Old Stories

Have you heard the one about the woman who went hiking / running / walking / riding /
quickstepping through the mountains / park / forest / city street and never came home? Of course
you have. So often that you, especially if you are not a woman, might call this story humdrum /
threadbare / unimaginative / preachy / predictable / nothing out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t say
you’re wrong. I wouldn’t say you need to keep paying attention, but I think you need to keep
paying attention. Today I read a story about a woman who went camping with friends a decade
ago. Late in the afternoon, she stood up, announced she was taking a spirit walk, removed her
clothes and shoes, and strolled into the woods. None of her friends stopped her. None ever saw
her again. They called the police, who followed her bare footprints to a logging road, where even
they disappeared. Did someone pick her up? The police said no. The police looked for her for a
few days, then stopped. The police offered no explanations. She was never seen again. Perhaps
the police were right. Perhaps she died in the dark cold of a mountain night. Perhaps no human
hand hungering for cruelty touched her that day. No one can say. So, ask the voices, what now?
Where is this story going? I don’t know, I say, as it rises, casts aside all its trappings, puts a
tender foot forward, begins what will be the harshest unwitnessed journey of its life.