Page 8 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Later, just before dawn, I stand at the window and stare out at the lake. The sky is overcast and the few stars don’t offer much light. Again, I think of Jordan, the boy who died by my hand. I know it was my fault, even if he broke his neck hitting the stone floor. I should have stopped. He was new at it, a young guy whose eyes flickered uneasily, scared of the fight. When he fell, he was so exhausted with no strength left to deftly catch himself.

That happened about two and a half years ago. The world in which I was living at the time now seems more unreal to me than ever before.

I put my hand on the pane of glass. Tonight is the first night I haven’t dreamed about Jordan. I don’t know what that means. Is that good or bad? Am I jaded or merely distracted? Am I an even worse person if I eventually start to forget? Is that normal?

I just don’t know. I don’t even know what it means to be normal.

Feeling lost, I let my eyes wander through the darkness outside. A single snowflake floats to the ground behind the window pane.

What would it be like if I had Lou with me right now?

The next couple of weeks go by, one day just like the other, but with Lou they are not so empty anymore. Everything is easier for me, even getting up in the morning. After breakfast, I do the necessary work. Sometimes I look for trees in the forest that I can cut down for firewood, sometimes I need to repair things or I find that some rodent left a mess on the seat in my outhouse. At lunchtime, I jog several laps around the lake, occasionally build rabbit traps, and in the evenings, I sit in front of my laptop and read Lou’s posts.

It’s almost like I know her personally now. Sometimes, when my obscure nightmares wake me up at night, I stare out at the lake and imagine what it would be like to have a family of my own. Just like Lou. Secretly, I envy her ideal world even though I read in an older post that she lost her parents early in life. Maybe I don’t envy her world, but rather the ease with which she goes through life. And maybe my envy is also a form of admiration or longing. I can’t make sense of my feelings; they are confusing and don’t follow logic. Still, it’s better than before. I feel something again and I have Lou to thank for that, the girl with the flaxen hair and Alaskan eyes.

In early March, the snow begins to melt, releasing a few boulders on shore. Next to the log cabin, the first green of the crocuses bursts forth and every day the pale winter sun gets brighter. The air gets so warm during the day that a layer of fog gathers over the lake in the morning hours. Sometimes, the Chinook blows through, parting the mist like a sea, leaving trails that soon disappear into nothingness. It looks mystical, like the heart of Avalon. I think Lou would like it.

As I walk to the water hole, this morning’s fog has already lifted and I spot a few hooded campers in front of a campfire on the other side of Quiet Lake. I stop dead in my tracks like a caribou sensing danger. Just as attentively, I register all the other changes. I make out the outline of an orange canvas tent behind the group and then notice their supply bag dangling from the low branch of a willow tree.

Their presence makes me nervous, I don’t know why. I’d like to get my rifle and fire a warning shot to make them leave, but that would only get me into trouble. The shore across Quiet Lake is not part of the land I’ve leased.

I scoop the water out of the hole, ignoring their calls that suddenly echo across the ice. Unmistakably another language, though they switch to English: “Hello! Hello, my friend!”

I don’t even look in their direction anymore. I don’t want any contact with them, no small talk for hermits. I’ve only just managed to get along with myself. With me and Lou. And that works fine. I don’t need anyone else.

I pull the hat almost over my eyes and carry the buckets back to the cabin. With every passing hour of this early March day, I become more aware that my days in the cabin are over. Spring is just around the corner and it’ll not only bring back sparrows and redpolls, but apparently also tourists. The lake is a place of solitude only in winter.

As I sit on the couch tonight and boot up my laptop, I feel a strange sense of nostalgia. Feeling as if I am being driven out of paradise, I decide I must return to the RV. Somehow, it’s all connected now. Lou, the winter, the cabin, and me.

Her latest picture makes me smile—it still feels alien on my cheeks, like sore muscles. Why on earth is she photographing her feet in those Chucks? Ah, yes…the Chucks are new. Of course, she has to post about them! And of course they are yellow. I would have bet my entire inventory on that—okay, okay, maybe only half and the other half on pink!

Instinctively, I run my hands through my hair, wondering for the first time if she would like me. Does she like dark hair and dark eyes? I turn my head and peer at my reflection in the window glass. A serious face with prominent cheekbones and a wide mouth with thin lips.

I’ve never been interested in my appearance, but there were plenty of women in the fighting scene who threw themselves at me. It wasn’t because of my character, at most because of my victories. Ramon, the boy I survived the first winter in the slums with, always used to say that I should make my money with my face instead of my fists. That I looked like a runway model. I didn’t believe him. And even if that were the case, after these months in the wilderness, there’s nothing left of it. My gaze is unsteady, almost furtive, my hair too long, and my hollow cheeks covered in stubble.

I look like the freak I am.

Disgusted with myself, I turn back to the laptop, happy Lou can’t see me.

I scroll around a bit and, to my delight, discover another post I haven’t seen yet.

Hello to all of you out there. Here in Ash Springs, the asphalt is melting again in the sun and I’m just hanging around, and don’t know what to do. Don’t you sometimes feel like your life is just like the monotonous road that leads from Ash Springs to Rachel? With nothing but heat-eaten bushes and dry sand? Don’t you also long for something to finally happen? Something that grabs you like an eagle and yanks you so high in the air, you can see the whole world from above? Something that makes you fly so high that the sun’s rays illuminate your heart? Something that turns you inside out and leaves you as someone you don’t recognize? Don’t you long for it, too?

I read this entry over and over again. It’s the first in which Lou reveals something truly personal about herself. Something that has nothing to do with fashion, girlfriends, family, or school. Somehow, I feel like these words were meant only for me. As if Lou had peered into my heart and found a longing there that I had hidden from myself. Part of me grasps something while the rest lags behind. Maybe it’s only a hunch in my subconscious, I don’t know.

“Something that makes you fly so high that the sun’s rays illuminate your heart,” I repeat in a whisper. Illuminate the darkness forever. A river of sadness and happiness rushes through me and all that’s left is a deep, burning longing for more.

I stare at her and tap my index finger gently against her lips. “Alaska girl, what are you doing to me?”

Chapter

Three

My move from the cabin to the RV takes several weeks. I had somewhat forgotten how damn long the path through the dense coniferous forests is. A one-way trip with luggage takes over seven hours. Since I don’t want to leave all my leftover canned food behind, I carry half of it to my summer camp: a clearing by a waterfall in the middle of a forest full of spruce, fir, birch, and aspens.

My last hike from the cabin to the RV is in early May.

Lou continues to be my first thought in the morning and the last one at night.

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