Works of Fiction: Bill and Bel (3/3)

Night Fell. Morning Came. The pounding sounds similar to that of a jack-hammer ripping through firm concrete force Bill out of his frozen sleep. Nearby, a squirrel vigorously chews on an acorn from one of our coniferous friends, ambivalent to the bystander spread across a neighbouring rock. The piercing pain behind his right ear has led to an annoying migraine that refuses to pass with a throbbing tenderness, amplifying all sounds around him, explaining why a critter was confused for a jack-hammer. It’s now morning and the dew has settled on the path and on Bill’s thawed exterior. He surprised that he lived the night, though he has no idea how close to death he really was. Hunger pains begin to envelope his entire body, forcing him to stand and continue his search for something to eat, and more importantly, a way out of this mess. After walking for about an hour, Bill notices for the first time that he hasn’t seen a single runner since he entered the forest days ago with Isobel. Eugene and its surrounding areas have become a hot-bed for runners and fitness enthusiasts. It’s not an uncommon site to find the local trails filled to the brim with long-distance runners attempting to emulate local icon Steve Prefontaine and his brash legacy. Bill realizes that he must be really deep in the forest if there are no runners intersecting the woods. How far must he be from an exit he wonders? Always a shade away from being a full-blown self-defeatist, Bill is now in the depths of despair. He continues to amble along for hours with nothing but the towering trees for company. With death on his mind, its easy to confuse the woods as a massive burial ground where the trees are enormous headstones and the soft-ground a warm final resting place.

Well aware that he had either just completely lost his mind or was in the process of doing so, Bill was uncertain if his eyes were now playing tricks as well. About 100 yards ahead laid a massive spruce enjoying its afterlife horizontally, blocking the winding trail, sticking out about a foot above its barky exterior a fluffy bright red feather duster. How peculiar thought Bill. Intrigued by the misplacement and juxtaposition of a feather duster smack dab in the middle of a dense forest, Bill approached the enormous log apprehensively not knowing what to expect. Using what little energy remained, Bill slowly circled ‘round back of the log to find a startled creature with a telling expression of fear painted on its small visage. It was a fox. The slyest of all animals within the animal kingdom, the fox was thought to be as sharp as it is deceptive. Bill was surprised to find this agile feather duster known for its propensity to appear invisible slumped lazily behind the log with a mouthful of what appeared to be wild berries. The sight of nourishment was clearly too much for Bill, and he fainted at the side of the fox, who now had less reason to be scared then before. Regaining consciousness just minutes later, Bill sat reclined with his head propped up against the sitting spruce as the not-so-sly fox continued to devour the wild berries just feet from where Bill sat. Still a little uncertain that he had yet to completely lose his mind, this essentially was the perfect confirmation that he in fact had. His thoughts were now those that likely inspired a drunk C.S. Lewis. Turning his head slightly to ask a question, the motions are there, but no words will come out. Not a word is spoken between the two forest dwellers, the fox too distracted with his lunch. He passes out once more.

Bill awakes from his slumber to find that it is still daytime, meaning that he must have been out for no more than a couple of hours or that he has completely slept through the night. It was just a couple of hours. The first thing that he notices is that surprisingly his hunger pains have subsided. The stomach groans and pain which shot up his insides towards his bruised noggin have disappeared. He tastes a bitter, tangy residue on his lips and realizes that the fox must have fed him some of those wild berries. Where has the fox run-off to? Where was that massive log? He was now in a section of the forest which was far better lit with a wide, simple trail leading to somewhere he knew he needed to walk towards. Bill was confused. Had this not-so-sly fox fed him before dragging him into this clearing? Bill had several questions that would likely never receive an answer. An animal he had deemed to be deceitful and slick was in fact the reason he was still alive.

A lot can be said about reading a book by its cover. No way in hell would I have passed out alongside that fire-red fox knowing that I’d awake with a full belly and some sense of direction. He didn’t utter a single word, but I have the feeling that this is the way he wanted me to go. He knows this forest better than I do. Perhaps he was trying to lead me towards my beautiful Isobel. Forget the dude that put the ‘Bop’ in the ‘Bop – shu – whatever’. I wanna shake that fox’s hand. Nice guy, decent food.

Bill continued walking. With each step the forest’s tree coverage began to recede, identifying the something, whatever it may be, was just ahead. Anticipating a climatic end to his desperate travels, using what little energy he acquired from those wild berries, Bill begins to run along the ever-widening trail into a sun-drenched opening. Once again, Bill passes out from a combination of things. Night Fell.

Morning Came. The sunlight which blanketed his body and the field where he laid was warming. Using what little identification he had found on Bill, a long-haired and sinewy mustached runner was able to call Isobel from a nearby payphone at a public washroom. Thank god the man who had an uncanny resemblance to Steve Prefontaine always ran with two quarters stashed in a self-made slit in the tongue of his shoes, since carrying Bill any further than he had would have proved to be a rather difficult venture. Faster than physically possible, Isobel arrived at a public park, a hundred or so yards from the field where the runner had stumbled upon an unconscious Bill. Isobel and the man placed Bill in the car, vowing to never again let him out of her sight on Eugene’s challenging trails. As Bill dozed off in the back of the car, Isobel and the runner continued to speak, with the subject changing from Bill and what must have been a miserable few days, to themselves and their frustrations with dating and companionship. After about 10 minutes of banter, Isobel jumped gleefully back into her car with the runner’s phone number written on a small piece of paper. With his head poking slightly through the window of the car, the man, much to her surprise and pleasure, reached forward and kissed her softly on the cheek. She smiled and drove south with one hand on the steering wheel, the other massaging the weary bones and muscles of her sleeping border collie Bill.