The Canyon Around You
The boy stood very still, sunlight burning through his closed eyelids. The stream flowed around his feet, languidly passing him and continuing its lazy journey to the ocean. His small frame was covered in the sinewy muscle of a teenager, skin slightly tanned with a red ring of sunburn around his neckline. He opened his eyes and swiveled slowly, looking behind him toward a spot on the bank a few dozen feet away, eventually picking out the three pale, wide-eyed faces watching him and whispering to each other. He could not hear what they were saying from the distance but he knew that whatever it was most likely came out in hushed, frightened tones. He averted his gaze.
For the dozenth time he contemplated turning back towards the familiar shore and felt his skin prickle and grow hot with shame. No, there was no turning back now. He envisioned himself returning to the group, eyes downcast, dishonor and disgrace hanging around him like the smell of a dead animal left out in the sun. His friends would not say anything because they all knew that none of them would have even attempted the crossing. They would travel back into town enveloped in a silent miasma, spread apart on the trails and dirt roads and eventually paved streets and front porches and then never again speak of the failed expedition.
Stephen turned and looked at the foreign bank. He carried his shoes in his right hand, his socks stuffed inside. He wished that he had prepared for this, that he had not hotly declared his willingness to go through with his plan, and that he had heeded Johnny’s advice to at least prepare for his journey.
“There is nothing over there but more trees,” Stephen had insisted, “Don’t be such a baby. You’re not even the one going.”
“What’s the harm? Go back and get some boots or something. Get some food and some water, get a lighter, get a flashlight. What’s the harm?” Johnny pleaded. He had shifted his weight from foot to foot, shuffling the dry, crinkly leaves underneath them and glancing around with mouse-like eyes.
“Just go, why stall? Maybe you are the baby,” Danny had said, too loudly. They had all glanced at him sharply and he had looked down at the ground, ashamed. He wouldn’t go, so he couldn’t goad anyone else into doing it. Stephen had shaken his head and started taking off his shoes.
“Bastards,” he whispered, wiggling his toes in the muck of the stream bottom. The water was crisp and cool and refreshing, and he desperately yearned to reach down to gather some to splash onto his burning face. They could have all told him that they were as scared as he was, and that it would be okay to stay and do something else with the rest of their day. They could have stopped him, but they didn’t. He was scared, but it would be impossible to go back. His temerity both exhilarated and frightened him. It was too late now.
He pulled his feet up out of the sucking muck lining the stream, walking steadily until he was at the opposite bank and hesitating only a moment before putting first one foot and then the other on land. He stood like a statue, his feet covered in dirt and wet leaves, and filled his lungs with the afternoon air. Nothing jumped out from the tree line twenty feet in front of him, and his body did not feel any different. The sun still streamed through the trees and leaves, casting shifting splotches of shadow on the ground in front of him. He took another step before stopping and then turning back towards the water to wash his muddy feet, shaking first one foot and then the other in lieu of a towel before putting on his socks and shoes. Eyes downcast, he stood again and starting walking up the gentle incline from the stream bank to the trees.
“Stephen! Just come back, please, just come back,” Johnny yelled hoarsely from the safe side of the stream, “Just come back, we were only foolin’, just come back!” A delicate breeze began flowing out from the forest as Stephen turned, his body now covered in the rapidly moving shadows. Johnny was standing upright on the bank on the opposite side, out of the tree line, his toes almost touching the water. Danny and Joe were out as well, pulling at his arms and shoulders, but Johnny’s fear gave him more power.
“Just come back, we won’t tell anybody, please,” he sobbed. Stephen took a step back towards home as Johnny collapsed as if overwhelmed, but just watched as the others grabbed him and dragged him back into the woods.
“Don’t go running off to tell my mother, Johnny. Don’t ruin this for me,” Stephen said loudly, proud that his voice remained even and strong. He looked up into the sky and squinted and watched the few bright white clouds slowly shuffle around each other. Before he could change his mind he turned and loudly crashed into the forbidden trees behind him.
It was darker inside, darker than it had looked from the familiar bank, but Stephen figured that it was just the additional volume of branches and leaves overhead that caused it. The sun still flowed through the gaps and illuminated everything around him, but things looked almost hazy, like a thin gloss of smoke covered everything. It must be the shifting shadows, he thought. The wind continually rustled the tops of the trees, creating a background like the white noise from a television and relaxing him.
He looked up and saw that the trees here were much bigger than the ones near town. Lumber companies had never entered these woods as far as he knew. He walked for bit, turning back every few steps to look at the retreating stream and tree line until neither were visible and then stopping. Should he leave markers or something? How far was he going to go before he went back? He would need to bring something back in order to prove that he didn’t just hide at the edge of the woods for a few hours before making a big show of coming back. Danny and the others wouldn’t believe him unless he brought back some kind of proof.
But a marker? Like what? Should he break branches on trees, or leave a piece of clothing behind so he could find his way back? No one ever taught me this stuff, he thought. Maybe Johnny had been right. Too late now, he thought again. He shrugged and continued walking. As long as he didn’t change direction he would be fine.
The forest was overgrown, the trees and shrubs and bushes covering everything in front of him. He looked for a path before realizing that no one ever came here, and therefore there would be no path. He walked and walked, ducking under low-hanging branches and hopping over what looked like prickly bushes. A few times he ran directly into thick spiderwebs, each time recoiling in fear and spitting and tugging at the ethereal strands, each time breathing heavily for a minute and imagining the legion of creepy crawly insects rushing over every inch of his skin. Deep calming breathes and logic won out over the panic each time. He had eventually learned how to spot the gauzy web by recognizing their usual hiding spots and by catching their outline in a glint of sunlight through the leaves.
Why had he never actually learned outdoorsy stuff like this? He stopped walking and turned around, now unsure if he had been walking in the same direction after each minor detour around an uninviting bush or spiderweb. The first tendrils of panic clawed at his stomach, causing him to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Dad never taught me, that’s why, he thought bitterly. Why was Dad not into hunting or fishing or going to the local bars like the other dads? All he did was sit at home in his study with a drink in his hand and a closed book in his lap as he stared silently out the window into the tiny yard behind their house. Stephen reached down and picked up a dead branch, walking forward quickly and swinging the stick at the offending flora in his path as if cutting through jungle with a machete. After a few strikes the stick broke and he threw it away angrily before reaching up to twist off a live green branch from a young tree.
Stephen thought about Danny’s dad, a mill worker who often came home covered in the stench of the plant, with wild, red eyes and large clomping boots, his hoarse voice yelling at Danny’s mother before he was even in the front door. Stephen and Danny would scurry away into the backyard where Stephen listened with wide eyes and Danny stared at the ground without speaking as the sounds of hard smacks and frightened squeals reverberated across the neighborhood before slowly dissolving into warm fleshy arrhythmic slaps and creaks. Danny’s dad did teach him how to shoot, though, and let him have a few beers during the neighborhood picnic over the protests of his mother. Sometimes Danny was even allowed to drive the car down to the corner store to buy more beer late in the evening when his father was already drunk.
At least my Dad never hits me, thought Stephen. He may be quiet and unpopular and shunned but at least he doesn’t hit me. And he does what he thinks is right, not what the group thinks is right. His Dad once told him ‘what is popular is not always right, and what is right is not always popular’. Stephen slowed and eventually stopped, casting the branch down into the brush and stretching his legs. He liked that saying. He never heard any of the other dads say anything like it.
Isn’t it better that his Dad never buckled under the weight of conformity, even in the face of overwhelming public resentment? Teaching at that school did not make him any friends, Stephen knew. He didn’t understand exactly what it was that his Dad taught, though. Every time he asked his Dad would smile wistfully and say ‘I teach people how to think’, but when pressed to elaborate he would wave his hand dismissively and clumsily attempt to change the subject.
Most of the other teachers there hated their jobs and hated the curriculum. Stephen had once asked why they did it if it made them unhappy, and his Father had just sighed and told him that he didn’t know. Stephen thought that he did, in fact, know, but it was obvious that his Father did not want to discuss it and so Stephen had let the matter drop. His Dad always had the same look in his eyes as when he answered other questions, too. Stephen had learned when to allow his Dad to retreat to the sanctuary of quiet inebriation.
Stephen looked up suddenly and realized that it was much later than he had thought. How much time had passed? The breeze was much stronger now and the shadows longer. The previously conquered panic in his gut resurfaced in a rush of heat as he spun in circles, looking for a landmark. Calm down, he thought. He had been walking east when he came into the woods, so if he walked west he would eventually find his way back home. He looked up again to ascertain the position of the sun. The shifting trees made it nearly impossible, frustrating him as he continued to spin to locate his salvation. The shadows jumped and twirled and the rapidly depleting sunlight sometimes caught his eyes directly and brought spots to his vision. He flopped down against a tree and tightly shut his eyes. Please, God, help me home, he prayed. I was foolish and proud and wrong and I just want to go home safely and I don’t want to stay here after dark. Please help me, Lord. Stephen had not listened in church for many years now, and so he didn’t know if God would be offended by his sudden petition for assistance in spite of his lack of passion for the teachings of the priests, but he was desperate.
The light quickly faded as he sat still, his eyes darting around at the shadows. Oh God, please, please please please, don’t leave me out here alone. Goddamn Danny and Johnny and Joe! Damn them, would they be going back for help? He had yelled for them to not tell anyone, but wouldn’t his parents notice that he was gone? The adults would go after the three boys first when they noticed Stephen’s absence, and he knew that Johnny would break down and spill the beans. He didn’t care anymore. He might even shake Johnny’s hand when he got home.
But Danny would never allow that. Danny was most likely at Stephen’s house right that very second, telling Stephen’s Mom and Dad that they were in the middle of a game and that when it was over they would all be staying at Danny’s house for the night. It was summer and so there was no school curfew to enforce, and so while his Dad would scowl and ask too many questions his Mother would smile and acquiesce. He could envision his Dad muttering under his breath as he watched Danny leave before stalking off to the self-enforced solitary confinement of his bourbon and books.
The temperature was dropping fast, causing Stephen to shiver. He could not bank on anyone coming to rescue him, at least for one night, and even if a rescue party was dispatched there would be no guarantee that they would be able to find him. He himself had no idea where he was in this forest. The thought of spending the night alone in the inky darkness elicited a moan. What was he going to do? He wasn’t safe here, not alone and definitely not in this particular forest. All of the adults told all of the children that the forest was dangerous and that no one should ever ever ever enter it. Stephen remembered that once one of his classmates had been caught daring a fellow student to spend one night in the forest and he was actually slapped by a teacher and sent to the principals office and eventually sent home for the day and the next day the boy did not make eye contact with anyone and no one ever spoke of it. Stephen shivered again. The one time he had asked his Mother to explain why the woods were so dangerous he earned a spanking and was sent to bed without dinner, and he remembered his father’s bemused gaze and later the indistinct argument wafting up through the floorboards from the kitchen as he lay in bed, his butt sore and his stomach clawing at itself and he remembered that he had strained and strained but he couldn’t quite make out the words of their conflict but in the morning his Dad was clearly hungover and his Mother had acted as if nothing had happened.
What am I going to do? he thought again. Should he try to walk out, or maybe build something to protect himself or should he just sit still or would it be better to make a lot of noise to scare away whatever scared the adults in town? He stopped himself and closed his eyes. This wasn’t solving anything. One of the things his Dad had taught him, even in the absence of other more physical endeavors, was that patience and calmness were the key to almost every successful action. He willed his thoughts to slow down and after a few deep breathes he opened his eyes.
The sun was glowing through the trees in all directions, and red beams of light were caught in clouds of dust hanging in the cool air. Groups of insects swirled and swarmed in indistinct patterns, buzzing and chirping and flowing around branches, generally avoiding the thick webs between trees that were now visible as they reflected the ambient light. Some webs were full of struggling bugs. Stephen felt calm again, watching nature move inexorably ahead, oblivious to his plight. Order and purpose, purpose and order. Inflexible. Relentless.
Stephen stood and stretched, his heart thumping slowly in his chest. He began walking and looking, trying to remember what he would need to make a fire and whether he should attempt to build some kind of shelter. He wouldn’t make it out that night, but that was okay. If he could last until tomorrow then he was sure that his mother would panic and raise the alarm. They would come into the forest. Even thought they were afraid of it they wouldn’t just leave him alone out here.
He walked around some more, no longer looking for materials. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to build a fire and he knew that whatever shelter he built would most likely collapse with the first gust of wind and would probably not even provide any comfort while it was still standing. He instead studied the trees and shrubs, his face placid and serene. This forest isn’t so bad, he thought. There is probably some political or religious reason why we aren’t supposed to come here, and once we become adults we are let in on the secret. Besides, even if it is dangerous it wouldn’t be dangerous for him. I’m a good kid, he thought. I’ve never done anything seriously wrong. Things will work out.
He searched until he found a relatively clear patch of grass hidden between a few trees and sat down, settled himself in and enjoying the tactile sensation of the crushed sticks and leaves underneath him. The night was brisk now, the wind casually flowing through the tops of the trees. Everything creaked and moaned and he couldn’t hear anything except for nature. The drone of the animals, trees, and insects reminded him of the ambient noise of a crowd in a packed lecture hall. Every now and then the tree limbs above him would part and he could see the stars, brilliant and luminous, going on forever. You couldn’t see the stars like this back in town, he thought, but then wondered why it was so much better here. He wasn’t really that far from town now, so the lights should still drown out a lot of them. The wind rustled through the leaves, sounding like the pages of a book left propped up next to an opened window. It was almost completely black now, the moonlight barely creeping down to the forest floor, but it was okay. Nothing bad would happen to him. Bad things don’t happen to people like him. He just needed to slowly think things through and the truth would come out, and everything would be okay. He listened to the night animals scurrying in the darkness but felt no fear.
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He awoke slowly, like waking up in bed on Monday morning, sunlight filtering through the leaves onto his face. It was still early. Mist hung in the air, mimicking the insects from the night before, flowing around everything and gathering on the webs in the trees. Stephen felt elusive moisture on his skin, the kind that seemed to disappear when you ran your finger over it. His body ached and his head throbbed as he pulled himself to his feet to look around. Nothing looked different, but it felt different. It felt empty. Which way was he supposed to go now?
Maybe things are always this quiet in the morning, he thought slowly. How would he know? The only times he had been camping were in busy parks barely off of the main roads. It was so serene, so sacred, like an empty church or a library right before closing time. He frowned and rubbed his head and started walking.
Eyes downcast, he walked. And walked, rolling through bushes and sometimes stumbling over falling branches. He stomach growled and his feet hurt, and he walked. Almost imperceptibly the day grew brighter until it was fully present, the sun lighting everything in all directions but offering no hints to its location. Stephen stepped, wooden, his movements languorous, matching the forest around him.
He stopped and looked around slowly, his eyes vacant. It doesn’t matter which way I walk, he thought. Maybe I should just sit still and wait. Or maybe it would be best to move around. It didn’t matter. He didn’t think that either option would provide an increased chance of rescue.
He quit thinking and started walking again, sometimes looking for animals or insects but mostly with downturn eyes. Time passed, languidly, slowly, entirely without incident.
Nature had a funny way of dealing with him, he realized. It never forgot that he was there, never relaxed when he was around. Sometimes in his meandering he would stand still next to a tree and just wait until the animals and birds and insects decided it was okay to start moving again, and he would watch them move and buzz and chirp with feigned indifference. They would go about their business with a guarded tone, eyes turned surreptitiously towards him, merely tolerating his existence in their home. Sometimes Stephen felt as if startling insights were within his grasp but as soon as his chest began to flutter with something akin to excitement and fear the idea would flitter away, flitter up into the leaves and trees and sky.
He came to a small clearing and stopped, arrested by some unseen anomaly present in the scene before him. He looked around, listless eyes darting back and forth and attempting to discern the abnormality in front of him, slowly sorting through the visual chaff and putting the logical pieces together to process the trees, the grass, the absence of animals or insects. A man was leaning against a tree ahead across from him, maybe twenty or thirty feet away. He was large, burly, his face covered in coarse hair and his mouth hidden, perhaps pursed in a straight line. Stephen stared for a moment and then walked into the clearing and sat down facing the hirsute stranger.
“Hello!” the man said suddenly, shocking Stephen and causing his muscles to jolt and shiver and then lay still, exhausted and sore.
“Hello,” Stephen responded, “I’m lost and I need help. Can you help me?”
“Of course! What seems to be the trouble?” the man asked, his eyes twinkling and his face scrunching up as if attempting to hide a smile. Stephen studied him for a moment and decided not to respond, unsure of himself and of his situation. The man accepted the silence readily, his eyes unblinking and seemingly fascinated with Stephen’s face. The man’s eyes were bright and friendly, laughter lines creasing his skin. His face twitched as if hiding some eternal truth or hilarity.
“What is your name?” Stephen asked suddenly. The man didn’t hide his smile any longer, his teeth flashing white and bright and the clean creases of his face bunching together around his eyes. He said nothing. Stephen thought that the man looked like a lumberjack and said as much out loud, but that didn’t elicit a response. Stephen was tired but unsure, not scared but cloudy and indefinite, unsettled.
“Can you help me get out of the forest? I don’t know which direction to go in order to get home. I live in the town nearby,” he said. The lumberjack continued smiling and nodded.
“Of course, my boy. All you need to do it head west, which is that way,” the man said, pointing to Stephen’s right. Stephen accepted this but didn’t move. He should head back home but didn’t.
“Why aren’t we allowed to come into these woods?” he asked.
“Why did you want to come here?” the man countered, his smile gone and his eyes suddenly torpid, his movements jerky as he lowered himself into a crouch.
“I don’t know,” Stephen replied, shrugging, “I just wanted to see what was here. Everything in town was explained, this wasn’t explained.”
“Do you normally go off doing these things? Are you the brave asshole of your group of friends that causes everyone grief as you constantly push your boundaries?”
“No, I’m not. I’m quiet and timid. I don’t like excitement. I like safety and surety.”
“Then why did you come? Why are you here bothering me, ruining my day, endangering yourself, going against the expressed wishes of your elders, against the rules of your pissant town, into the face of the unknown and unknowable and the terror of finally knowing why all of this was hidden? Why pursue this line of thinking? Don’t you have an inkling of what lays at the end?” the man asked quietly in a rush of breath that seemed to rise up from his ample stomach. His face was now sullen, ashen, twitching slightly. His eyes darted around and settled on various objects: a tree, a bush, Stephen, a dirt-covered rock he found at his feet. Stephen watched with interest as each object in turn was mulled and discarded.
Stephen fidgeted under the onslaught, his mind whirring and spinning and sometimes creaking to follow. He didn’t know why he came into the forest. It wasn’t just the rush of shame heaped upon him by Danny’s taunts. He suddenly thought about his father, sitting alone in his study, and sighed.
“I don’t know. How can I really know any of this? What does it matter?” he said softly. They sat quietly for a few minutes, the birds chirping and the leaves rustling quietly around the clearing, but no wind touched their skin.
“It doesn’t,” Stephen finally said.
“You skeptical little cunt,” said the man suddenly, gleefully rising up off of his haunches and sniffing at the afternoon air. Stephen was confused by the man’s sudden shift in moods but was not sure on how to address it. He felt that way about a lot of things now.
“I’m going to go home now,” Stephen said, rising and facing the man, his body turned slightly askew.
“Are you, now?” the man said, but he was no longer looking at the clearing. He was looking over his shoulder, up into the trees, and breathing deeply. “You must come back at some point and tell me how that works out for you.”
With that the man stalked off, melting into the underbrush with a grace that was surprising given his size and stature. Stephen’s eyes lost interest and everything dropped out of focus. He turned and walked west, walked and walked and walked until he was at the stream. He remembered nothing of his trek, which didn’t really surprise him.
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At the stream he stopped and removed his shoes and socks. The sun was hanging low now as the world approached dusk. Stephen splashed across the water, oblivious to his now-soggy pants and stained shirt. Johnny was waiting for him on the other side. He must have kept a vigil all day, Stephen thought.
“Stephen! Oh thank God! Thank you! Are you alright? I’m so happy to see you, I was so worried and Danny made me promise to keep quiet but I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out here and I was about to go and tell your mom anyway even though you would be mad because I couldn’t stand the idea of you being out there alone and maybe hurt because of me and the guys,” Johnny rambled. Stephen looked at him, dull-eyed, with wool wrapped around his brain. He couldn’t care less about the specifics. It didn’t matter.
He put on his socks and shoes without drying his feet and walked towards home, ignoring Johnny and his stream of meaningless noise. Curiosity finally overcame relief and for a few minutes Johnny peppered him with questions about the woods. After a few minutes Johnny realized that he was not going to respond and fell silent. Stephen stopped walking at this development and looked at him, studying his friend’s face with sudden interest, as if a secret lay within and he only needed to figure it out in order to find the truth. Johnny noticed the attention and squirmed.
“What’s out there, Stephen?” Johnny finally asked.
“What’s out there?” Stephen repeated dumbly, turning and looking behind them down the dusty road, “Nothing.” He kept walking, leaving Johnny to puzzle in the middle of the path.
“What do you mean? What does that mean?” Johnny asked, eyes pleading.
“It doesn’t mean anything. That’s the point,” Stephen responded. He stopped again, gently grabbing his friend’s shoulder and suddenly overcome with emotion. “Don’t worry about it, Johnny. There’s nothing worth seeing. Really. Just forget about it and forget about everything I’ve said.” Stephen forced a smile and then resumed his trek home. Johnny smiled tentatively, unsure, and then finally followed.
They walked in silence until the dirt path turned into pavement. Johnny mumbled something about the time and broke off without ceremony, cutting through a backyard towards his home. Stephen ignored him and strolled down the sidewalk. There was no one out on the street, no one on their porch or in their backyard. The streetlights were beginning to throb and flicker, casting pallid light in irregular circles and attracting bugs. Stephen was mute as he absorbed everything around him and eventually he was in front of his house and opening the front door.
He stopped on the doormat, removing his shoes and his wet pants and walking upstairs without fanfare. His father emerged from his study, alerted by the noise of the door, but he didn’t say anything as he watched his son trundle up the stairs. He was still standing in the small cramped hallway when Stephen emerged again, clean and dry and wooden. He stared at his father and his father stared back. Stephen couldn’t understand what was happening and when his father nodded he could see faint traces of love and understanding and sadness and disgust etched across his face. He watched as his dad went back into the study and shut the door, and he could hear the tinkle of ice hitting a glass and the glug of liquid spilling out from its opaque container.
Stephen walked into the brightly-lit kitchen and sat at the table. His mother was leaning over the stove and stirring a pot of something that bubbled and popped. The background noise of security and surety surrounded him: the creaks of the aging house, the smell of food, the clink of cooking utensils on the sides of pots, the creak of a leather chair in his father’s study, the bark of a dog down the street. He tried to pull it around him, like a wool comforter. His mother finally noticed him when she turned to grab another spice from the cabinet.
“Stephen, sweetie! I didn’t know that you were home! Did you have a good time with your friends last night? Tell me all about it!” she said, smiling brightly and walking over to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He remained silent as she walked back to check on her boiling pots, watching her sway a bit and hum to some internal song. He shivered despite it all and made his decision.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied quietly.
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Posted on March 21st, 2009 at 6:57 pm
