THURSDAY: Lost

BY JUNE WOLFMAN

Copyright is held by the author.

Friday in February at noon
THIRTY-SEVEN-year-old Eric Parker, M.D. packed his full set of hiking necessities in his old knapsack. He had been hiking the Adirondack Mountains from different entry points for 15 years. From the window of his newly purchased Adirondack cabin, he looked at the snow flurries gently dancing down from the sky. He grabbed another sweater and an extra change of socks and stuffed them into his pack. Then he texted his mother, Judge Ruth Parker. “Off to take a few hours hike. Will talk to you when I get back tonight.” Eric knew his mother would worry if he did not make the pre-emptive text. She would finish court for the day and call him. If he did not answer, and he would not, there was no cell connection out there; she would call the ranger station again. It was time to go.

The trees were glorious. He breathed in deeply the way some sniff a fine wine. He smelled walnut, spruce, and birch in the air and, of course, evergreen. He had lived alone in his cabin for under a year . . . ever since the divorce. His mother encouraged him to return to the city and take up where he left off, working as a radiologist. But the divorce had broken something in him, and he couldn’t stand to look at any more images of tumors or multiple fractures.

There was already a foot of snow on the ground this February morning. The forecast was for sun, though the forecasts in the mountains were notoriously vague so as not to be completely wrong. “Some sun likely,” he thought it said. No kidding. Some sun is always likely.

Crunch . . . crunch . . . crunch . . . crunch whispered his boots in the dry snow. A cloud of his breath touched the cold air in front of him, and it bloomed into fog like that in San Francisco in the morning but in bursts, and he pressed on. He turned off his cell phone and shoved it in his knapsack.

2:30 p.m.
Several miles farther out into the mountains, the snow began to come down. It came down so hard that Eric could not see a foot in front of him. This snow was not in the forecast. He came upon a trail marking, a yellow splotch, and thought it was time to turn around and follow the yellow splotches back out of the mountain. He turned on his heel, but he did not see the next yellow splotch. He decided to follow his own footsteps backward. This worked for a short while, but nearly a foot of snow had come down, and his footprints were gone. The trees looked unfamiliar. The light in the sky was diffuse in the storm. He could see an ice-covered stream to his right, and you could always follow water if nothing else. It would be frozen solid by February. He trudged to the bank of the stream and hugged its banks, walking fast to keep warm. But the snow kept coming, and he slipped from the edge of the water right onto the ice covering the stream. It held his weight. All the better, he thought. He’d walk on the ice-covered stream itself.

Some minutes later, to his shock, he fell through the ice to icy water to his chest! A current in the water swept his knapsack away. The shock of the cold water snatched his breath from his chest. His privates were screaming from the cold. He climbed gently out of the freezing water and pulled himself along the ice. He moved gently, ever so gently, and shimmied back up to the solid ice. He had to get off of the ice-covered stream. His knapsack was gone. No provisions. No phone. No dry clothes. No anything.

He felt panic begin to set in. He began to babble to himself, “This is not good. This is so not good.” His hands were tingling and sharp pains shot through his feet. He shivered violently, his teeth chattering. “I have to keep moving,” he mumbled. “Shit . . .”

After dark
Eric’s mother called the ranger station again.

“This is Federal Judge Parker calling about my son, Eric.”

“Hi, Judge Parker,” said Chris. “Is something wrong?”

Judge Parker’s hands were shaking, and it wasn’t easy to hold the phone. “My son is missing. His last known whereabouts were in the mountain area nearest your station.”

“As I remember, Judge, Eric’s phone does not get reception when he hikes.”

“Yes, but he’s not just hiking. It’s dark. He doesn’t hike in the dark.”

“He may be home safe and sound and have just forgotten to turn on his phone,” said Chris.

“I’m told by the New York senator that fourteen inches of snow have fallen since he undertook the trek. Do I need to ask the senator to call you to get your attention?”

“No ma’am” said Chris, who held the phone away from his ear and gave his partner, Sharron, a knowing look.

“Well, I insist you go look for him. Something is wrong.”

“Even if he is home safe, he may just not have cell phone connection in this weather. I remember he has no landline.”

“If he were your son, is that what you’d say?” Judge Parker choked back tears. She had to sound logical and calm.

Chris knew it was a losing battle. She really would get both the state and federal senators to call him.

“I know where he puts in, and I know his cabin,” Chris said, “I’ll send out a group of rangers to look for him.”

“Will you keep me informed?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll send one of them to his cabin just to be sure he’s not sleeping safe and sound.”

“Thank you,” and she hung up.

She put her face in her hands and her shoulders shook.

8 pm
“Chris!” said Sharron, now at Eric’s cabin.

“Yeah?”

“He’s not here. I checked every window with the flashlight.”

“Crap. Maybe it’s for real this time.”

“Must be,” said Sharron.

“I’ll call a general alarm. Are you OK to go in alone from that location? Keep your satellite phone on?”

“Sure! I’m fully equipped.”

“Keep in touch.”

“Yes.”

 Sharron put in to the mountain trail and began scanning everywhere.

Eric had wandered aimlessly, his clothes slowly freezing, including his shoes. He couldn’t walk anymore. He thought about how familiar this sensation was. The sensation of being lost. He was lost in his life.

He chanced upon a hollow tree and huddled into it. Suddenly, the punishing wind stopped tearing at his body. His ears and nose were numb, and he shivered uncontrollably.

The divorce — that’s what occupied his mind. Why a divorce before the age of 40? She had asked for the divorce. She said she had met someone else. Was that his fault? She said he worked too many hours. Didn’t she socialize at all hours? They had married late, in their mid-30s. He had many opportunities before then. Was he afraid of commitment? Were his long hours a way of distancing? His teeth were chattering so hard he worried they would begin to chip.

His mind drifted while the wind shifted and blew inside the hollow tree. He knew he would probably die there. To his amusement, he knew his mother would have the rangers out looking for him, even in this snow. But how much time did he have left? He couldn’t feel his feet or knees.

The wind shifted away from him. His mind went back to the divorce. He was a very good radiologist – the best in his hospital. It was easy to be pulled into critical consultation after critical consultation. But now he acutely felt the shame of being divorced before forty. Did he ever want to marry again? Not until he figured this marriage out first, he decided.

Eric began to fall asleep, but he shook himself awake. He kept shaking himself awake all night. He knew sleep would be his downfall if he let it take him.

Five a.m.
Sharron plodded along the yellow-splotch trail – the trail Eric was known to take the other times they went looking for him. She was grateful for her snowshoes and hand and foot warmers. It had been a while since she saw any indentations from prior footprints at all, but she noticed a difference in the trail at a given spot, like someone had tapped that location down some. Perfect spot for Eric to have turned around to try to get back home.

So, he turned around here, she thought. Then what happened? Judging the spot’s distance from Eric’s cabin, Sharron assumed the snowstorm was in full swing when he turned around. Come on, Eric. Where did you go next? She looked ahead and saw a slight indentation in the snow in the direction of the stream. You decided to follow the stream out, didn’t you?

The progress towards the stream was plodding in her snowshoes.

She took out a bullhorn and blew the alarm sound.

***

Eric thought I can’t die before I figure out the marriage. He thought about his ex-wife and how she never took an interest in his work. He would try and tell her about the case of suspected testicular cancer that he assured the doctors was no such thing, saving a young man’s virility by sparing him an operation. She was bored by the story. Did she think he was bragging? Maybe the real question was, what did he see in her in the first place? He knew at once. I chose her because she was nothing like my mother. She wasn’t a worrier. She wasn’t needy. What a ridiculous reason to marry someone. He thought about what he’d look for if there ever were a next time. He wouldn’t mind if the person seemed very attached, something he had eschewed in partners before. Someone warm, he decided. Someone very warm. He felt his body begin to radiate a warm sensation accompanied by a strong desire to close his eyes. His next partner would be very warm. He felt the words, and he heard the bullhorn.

ICU
Judge Parker sat at Eric’s bedside. He had lost some toes and some fingers. He had been very close to losing his life. She began to cry and silently pray. She felt her stomach clench into a knot, and a migraine had come on.

Sharron called Chris when she found Eric. With the coordinates from Sharron’s satellite phone, they got a helicopter close by. She carried him out, fireman style, to the helicopter. The other 20 rangers were given the green light to return from the cold. The hiker had been found alive. Sharron had saved his life.

Judge Parker rubbed Eric’s shoulder in the hospital bed. She was afraid his shoulder was cold. The blanket did not reach. Would he ever feel warm again after this experience, she wondered.

“Mom?” said Eric groggily.

“Hello darling,” said Judge Parker.

“I messed up,” he said, taking stock of his hands, minus the few fingers.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said gently.

“Why not?” he asked harshly, then smiled to soften it.

“I’m told you just had some bad luck with the weather,” said Judge Parker.

“I should have . . .”

“No,” she said. “Not everything is your fault.”

Eric closed his eyes. He enjoyed the warmth of his mother at his bedside. He had figured out his marriage. He wondered at how lucky it was that he was not a surgeon. He would have needed those missing fingers in that case. He felt a surge of love for life. He hadn’t felt that in months. He began to laugh, then nod off.

Groggily, he said, “I guess you live and learn,” Eric said.

His mother kissed him and said gently, “Just rest, son. Just rest.”

Three months later
Eric had gotten the New York City Upper East Side apartment in the divorce. He moved back there and went back to work. His mother no longer needed to keep in such close contact. As far as she was concerned, he was back in his life and would navigate it just fine. Still, she would call him on Friday nights just before sundown.

Eric had met a woman. He was taking it very slowly. Like navigating in the woods, he noticed carefully what attracted him to the woman and what did not. He asked himself hard questions. Almost nobody lets themselves get completely lost twice.

***

June Wolfman is an attorney and an educator. She has published eight short stories, one of which was just nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is in the last semester of a Master’s program in Creative Writing/English at the University of West Florida. She lives in Miami with her husband and her two troublesome cats.