I had driven into the mountains in my parents’ car, expecting to easily find the campground where they were staying. I somehow missed it, but at the end of the dirt road I took, I found an abandoned corral and a small building. It was getting dark, and I was hungry and tired. I gingerly rolled the vehicle over the uneven field and pointed the headlights at the building, letting my curiosity and hunger mix together in a not-willing-to-do-the-smart-thing-anymore kind of way. Perhaps I was too hungry and tired and curious to admit that I was lost and had to turn around and cover ground I had already rejected as “The Wrong Way”.
It wasn’t dark enough yet to justify using headlights - that was just laziness or planning ahead on my part. I knocked, sheepishly - there was an open window through which it was obvious that nothing inside had been disturbed for at least several weeks, if not years. With the decision that I had given ample warning to whatever ghosts of the owner might be there, I pushed the door. The fact that some kind of latch held it in place made me knock again, knowing full well I was playing some kind of game of which I wasn’t completely aware.
Finally, I grabbed the knob, jiggled it, called out “Hello” just to make sure, and turned it. The door opened, kind of by itself. I guessed it had well oiled hinges and wasn’t on completely level ground. Still, a door that old swinging open without being pushed much is a bit spooky. The brief moment during which I smelled perfume called up adolescent fantasies of nakedness in abandoned shacks, but that quickly gave way to a pinpoint of clarity. It was a question that entered my mind and has rested there ever since: What the hell am I doing? The scent was gone, the building freaked me out and I quickly backed out and jumped in the car to drive back the way I came.
As I drove across the rutted field, I hoped that the twilight would last long enough for me to find people who might know where I should go. Turning onto the dirt road provided a small amount of comfort, but hunger and disorientation dogged me. I drove about a half a mile, and the dirt road forked. Left? I played with words and meanings, hoping some deity might guide me. Being left didn’t appeal to me, and I was scared that thinking I might be right when I’m actually wrong could get me into a lot of trouble. So I parked. I noticed that all the light I could see was either from the headlights or the stars. I locked the doors. I’d have to start the car in the morning, so I had to turn off the headlights. It wasn’t so bad after all: Moonless nights in the foothills are not nearly as dark as you’d think.
I came out of that night undamaged, but very tired for lack of sleep. I had seen beauty in it, in the trees with shiny leaves, gleaming in the starlight, and in the stars themselves when scanning the horizon got boring and I decided to tilt my neck down low enough to see up through the windshield. I had slept, but only in small amounts, and with dreams both beautiful and terrifying. Hunger brings strangeness to the mind, a strangeness that was there whether I was awake or asleep.
When it was light enough to drive without headlights, I could see that one of the forks probably lead to a nearby dead end. I drove down it to confirm, deciding that if nothing looked familiar and the path didn’t end after two miles, I’d come back. This time, I watched for more forks that might present problems on the way back. I was happy to find the path ended at a neat dirt pile. Turning the car around was difficult, but I eventually got it facing the right direction and drove out of the dust cloud I had made.
The other fork quickly brought me to a paved road I thought I recognized. A few miles down, I saw a sign with a place name on it that I remembered my dad saying. So I took that turn I had missed the night before and found the campground. The next task was to find the site, one of what must have been a couple hundred, spread out pretty far. Now I needed gas, and I needed water, and I needed food and sleep and mommy and daddy, so I parked again and rested my head on the steering wheel.
A tapping came at the window. There was a helpful stranger to whom I related my predicament, choking back the ridiculous tears I couldn’t prevent altogether. He gave me a ride on his motorbike to the campground office. I explained that I didn’t know the name of the people whose campsite my parents were visiting, but I needed to get there to drink and eat. They wouldn’t let me see the list of the campers to see if I would recognize any names, so my new friend suggested we ride around and look. Thankfully, I soon saw my mom, sitting in a lawn chair, eating a sandwhich, and reading a book.
“There she is!” I cried. I hopped off and walked to her, shaky from lack of food, teary-eyed, and thirsty. She gave me the rest of her sandwhich and set about making another. I can’t remember what was in it, but it was the best sandwhich I’ve ever eaten.
