The Moonlit Path

Our tent was positioned on a slight downhill slope, awakening me various times in the middle of the night every time the dead weight of my body gravitated towards one side of our Aerobed.

Robbie and I had gotten up around six o’clock to use the bathroom. The light of the sun had barely begun to filter through the spaces between the twisted branches and their foliage. The morning was only slightly chilly; not nearly as cold as the freezing temperatures that the coastal waters of Pismo Beach would bring. Robbie lit a fire to keep us warm, but we eventually headed back into bed shortly after.

We were awoken later by a gentle tapping on our tent door. Vivien was up, hungry for breakfast. Hearing her voice reminded me of a dream that I had just before rising from bed: Vivien was getting dressed, putting her shoes on, preparing for a morning jog. Even as I was dreaming, I was fully aware that I was sleeping and I kept telling myself over and over to wake up so that I could go running with her. I suppose It was a subconscious self-reminder that I should continue to keep myself active during this trip and not allow myself to fall into a comfortably lethargic state that I would probably regret later. So, while Robbie and Vivien prepared breakfast, I got dressed and ran intervals several times around the roadway that had surrounded the cluster of campsites in our area.

I felt refreshed as I was completing my last lap, arriving back just in time as they had finished cooking linguiça and egg burritos. I had mine wrapped in a corn tortilla, so they were more like tacos than anything else.

There are now several Blue Jays (or Kyles, as Viven likes to call them) scattered throughout the vicinity of dirt that surrounds us. Unfortunately, without a telephoto zoom lens, it is difficult to get close enough to take a decent photograph of them—with each forward step I take, they take several back and fly away. Ironically, now that I have set the camera aside to write in my journal, one has landed only an arm’s reach away from me. But with the camera locked into place on the tripod, getting up to grab it (even if doing it as slowly as I could move,) would probably just scare “Kyle” away. I suppose like everything else in life, you must be prepared to seize every opportunity that presents itself. I think I’ve missed quite a few.

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We went hiking sometime around noon. There was a trail literally right next to our campsite that we had followed, leading us to a place called Lookout Point. The path strays upward into the mountainside, escalating in a zig-zag formation until coming to a fork in the dirt road. A sign was posted at the center where the three routes had connected—one path led towards Lookout Point, and the other to Tan Oak Springs. We continued our way to Lookout Point, which really wasn’t too far away from the sign post. There was an aged and weathered wood fence at the edge of the cliff, broken by the overgrowth of trees and branches and vandalized by carvings of those who had appeared before us. The view was astounding: a vast panorama of trees stretching from one end of the forest to the other. We stayed for several minutes enjoying the amazing scope of woodland until Vivien suggested that we finish our hike. We headed backward through the winding trail, veering off toward the other route at the fork to see what Tan Oak Springs was all about. As the path grew steeper, the air around us became thicker, and the silence deep within the woods was both calming and eerie at the same time. Our footsteps became heavier as we progressed upward. It was a great workout and I was ready to take it on, but Robbie and Vivien, out of breath from the exertion, decided that they could not endure anymore of it. I offered to continue alone, but they insisted that it probably would not be safe to go by myself. So, overruled by the majority, we turned around and faced the dreadful descent. I say dreadful because you are more likely to slip going down as opposed to going up. On top of that, the impact on the knees going downhill is worse than simply running along a flat surface or sidewalk and the risk of injury is multiplied. Perhaps in the next few days, one of them will build up the courage to finish the Tan Oak Springs trail on a second attempt, otherwise I may just have to sneak off and do it alone.

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Suki’s hair is silver like moonlight against an evening sky. I found a few strands still grasping onto the fabric of my black shorts. The brightness of the afternoon once again has slowly transformed into a pale visual of faded colors.

One by one, they have fallen into slumber. Robbie first, then later Vivien—tired and worn from today’s events, have disappeared into their tents for a short nap. The wind intermittently rushes past me, howling as it passes through the masses of trees that towers above me, behemoth-like. It goes and then stops, it goes then it stops—it goes and once again, it stops; the loud hum of complete silence greeting me in-between every breath. Should I follow the pack and head to bed myself? Maybe, but only after a few more chapters in my book.

I have had Tweak by Nic Sheff for about six months and only now have I reached the halfway point in this two-part novel, cleverly titled “Part Two.” I have read over a hundred pages in the last twenty-four hours. At this pace, I’ll soon be able to start reading the new book from one of my favorite authors: Scott Heim’s We Disappear.

There is a “zip” in the distance. Someone has awoken.

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We stare at the fire after dinner. Burning embers rise above it like a thousand fireflies dispersing into the night sky. The flames writhe back and forth in a frenzy, wrapping itself around the firewood and dancing in a ritual-like cadence. There is nothing like the music of Slowdive’s “Avalyn I” playing in the background—the soundtrack to complete the ambiance of such a serene moment in time.

And time, it seems, has come to a standstill for a mere five minutes. When it is all over, I’m breaking out the alcohol.