It's an unusually groggy night; the air is hanging low and thick on the road. In the dying light of the sun, the cement snakes ahead of me like a black river, its surface shimmering with heat. My bag is weighing me down so much, I feel like a turtle. I'm eager for the coolness of the night to ease my misguided adventure. I scoff at myself as I trudge along the deserted road, thinking about my botched camping trip. It's my year off before heading to college, and being the idealistic wanna-be naturalist, I decided to go on a solo camping trip, hoping to proof myself to Mother Nature in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. But let's face it, I grew up with the comforts of suburban living and simply can't face the endless hours of nothingness for long. I lasted a mere ten days in the rainforest before the ever present bugs, boredom, and rain sent me packing. I had arranged for a taxi to pick me up at an exit along highway 101 in another two weeks, but my phone has no service...just my luck. I am stuck without a ride to anywhere. So, I am roughing it, walking along the highway all by myself in the middle of nowhere.
My skin is prickling with anxious energy. I keep turning nervously whenever the wind picks up, I feel like I hear someone following me. Leaves rattle across the cement, tree branches swish in the breeze. Stupid. I am so stupid. No one is following me. I am in the middle of nowhere; the worst person I will encounter is another tree hugger, or maybe an errant raccoon. I can't psyche myself out. It's just a road, I can't be more than a few miles from some dinky little town where I can find a payphone. Humming helps, it gets my mind off of the forest noises that erupt from either side of the road randomly, making me jump as it shatters the relative silence. My mother will laugh when I get home; she told me it would end up like this. I sigh again, this is simply embarrassing. I wallow in my self pity, wavering my gait awkwardly as I let the weight of the bag bore down upon my weak knees.
Suddenly, shadows spring from my toes as the headlights of a car appear roaring from around a bend. My thumb jumps out, a ride would be so convenient right now. I hope, squeezing my eyes shut, as if it will make my thoughts more powerful. Pick me up, pick me up! The car rushes by at a breakneck speed, almost looking like it will spin out of control as it handles the next bend. Dust swirls around me, my shadow fades away, and I pull a terrible pout. This sucks.
Night falls and the moon is full, good for me I suppose. Two other cars passed me, both ignored me. What is with these people? I thought people from the country always gave rides to teenage bums. They do in the movies at least. I didn't set camp up before nightfall, in false hope of a passing car taking me to civilization and a hot shower. I am dumb...its impossible to set a tent up right in the dark. Frustration seethes through me like a fever. I bore holes into my feet with an angry stare, as if it's their fault for bringing me to this place. The Olympic peninsula seemed so magical, so earthy and natural. When I planned this trip, I felt like I would find myself here like some transcendentalist philosopher. But alas, I am still as lost as ever.
I continue cursing my failed trip when my muscles freeze instinctively. I hear something. I hear someone. This isn't just the leaves blowing across the road; this isn't the cry of some animal from the brush. Distinct and sharp, the heavy footsteps of a person echo in my mind like gunshots. Bursting with adrenalin, my senses focus like I never thought possible. I am paranoid, haunted by my mothers constant warnings of serial killers and crazies wandering around waiting for little girls like me to steal. I barely breathe, as if it will make a difference if the person hears me exhale or not. They are coming from in front, from around a bend, hidden by the great redwoods bordering the highway. I contemplate slipping into the vegetation by the hard shoulder. It will be noisy...but they might not see me. But, what if it's just another hiker? They will think I am a complete lunatic if they see me cowering in the ferns and brambles. My logic bullies my overactive instincts down and I compose myself, though still tense. It is just another hiker, what serial killer takes walks down scenic highways at night? My instinct is screaming at me- Killers who want to find solo hikers like you! That's who! My logic screams- There are no serial killers! Don't be silly!
A silvery shadow lurks around the bend, causing me to freeze up again as its owner appears, a young man. Lanky and tall, he is moving gracefully down the road with a particularly dark look on his regal features. The wind rustles his black hair and he looks up, eyes immediately focusing on me. Strangely, he isn't wearing shoes, or a shirt for that matter. I wonder how his footsteps were so loud. He has nothing but the pair of faded jeans he is wearing. I quickly assess the threat to my safety. He obviously isn't a hiker, giving him a higher possibility of being a deranged killer. Thought he doesn't have any chainsaws or machetes...It's to late though, he's already seen me. Killer or not, he is pretty intimidating. His gait is slow and constant, heading directly towards me with a calmness of someone who is very sure of themselves. I am dead. A whimper escapes my lips involuntarily, I can't move. He hears my pathetic sound, and looks confused. He must think I am totally freaky, maybe I will scare him off so he can find more worthy prey. He stops walking. He takes his hands out of his pockets and seems to examine me, his expression scrutinizing. He looks up and inhales deeply before letting out a big sigh. My lungs ache; I didn't even realize I was holding my breath. A wide grin splashes across his face unexpectedly,
"What are you doing out here all alone?"
His hands slide back into his pockets in a quick fluid movement, but he remains where he is, cocking his head to one side questioningly. I become aware of myself again, my mouth is hanging open and my face is one of utter horror and surprise. I regain my posture, trying to look confident, not like an easy target.
"Just returning from a camping trip." I answer curtly. I stand up straight, drawing up all 5' 2" of myself, trying to look like I know where I am going. My eyes meet his. I feel like an electric current passes between us, shocking me into looking away.
"Where are you heading?" He asks, innocently enough. I can't help but remain tense and suspicious.
I feel my eyes squint as I reply, "across the sound, on the eastside." Vague, but it answers the question. He starts walking toward me and lets out a low chuckle. I back up one step and tense up more; my face warps into a mask of fear and confusion. Why would he laugh? He must be skitzo, a crazy. I can't run with this stupid backpack, but it has all my stuff. I imagine my iPhone packed deep in the center of the bulk, impossible to get to. I cringe at the thought of loosing it. He keeps approaching, despite my obvious apprehension. He is huge. As he gets closer I see knots of muscle highlighted by the moon. I am going to die, he is gonna strangle me to death, right here, right now. I know it.
"You know you are heading exactly the wrong way to Seattle?" He stops ten feet from me, an amused look plays about his face.
"No," I am defensive, "this is heading east."
He lifts himself up on his tiptoes, as if to peer down the road. "Did you follow the way the big wooden sign was pointing, the one a few miles back down the road?" He grinned, eager for my response. I slur out a "yes," unsure if I want to hear anymore from the strange boy.
"Some kids turned that sign around a few months ago to trick the tourists, you are actually heading west. You look pretty lost, do you need some help?" He gives me a charming smile, softening his features. He can't be much younger than I am. Still, I am freaking out. He has no shoes on for goodness sakes. What kind of person walks around a forest road with no shoes?
I stutter incoherent words, unsure of what to say. "Uh, my mom said I shouldn't talk to strangers." I turn, utterly horrified at the ridiculous thing I just said, and start crossing the road.
"Wait up, wait!" His arm is outstretched as if to pull me back over to his side of the road. "The road is dangerous at night, you should come home with me, you can crash on my couch if you'd like." I am so skittish, am I being ridiculous? I can't tell. "Look, I know you just met me and it's sort of weird, but I can't leave you out here all alone. You look so lost and scared, really, let me give you a place to sleep and I can drive you to town tomorrow so you can get a taxi to Port Angeles. I am not a creeper, don't worry." I remain unsure. His eyes plead with me.
"Look, I know you are a city girl. Any hiker would have realized when they saw the sun set that they were heading the wrong way. You have no idea where you are going, and I do. Just let me help you." He grins victoriously, as if he won an argument. I sneer as he points out my obvious lack of skill in the great outdoors. He is right though, I do suck at directions. Despite every voice in my head telling me otherwise, I feel compelled to comply. I am not expected home for another two weeks; I have time for something spontaneous. How uncharacteristic of myself. I flinch as I agree,
"Under normal circumstances I wouldn't do this...but I could really use a hot shower," I grimace as I think of the state of my appearances, "I would really appreciate a soft bed too." I smile crookedly, as if to apologize for being so paranoid. He grins brightly as I accept, and throws out his huge hand. My hand looks like a child's locked in his heavy grip as we greet each other formally,
"My name is Jacob, but you can call me Jake."
I smile back. I can't help it. He looks so elated that I accepted his invitation.
"My name is Heather, nice to meet you Jake."