Earworm - short stories inspired by songs

Out of The Blue

I remember the first time I held you. I remember when we stared out at the lake as the stars twinkled into existence. I remember when we fell for each other.

I remember when you got sick. I remember when your face was pale and your limbs were weak, but your smile was still there.

I remember when you started to lose yourself. I remember when you began to forget your own name. I remember when you shivered even in the heat of Summer. I remember when you screamed in your sleep for the nightmares to go away.

-

I was only ever truly afraid of one thing: solitude. Not the solitude of being alone, but rather the bone-deep, soul-wearing solitude of heartache. It is the sort of loneliness that everyone fears, in a way. The loneliness of dying alone, forgotten, and reduced to dust. If anyone ever asked, I'd deny this fear to my very last breath.

My fear was ironic, indeed, as I was a solo traveler at the time. I decided, quite naively, that I would hike. I drove out of the city, abandoned my car, and wandered into the wilderness with my pack. It was not a choice, really. I had to get away. My wife had just cheated on me and when I found out and threw a fit, she filed for divorce. My life had fallen apart in days. When I got fired from my accounting job, it was the last straw.

After three months and many ups and downs—including a run-in with a bear—I began to enjoy the simple pleasure of being alone. But I missed the warmth in my heart that had been there once. It seemed like so long ago.

I was camped out by this beautiful lake one day when my peaceful evening nap was interrupted. It was a weekend and all the city folk had driven out to a nearby RV park, boasting to neighbors and coworkers, no doubt, that they had "camped in the wilderness". It was a mockery of camping, a mockery of the wilderness. At least, I thought so. I should know because I used to be one of those people in the RVs. It was too easy, too comfortable. A box on wheels was too much of a barrier to truly experience the wide expanse of the wilderness. I laugh at myself as I tell this story. I don't know why it bothered me so much, then. Perhaps I was too proud, too cocky. I thought my suffering made me better than everyone else, somehow.

Back to my nap. The sun seeped through the leaves of the tree above me, leaving little warm spots of sunlight on my face as I'd fallen asleep. When I was awakened, night had already fallen. It was a lovely nap, so you can understand why I was angry when it was so rudely interrupted. I am not angry now, as that interruption was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because that was the night I met the love of my life.

"Excuse me," said a shrill voice.

I popped my eyes open in irritation. It took them a moment to register that it was dark outside. In front of me stood an undeniably attractive woman, which momentarily distracted me from my anger. "Yes?" I asked.

"Do you happen to have any firewood? No one in the entire RV site has any. Isn't that ridiculous? I wanted to roast marshmallows above an open fire and I can't even find any. Any chance you have some?" she asked.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "No, I don't. Unless you haul it from the city, there ain't no firewood round here. I'm not surprised you didn't find any. Everyone uses those fancy little gas stoves nowadays." I couldn't help but think how old I must have sounded when I said that. I suppose I could have looked old with my dirt-stained boots and messy beard.

She looked so sad when I said that, so I added, "But if you want, I can help you find some wood. There's plenty of sticks and fallen branches round here." She immediately lit up at that. This girl was clearly from the city, but not in a stuck-up way, just in an adorable, almost naive way.

"I'd love that." She stuck out her hand as an afterthought. "I'm Mirabelle, by the way."

I pushed myself to my feet and awkwardly shook her hand. "Arthur."