A Step Back

A Step Back, Part 1

A Step Back

The sun is shining through the trees casting a shadow on the rows of people sitting in the valley below. They are silent, most sitting like statues, others standing, looking down at the cup of the valley. The only sounds are the beating of the wings of startled birds in flight, chirping loudly, warning others of the sudden appearance of the strange apparition.

After a time, heads begin to move, looking around.

A large man at the bottom of the wedge stands. He's holding the cowbell he rings to encourage us to cheer for our football team. He turns to look up the hillside; the bell in his hand makes a muted clang.

"Where ARE we?" he says in a loud, booming voice. No one answers.

I look up at Alex standing next to me.

"I don't know where we are," he says to me, answering the question in my eyes. "Are you okay, Penny?"

I accept his outstretched hand. Rising to my feet, I said, "I'm confused but I think I'm fine."

I look around. I see other people getting up, brushing themselves off, looking at each other, shaking their heads and trying to make sense of the scene around them.

"How did we get in a field? The last thing I remember we were sitting in the stadium watching Michigan play Michigan State. Where are we now?" voices said.

Coach, the retired high school football coach who faithfully explained the intricacies of the game to us every football Saturday and who sat behind us in the Stadium, was sitting behind us now.

"Where did the teams go? Where did the stadium go?" Coach said, slowly pushing himself up, his new metal knee making the rise difficult.

Looking around more carefully, I realized that the group around Alex and I were the folks that sat around us in the Big House in Ann Arbor, MI., but there was no stadium and no football game and we were on a hillside.

"I'm not sure where we are but wherever it is, I can't see any streets or houses or buildings or anything we could use as a landmark," said Alex. "It looks like we're in a field in the middle of a forest."

I listened to the sounds around me trying to make sense of our situation. I heard human voices, birds calling, insects buzzing, the breeze rustling through the trees. What I did not hear was the roar of 100,000 plus people yelling for their teams. Alex and I are lawyers—we are trained to reason and think rationally—but none of this was rational.

Scanning the horizon, I thought I saw movement.

"Look over there," I said pointing to the top of the hill. "It looks like something or someone is watching us."

The shadow disappeared.

"Oh, no, it's gone."

"All I see is grass, weeds, trees that look familiar yet strange, and people milling about lost," said Alex. "And it's getting dark. We don't have any food, shelter, and water. People will start to panic."

As if on cue, a high-pitched scream rang through the air.

"Is that an animal or a human?" a woman yelled, pointing to the spot at the top of the hill. "I can't tell. It walks like a human, sort-of. Maybe it's an Indian?"

I turned to look. A short plump woman was looking through the binoculars she brought to the game.

"No, I guess not. What would Indians be doing in Ann Arbor? It's not the weekend when they come for their jamboree. That's in December. I always get Indian grass—it smells so nice—I put it in our drawers."