Snapshots

     Two passengers jostled left and right as leaves whipped their fingers.  The Gator bumped up and down through the trees.  The path twisted towards the sound of rushing water.  Soon, the trail touched the river, and the Gator slowed down so the passengers could enjoy the sights and sounds of the rapids.  A great deal of water rushed around rocks only to crash into other rocks with terrifying force. 
     Years before, some fine individual realized the aesthetic beauty of the spot and placed a small wooden chair next to the flowing water.  The shoots from the bushes and weeds had twisted up around the legs, making the chair look as if it grew from the earth. 
     Satisfied, the vehicle turned and plunged into the trees.  The skilled driver navigated a well-known course that had little room for error; one wrong move could throw us from the narrow path into the dense brush.  
     We reached the crest of a hill and shot out of the trees into an open clearing.  The Gator slid to an abrupt stop.  The faces of some 30 deer looked out at us from all across the field.  Neither they nor we could move.  We all just froze in stunned silence at the unexpected company.  They looked at us with enormous round eyes while their wet noses pulsated in the effort to understand us.  Every ear was turned in our direction. 
     One white tail went up, and then the rest followed.  A stampede!  30 deer scrambling at once, crashing around one another as each hastily picked their own line into the trees.  
     Within moments they were all gone, and we sat alone in the field.  It was a sunflower field.  The sun was going down beyond the distant hill, painting different parts of the lazy clouds in different lazy shades of pink and purple.  The sky burned orange behind it, the color of a ripe grapefruit.  The sunflowers had already begun turning their heads downward for the evening, seeming to hum a song of sorrow at the departure of their namesake.  Crickets already claimed the stage and sang a chorus from the trees.  The air was positively electric. 
     The Gator sprang to life again, and this time the gas pedal was pressed to the floor.  The vehicle raced around the perimeter of the clearing and the top speed was reached.  We could barely keep our eyes open because the wind was so tremendously violent.  I couldn't smile (despite my impulse to grin and even scream out in approval) because the groups of tiny flies and mosquitoes collided with our faces at an alarming rate.  
     The freedom of the moment was unreal.  We decided to head home, darting back into the forest having changed a little.  For some reason we were suddenly more ourselves than when we began our joyride.  

     Why it is that we thought to recreate this trip several hours later will never make sense to me.  Such is the nature of alcohol.  
     For some reason, three of us found ourselves running through the dense blackness to our off-road craft.  We buckled in, turned on the headlights, and pulled into the trees once more. 
     On our way to the clearing, we stopped by the rapids and got out for a moment.  Inebriated playfulness took command, and I darted off into the blackness.  I crashed through the brush, and stopped behind a large trunk.  I listened for my companions. 
     Victoria discovered my absence first.  Then they began calling out for me.  I put my hand to my mouth to keep the laughter from becoming too audible.  My intention was to wait for their search to pass my tree so I could jump out and scare them.  
     But they didn't come.  They wandered around the Gator with their cellphone flashlights wildly dashing about them.  Suddenly, the Gator started and they sped off into the forest.  I watched as the headlights disappeared into the trees.  I was swallowed in total blackness. 
     Shit.  
     Why did they leave?  Surely they'll come back!  Right? RIGHT?!  My mind tried to race for answers, but everything was working slower with the buzz of Belgian Beer about my mind.  
     After a few minutes, it occurred to me that I didn't even know where the path was.  But, remembering that the path meets the river, I decided to walk in the direction of the roaring water.  It was slow progress with my hands out to protect me from smashing my face into a tree, but eventually I arrived at the water.  Through the darkness out could barely make out the white, frothy foam of the rapids beneath me.  
     In this moment, I had two separate and vivid thoughts: #1 am I going to die here? and #2 yes, the wolves will get me.  I don't even know if wolves prowl that stretch of South Carolina wilderness.  It didn't really matter; at that moment I was suddenly sure that they did and that they would be here immanently.  
     At that moment, I heard the sounds of the Gator.  Off in the distance, I could barely make out the headlights through the trees.  They were on some other path looking for me.  I yelled in their direction, despite my certainty that doing so would definitely attract the wolves, but the rapids ate my words instead of letting them roam free amongst the leaves and bark and South Carolina red clay. 
     I began pacing back and forth to weigh my options.  I didn't have my cell phone so I couldn't call for help.  I couldn't walk back because I couldn't find the path without light.  All I could do was wait to be found, or wait for the morning to find my way back.  At that moment, I stumbled into the chair I saw earlier.  Relieved, I remembered that the chair was on the path, so if anyone came by they would definitely see me. I plopped down into the soft and wet wooden throne, and laid my head against the back of the chair.  
     At this moment I saw the stars for the first time.  Thousands of them peaking through every little hole in the canopy of the forest.  And each one told me to be quiet and rest.  This moment, a just climax to my own colossal stupidity, was a gift.  The forest whispered in my ear and told me it loved me, and it wanted me to sit there and bask in its beauty. 
     So I sat in the chair and listened to the water beat at the rocks for 25 minutes.  I decided that if they didn't find me I'd simply sleep in this wooden throne.  And I almost dozed off, before the Gator twisted around a curve and happened upon me.  
     I sighed, got up from my chair, thanked the forest for the intimate time we shared, and climbed into the Gator.  "No more shenanigans tonight," I said to myself quietly as we pulled away into the trees and back toward the house.