I Survived

The blacktop pavement at the turnoff turned into coarse gravel. When the gravel ran out, the path became two gullies in the grass and brush and leaves, one for each tire. The pines and firs which had been single trees now merged above my head into thousands of interlocking branches filled with greenery and foliage. The bough-tunnel broke here and there so I could tell if the sun was still up. It had been before noon when I started out. With no cell service, my phone was still good for something; it read 4:10.

A dizzying number of choices had presented me with constant dilemmas. Some paths had a yellow marker with a number so I thought that if I had a forest ranger’s map, those numbers would be helpful. I had entered from the north and wanted to go south, so I kept trying to get glimpses of the sky to see where that hiding sun was. Heck, just forty-two years ago I got my “Navigation” Girl Scout badge so I do know where west is - until the sky goes dark, that is.

Driving through a dark forest might sound like a fun adventure, but it’s terrifying. The forest, itself, changes. During the day, the beauty of the bubbling brooks and streams -with their rainbow trout swimming right in view - is such a treat. The deer don’t know from cars, so they stay right where they are, grazing and doing other deer things. Rabbits and squirrels scoot everywhere and a porcupine waddles across the road. Adorable skunks, with their white-striped tails, say, “I look so cute; come closer!”

During the day time, my journey was Snow White’s; I was surrounded by Disney forest creatures. During the day, the sounds were comforting - the water tumbling over rocks in the stream, the busy bustle of the animals scurrying here and there, the constant chirps and cheeps of all kinds of birds. During the day, the gentle rustle of the wind produced a constant sprinkling of leaves, or puffs of seeds, or patches of clustered flying bugs, all of which ended up splattered on my rental car’s windshield.

As darkness fell, though, everything changed. The trees and bushes started to look like people or animals or monsters. The trees’ long shadows quickly stretched into walls of blue-grey, and then blackness fell all around me. With the dense tree canopy, there was no moon to help light the way; my headlights showed the grassy overgrown furrows in front of my bumper, but nothing more,

And the sounds! The gentle swish of the daytime forest breeze had become a roar. The crickets kept time, screaming their alarms.. Alone in the forest, I imagined what every shriek and howl could possibly be. I heard owls. Loud. Clear. “Who?”

Animals darted up to my headlights - deer, mostly, but rabbit and foxes scurried by in the glow as well. The deer almost charged. They ran right into my path and then stopped and yes, they did that dear-in-headlights thing,

Despite living nearly all of my life in Los Angeles, I was born in the Pennsylvania wilds, so I think of myself as a “country girl.” But I had no real intuition or comforting understanding of this situation. It was dark. I was alone, and there were plenty of large ferocious animals nearby who were hungry. I didn’t see bobcats or wolves or bears during the day, but the predators were always close. Right there.

I thought I could get some sense of where I was if a radio station came in, but only static played. Scanning the console for a directional signal or compass of some sort, I noticed the gas was on “E”. I had entered the forest with two thirds of a tank. I was also thirsty and hungry - never imagining this jaunt would require provisions. Of more urgent importance, I had to pee.

So I stopped and turned the engine off but kept the headlights on.

As I angled the car door open a tiny bit, the interior lights reflected on the fir trees at the side of the path. I used my cellphone as a flashlight to see a solid tree stand; I could not relieve myself there unless I wanted pine boughs up my butt. So I snaked around to the front of the car and squatted in my headlights and urinated there. Of course, I knew no one could see me but it seemed so gross, so impudent, to do that - to flash the wilderness with such indecency.

As I wiggled a bit to drip-dry and then pulled up my jeans, drops of cold water splattered my back and head. There was a terrific lightning jolt, illuminating the forest like an arc-welding goddess and then a slow, rolling, tumbling thunder which shook the ground below my feet.

I clamored into the car, slammed the door and locked it. I watched my headlights dazzle the rivers of rain falling hard and fast. The car’s roof banged like a kettle drum. I wondered how passable the road would be as the ground got soppier and soppier. And I looked again at the fuel gauge. I didn’t know this car. With my Camry back home, the red “E” means I have eight miles left or so, but with this Kia...

I started the car and began moving. The thing was that I didn’t know where I was, where I’d been or where I was going. It’s hard to use fuel efficiently when you are lost. I could easily use the few remaining fumes to get even more lost.

I was out of ideas. I was either going to run out of gas and spend the night in my car and then hope someone would come by tomorrow. Or I was going to spend the night in my car with a drip of gas left and hope that I could drive out on my own.

I figured the best shot would be to not rely on the kindness - or the existence - of strangers tomorrow, and to save the gas I had left. I would need to find a spot in the road where the water was draining so that I’d be able to move the car when it was daylight. I pictured wheels stuck in mud and trying to rock the car free. Wanting to avoid that, I crept along until I was on a tiny wooden bridge over the surging stream. If the bridge got washed out, I was a goner, but for now this seemed like my night’s encampment. I turned off the engine and searched around the rental to see if there was anything blanket-like. I pulled the map of Downtown Pittsburgh out of the glovebox and spread it over me as best I could.

Lightning flashes lit up chunks of forest all around me and, for one moment, I reminded myself that this is how forest fires start. And then I knocked that shit off - I didn’t need to be even more scared. Besides, the torrential rain should douse any fire, right?

I cracked the window a bit to hear the rushing water below me and my face and shoulder got drenched. But I could hear the creek building and I imagined it was pulling on the bridge, so I started the engine to move forward just to inch my front tires onto the soggy but somewhat solid ground. That way, if the front wheels got stuck, the rear ones could still propel me forward.

As soon as I did that, the bridge underneath me started to tear loose. The cracking of ancient wood splitting and the whine of eighty year-old bolts bending and turning and then shearing off filled the air. I stepped on the gas and my car scrambled to safety. If I had any thought about returning the way I’d come, those thoughts were pulled down the rushing stream along with the pieces of bridge. I turned off the engine and stayed where I was, thinking that some part of the anchoring of this shambled mess of bridge had to be poured concrete. I was safest right where I was, even though I’d just avoided a catastrophe.

I was shaking, scared, and praying my ass off. I tried to think comforting thoughts. I’d wanted to take a “short cut” through the state game lands because this was something I had routinely done as a teen growing up here. When had F.D.R.’s Conservation Core roads turned treacherous? I knew these roads before; why didn’t I know them now?

I cursed myself for my arrogance. I’d actually thought I would remember – after forty years – the way through these woods. I had just left the extended stay facility where my mom lay near death as her heart decided it was pretty much done with its job of pumping blood. Mom had always cherished her slim ankles; now they were non-existent. The lower half of her body had ballooned beyond her usual petite frame; she was unable to move. Technicians lifted her by means of a body sling when they needed to change her clothing or bedsheets. She needed help with everything,

Ours had been a difficult and contentious relationship. She was omnipotent, I thought. As a child, I never understood why she was cruel to me or what it was I did that irritated her so much; I adored her, until I didn’t. Then I rebelled at her attempts to control me but now the thought of doing life without her seemed impossible, absurd!

These thoughts plagued me. I’d wanted all my life to be free of her; that’s why I’d lived three thousand miles away and dealt with her nagging and guilt-flinging via weekly phone calls rather than visits home. When I arrived at the party my brother threw for her eightieth birthday, she’d asked, “Who are you?” and I was devastated. When I explained that day that I was her youngest child, she asserted that my “horrible dyed black hair” made me unrecognizable so she was blameless.

Before I’d left her bedside, I thought of how she had to be scared to die, since almost everyone is. I had noticed her Rosary Beads so I took her hand and asked, “Mom, would you like to pray together?” She’d stared at me with disdain, then scoffed and said, “Go ahead. Pray if you want,” as if my request warranted her denigration.

Soon that freedom - to live my life without my mom perched on my shoulder and pecking away at me - would be real; but who is ever ready for that? Rather than take the highway around the forested reserve, I thought driving through it would be a lovely distraction.

When I mentioned it to her - when I said I might drive through the forest to rendezvous with my friends at the state game land’s southern entrance, she was alert enough to do her best eye roll and purse her lips in disapproval and mutter one of her high-pitched mysterious yet critical comments, “To each his own!” And of course, that was the exact moment I accepted the gauntlet; I was sure as shit going to try the shortcut.

I thought of my pals who had arranged the high school reunion. Had they waited for me? They all knew my mother – she’d taught them all in elementary school. They, of course, didn’t know her like I did so she was just the art teacher to them. They actually cheered when her art cart rumbled into our classroom. I knew that because I was there, too.

They all knew I’d traveled the farthest, so gathering at the campsite had been planned so that we’d have lots of time to schmooze and grill burgers and then leave the forest before it got dark. They had wanted to avoid getting bitten by mosquitoes - like that was the forest’s only danger!

I was crushed that I would miss the reunion, but I knew I had to sort of settle in for the night where I was. I trusted that being so close to the creek’s edge meant some firmer footing and decided to not drive further down the path. I leaned back and imagined the windshield was my television at home. I conjured up Survivor episodes to bring to mind the skills I did or did not have. I thought to myself, “If I am stuck here for days, can I build a fire?” I searched the dashboard and found a USB port but no cigarette lighter. Certainly there was no dry wood to burn anyway. What did I remember from Naked and Afraid? I could live on raw snails if I needed to, right?

Then I imagined other TV fare. I tried to run through Seinfeld episodes but I felt so George Costanza-like that even that got uncomfortable. What could possibly give my freaking brain a break? How about sweet fairy tales? Oh that’s right, Red Riding Hood gets snatched by a wolf and Goldilock’s bed gets destroyed by bears; my imagination was not helping.

Just then there was an enormous cracking sound. It was not the far away thunder I’d become accustomed too. This was very close. It continued with a higher screech and then I saw a tree beginning to lean over the road in front of me. It jerked lower with each crack. I knew I’d be stuck for sure if that tree fell onto the road so I started the motor and gunned the engine and dove under the tree just seconds before it crashed onto the path behind me. Another omen about “no return,” eh? “Fuck this shit,” I thought and just kept driving.

My eyes focused on seeing the path in front of me through the blinding rain as the clumps of bugs and leaves built up on my wipers. Whenever I pulsed my brakes, the red flash behind me would alert me to the activity there. Trees were actually falling in the forest and, yes, they were making sounds!

I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea with the tall wet grass whipping at my car as I surged through it. I knew enough to not let the wheels stop turning but also enough to know that driving quickly on this slippery wake could yield disaster. So I delicately danced the gas pedal, just enough to keep the car moving. The wipers merely moved the windshield’s gloppy mess around and used up fuel, so I stuck my head out my window to see instead. My head took the brunt of the rain but my whole upper torso got drenched too.

But, with the window down, I could smell… burgers?

I vigorously followed the smell with my nose in the air like every beagle I have ever known. When I came to a fork in the road, I turned toward the smell. When I thought of how hungry I was, I turned toward the smell and tried to fill up on it. There were times when the rain got too intense and the lightening struck too close to my face and I needed to close the window. But when I reopened it, the searing meat aroma called, “This way! This way!”

And then I saw it - the clearing with the pavilion and smoke twirling from its chimney. As I got closer, I could make out the group huddled under the center, near the cooking grill. There were my school friends! They were still there!

As I parked and scrambled out to tell them my harrowing story, they were animated and lively and a little drunk but they all hugged me. I had known these “kids” since my kindergarten days half a century ago. They all knew my mother too, and that I just left her side.

They hugged me and held me. I was safe.

I found out the next morning that mom died that night - sometime during the course of my ordeal. I survived.