The Wilderness

Morning Light

A new day will dawn

For those who stand long,

And the forests will echo

With laughter.

- Led Zeppelin 


-----

When I was twelve I made my mother a birthday cake, the first one I'd ever made. While stirring the chocolate batter, I absentmindedly licked my thumb, thinking I had cake batter on it. It turned out to be raw egg yolk. I didn't find this out until about twelve hours later when I was woken from my sleep with possibly the worst feeling I'd ever felt; as if my stomach had started to rot within me. Salmonella poisoning.

I think of that moment when I wake, not because of any physical illness, but because I seem to be experiencing the mental equivalent. My mind is rotting; it's missing something and feels completely...wrong. I sit up in my bed, and I'm struck with a mental fog, faded thoughts spinning round and round in my head until it makes me dizzy.

I shouldn't be here.

I keep thinking this, but I know I shouldn't. I look at my bedroom; at my yellow bedspread; out my windows and at the oak I'm always climbing. But I still wonder why I'm here. It must be my wanderlust, I think. I always feel like I need to be somewhere else.

I look at the small clock on my nightstand: 6:30 AM. I sit there for five minutes before I realize that it's Monday and that I have to get ready for school.

After I get ready, and while I sling my heavy, worn backpack onto my back, light music fills my ears. It sounds far away and yet feels like it's being produced by everything. A familiar song, I know. It haunts the faded thoughts that woke me this morning, but I still can't place where I've heard it before. It follows me out the door and rings off every leaf, every breath of the world. The bus rumbles down the street; the breaks release with a tss and the melody disappears.

____________

When I see Luke, I can barely stop myself from simultaneously jumping into his arms and running far, far away. I greet him and try to smile just enough to hide my nervousness, but not so much that I look deranged. He smiles his glorious smile back, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips tilted in such a way that I honestly feel my breath catch. I love that smile. I love the way freckles dot his tan face. I love the way he moves with quiet confidence. Frankly, I love pretty much everything about Luke Foster. But that...

Well, that isn't something I'm willing to admit quite yet.

I can still remember when I first met Luke. We moved to Morgantown when I was six years old. My dad had died a couple months before, and my mom decided to move back to her hometown to start anew, with support from her family. The day we pulled into the driveway, a little boy came running across the street to our house, his mother chasing after him. As I hopped out of our Impala, and amidst his mother's tired chastising, he beamed as he showed me his new pet worm. He also explained that his old one died, but that that was okay, 'cause this one was cooler anyhow. Unlike other girls, I didn't say 'ew' or run away, but instead got really excited and showed him the aquarium in the back seat of the car, in which my pet frog lived.

I smile, thinking about cute seven-year-old Luke and poor Mr. Frog. He died two years ago, and being the sentimental weirdo I am, I still kinda miss him. I get so caught up in my thoughts that I don't notice that Luke has been trying to get my attention.