Falling in the Garden

Chapter Three - Isolation

Chapter Three

Isolation

I walked continuously for over twenty minutes. About five minutes west of an area we called “The Meadow”, the trail I was currently on swung sharply left. I stepped off the path at the outer elbow of the turn and walked about ten feet into dense foliage before stopping. Looking down at me from a fantastic height was an enormous oak. Of the many mysteries concealed in these woods, this oak was one of the greatest. Carved into the base of the trunk was the faint outline of a heart. Inside the heart, just as faded by time and growth, one could read the following:

M + A

Joe and I had numerous theories about “M” and “A”, but none of them made much sense. We had written a lengthy story about a woman named Melinda who fell in love with King Arthur, thus explaining the M and A, but this didn’t quite satisfy our curiosity. I reached out and ran my fingers along the shallow groove of the letters, then traced the outer ridge of the heart. I’d done this a hundred times, a thousand times before.

Back on the main path, I retraced my steps and returned to The Meadow. This wide, moss-carpeted circle of open land was our usual pit stop and base of operations when adventuring. Often, we’d leave some of our supplies here and venture out with map and pen in hand. Not far north of The Meadow, we discovered a cliff that curved around to form an east-west crescent. There were two viable ways down the cliff, one safe and the other fairly treacherous.  With a drop-off of over forty feet, we usually walked around to the western end then came back down to the low valley. We always spoke about tying a strong rope to a secure tree at the top, facilitating a quick ascent and descent, but for some reason never got around to it. There was always so much to explore.

Due west of The Meadow, ten minutes past the great oak, the trail led upward to a rocky crag. Climbing to its maximum height, one could look out onto a softly moving sea of green. As the wind blew across the high treetops, the undulations look like waves on some alien planet whose waters weren’t blue. Although this high point gave the best view of this part of the woods, only the eastern half of The Meadow was visible, the remaining half obscured by trees.

Secluded from the rest of the world, these few common features of land marked our home territory. I can’t speak for Joe, but I think that I would have been happy enough to learn that there were no more woods to explore past this familiar ground. If a road marked the boundary, or house, we still would have the magic of what we knew—which had nothing to do with the outside world. That, in truth, the forest stretched out for hundreds of acres only heightened the experience.

Standing there in The Meadow, I searched quickly for the softest patch of moss. Finding it, I sat and opened my knapsack. I hadn’t intended on eating so early on, but was hungry nonetheless and pulled out one of the granola bars. My stomach still dwelled on memories of past barbecues, I believe.

After a few bites, I withdrew the small tape player and placed the headphones over my ears. Thumbing the tiny switch to bring the small machine into cassette mode, ready for the soft cascade of piano, I accidentally turned on the radio. The soft hiss of an AM station filled my ears, reminding me of the previous night’s rainfall. I began to slide the switch down to enable the tape player, but stopped. There was something alive in the static, something just beyond recognition. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, tuning the world out and diving into darkness. Static surf, foam hissing…

“—don’t want to stay! I hate it—!”

These words broke the surface like stones through ice on a spring-warmed pond. My entire body jumped at hearing them, then existed as a fine-tuned instrument when the soft, white noise returned.

A voice. A girl’s voice. I would remain sitting there for nearly ten minutes, waiting for something more, but there was nothing. I imagined that someone was trying to contact me, someone who needed my help. The wilder regions of my imagination conjured the scenario of a signal from some distant planet making its way down to Earth.

Lying in bed later that night, I decided it was probably a stray radio or television signal. My grandmother listened to a special radio that played broadcast television stations. Part of me wished I hadn’t thought of this more common, and probably correct, answer.

Part of me wished someone was waiting for my reply, communicating across the vastness of space. Someone who needed my help.

Or, perhaps, someone who simply needed a friend.