I cannot honestly say how long I lay in my sleeping bag that night, my mind reeling at what I'd seen. I know the hours seemed to drag unending until I began to realize that somewhere in the distance a light was once again beginning to creep through the forest. As I lay watching Elijah's slow and steady breathing, my mind turned the image I'd seen over and over. How could Elijah have came by such damaging scars as what I'd seen? And who could've been cruel enough to inflict such a pain on someone? Indeed, the "whys" and "who's," accompanied by the same image of Elijah's retreating back reeled through my mind until they seemed to become one endless blur. And as my mind finally became quite enough to give in to the exhausted sleep that followed I resolved myself to the fact that I would have to ask about this. I had to know what had happened...............
I wasn't aware of how long I slept in the tent that early autumn day. Though I'd already spent hours lying awake, recounting what I'd seen and experienced the night before, my aching back told me that I'd slept for some time. Indeed, I noticed that the sun was already high in the sky above the tree canopy when I stepped outside the tent onto the pine needle carpet that covered the forest floor. The fire that Elijah had built in front of the tent throughout the night had long-since smoldered away, only the occasional wisp of smoke now floating wearily skyward. The coffee pot that had been sat on a rock close enough to the fire to make what Elijah had the night before jokingly called "cowboy coffee" because of it's brewing to become so strong had long-since stopped steaming. Indeed, besides the the occasional tree limb that swayed with an occasional breeze or squirrel's leap, the forest now seemed still. And as I took in the scene before me I began to realize that there was another reason for the stillness; Elijah was gone. His clothes, boots, even the pistol he'd laid at the opening of the tent, were all gone. It was as though he'd vanished into the morning air; as to where or why I did not know. But one thing that was more real and tangible than anything else my senses could impress upon me was the loneliness that I felt at this depressing realization. Though we'd both joked about getting on each others' nerves and the like, I had to admit that Elijah had been a great company and companion during my first night in the forest. But where had he gone, and why?
Though I tried to be reasonable and tell myself that he had not real reason to stick around forever, I had to be honest with myself and admit that I was angry at Elijah. I'd trusted him, offered him a friendship that I'd only offered to one other person. I'd allowed him into my private world in a way that I'd hardly done with anyone else. It wasn't as though we'd become "bosom buddies" overnight, or that we'd spilled our darkest secrets to each other, but I had allowed him into my world that no one else had ever seen, allowed myself to let my guard down around him. I'd actually been foolish enough to believe that someone I'd only just met could become my friend. And as my anger began to rise within me I found myself working furiously to pack everything Elijah and I had set out the night before into my backpack. There was no reason to stick around here, no reason to stay in this spot where I'd actually believed I might have a chance at a friendship. But as I worked, angrily shoving everything back into my backpack, a memory ran through my mind, a memory of the feeling that I'd felt when I'd first taken Elijah's hands. And as my mind began to race to recall that feeling I'd experienced, I had to admit that there was another reason I was angry: I had been attracted to Elijah. Yes, I'd felt something for this guy that I'd only just met last night as our hands had touched. And as this realization dawned in my mind an even greater resentment and bitterness than before began to course through my veins. How stupid could I be?! How idiotic was I to actually believe, however fleeting a hope it may have been, that someone like him could look at me the way that I had looked at him! Oh no, I didn't want to admit it; I hated myself every time I thought about it, but it was true. For however many fleeting seconds it may have lasted, I'd felt something for Elijah.
I had no idea how many miles I hiked that day after packing up my things. All I knew was that I was angry, and that in some sick way the faster I walked and hiked the more of my frustration I seemed to work off. I walked for hours, hardly ever stopping, but simply following the stream I'd followed to the camping spot the night before. My feet felt as though they'd turned to stone, growing heavier and sorer by the step, but I kept walking. I walked until at last I could walk no more, and at last threw down my pack next to an ancient looking tree that towered over a bend in the creek. I was miserably hot. Sweat trickled down my face and back, soaking into my shirt to such a point that it felt much more wet that dry anywhere I felt. After some minutes of regaining control of my breathing that had come hard and heavy since starting my trek much earlier, I began to take a few things out of my pack. My feet burned from within my shoes. And as I remove both shoes and socks I saw the early signs of blisters forming on my feet. I knew I'd regret forcing my body through such a harassing trek in the morning, but I didn't care. In some way the pain that my feet and legs now felt seemed to drive away the real reason for my frustration. And so with resignation to not allow myself time to dwell on what had taken place the night before, I began again the process of preparing my camp for the night.
As the sun began to slowly sink into the western sky I'd hammered the last blow to drive my tent stakes into the ground, feeling a great deal of pride at the fact that I'd actually remembered how to put the stupid thing together after seeing Elijah do it..............and as my breathing hitched at the thought of his name I began to work furiously once again to fix my supper. The hotdogs I'd tucked into a small compartment of my pack were, miraculously, still fresh enough to cook and eat, so I began to prepare my fire to roast them for my supper. An hour later I'd gotten a decent fire burning, roasted and eaten every hotdog in my pack, as I'd mentally said "just for hell of it," and sat resting next to my tent. I didn't want to be still, in fact I'd desperately searched for something else to do to keep my mind occupied, but weariness finally overcame me, and as my blistered feet burned and my muscles ached I began to realize that I was eventually going to have to face the fact that, however much it stung to admit the truth, Elijah was gone. So as my stomach rumbled from being packed with such a huge amount of food at one meal, and the stream glistened in the last few direct rays of sun finding their way through the forest canopy above, I decided that I'd just have to face the facts that I was now alone and make the best of the rest of my trip.
Though the autumn nights can be cool, anyone living in the south knows that the early autumn days can still be sometimes stiflingly hot, and this day had been no different. Though I had to admit that I'd brought a great deal of my sticky unease upon my own self because of my grueling trek, even hours after I'd ended my hike and sat attempting to find some comfortable position to sit or lie in after eating such a monstrous meal, I still found myself sweating and uncomfortable. And as the stream glistened before me I began to yearn for the coolness of the fresh water that I knew flowed within it's confines. So after making my way carefully through the forest underbrush, taking great caution to watch for any slithering or movement along the ground, I found myself at the creek bank. The cool water was a wonderful feeling as it enveloped my tired, aching feet. The rushing feeling of the waters current flowing over my aching feet and shins felt heavenly. And as I sat with my jeans legs rolled up to enjoy the rushing comfort of the icy water I began to long for more. I needed to be cool all over my body! And as I surveyed my surroundings I realized that there was no one here to see a skinny boy cooling himself in the water, so I threw caution to the wind and stripped, throwing every article of clothing I'd formerly worn, from shirt to underwear, onto the creek bank and wading out into the frigid water.
Though the water was frigid as I waded further toward the stream's middle, and though my breath caught in my chest, I also felt my body relax as the cold current surrounded my aching limbs. Indeed, after only a short while in the icy water I found myself cool and refreshed from the sweating, aching state I'd been in just a while earlier. The sun was truly beginning to set now, and the light was beginning to fade away throughout the forest around me. And as I made my way toward the banks of the stream my body's aching stiffness told me that I needed to retire to my tent for the evening and rest. But as I began slip and climb my way across the smooth stones along the bottom of the creek I saw something, or rather the lack of something, that both confused and frightened me. My clothes were missing. Everything I'd left lying on the bank of the stream had disappeared! My mind raced, desperate for an answer. There'd been no one else around when I'd chosen to stop here; I'd checked! I'd seen no animal movement, aside from a few birds. What, or who had moved my clothes?! And as my eyes scanned the creek bank for the 1,000th time in a matter of seconds a dreadful though dawned on me; was someone else actually here, watching me? Had someone been watching me this whole time?
I stood for a great while, scanning the banks of the stream and underbrush for any sign of movement. Someone, or something, had moved my clothes from the bank of the creek. The wind had not been strong enough to blow them away, and there had been no movement along the underbrush that I'd seen. What had taken my clothes?! Though I tried not to panic, a small bit of fear began to rise from somewhere within. Though I didn't want to admit such a terrible idea, I knew the truth. It was as though my subconscious told me "you know there's only one explanation..........someone is out there." And though I'd never been one for "gut instincts" and premonitions, I was forced to admit that this was the obvious explanation. But who? Who could've been in this remote part of the forest with me, seen me wade into the water? Who would want to play such a prank? And as my fear began to swell within me an answer came sailing from what seemed nowhere. As I waded round the water that still rushed just above my waist a pale blur shot from the underbrush opposite me, crashing into the water next to me. Though I couldn't hear as my voice echoed through the forest, I felt the scream tear from my throat as from somewhere beneath the icy water a hand grabbed my shin. I fought and slipped my way across every worn stone that lined the bottom of the stream, shot out from the water and up the bank, and began to dash toward my tent. I had to get away from whatever, or whoever, that'd been. But I'd taken no more than three effortless lunges toward the tent when a strong, calloused hand caught my own and spun me around.
And there he was; there was the face I believed I'd left, or rather had left me, behind. He was smiling that smile I'd grown so accustomed to in such a short amount of time, and he was beginning to laugh as he shook his head at me. But there was something else that I noticed about the toned, beautiful body that stood bathed in the dusky light..........Elijah was standing in front of me naked...............just as naked as I was!