible, I wanted to rake my fingers through my hair and let my dreams fall out one by one, watching them sparkle like jewels in a pristine firmament.
Published in Bright Flash Literary Review, January 4, 2024