There are just a few too many cars and just a few too many people in the real world. And understand, I like cars. In fact, I even like people. But I cannot retreat. I can't delete the world around me. I am very alone, but if I could ever simply be by myself maybe I would feel less lonely.
So I walked into the wood. The wood is still the real world, but it doesn't always feel like it. I can still hear cars, but I can pretend those sounds don't come from cars anymore. Other sounds layered on top of the cars, all blowing in different directions with different intents. I had no idea where those sounds came from, so in my mind they came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. That made me feel calm.
It's sad that nature makes me feel calm now. Back in my kid days, nature was adventure paradise. I would battle new enemies and make new friends and wave around a stick as a wizard or a knight or a dinosaur. The human world was calm and mundane, but the wood was constantly active. Time passed. I don't remember how to be a wizard or a knight or a dinosaur anymore.
I sat for three minutes. Exactly three minutes. See, I was checking my watch, which made me less calm, but I did it anyway. Maybe it was nap time? No, the insects weren't interested in letting me lie still. Maybe I should read a book? No, I had left my book in my car. As I remembered the car, I remembered that cars existed, and the sounds became cars again, and the calm was gone.
So I gave up. If I can't escape the real world, I guess I'll just embrace it and pretend everything makes sense. I stood up, and began to walk away.
When I'm in the wood, I measure space by trees. Trees are simpler than inches or feet or yards. When I've past by one tree, I've gone one tree distance. When I pass two trees, two tree distance. If there are a bunch of trees right in a row, I seem to be moving a lot faster because trees pass by more quickly. I walked a distance of seven trees, and found a pile of trash. So much for nature - the real world has invaded with all of it's pointless smelly junk.
There were three garbage bags next to scattered odds and ends. Beer cans. A bicycle helmet. Some pretentious looking poster. I had utterly no idea what trash was doing in a Forrest rather than in a dumpster.
I walked two trees farther. Then I looked back. Why? Because the juxtaposition of trash and nature could sometimes be beautifully ugly. It wasn't. But I noticed something, a teddy bear.
Most items lose quality as they grow battered and aged. Not teddy bears. This bear was amazing because it was so incredibly warn and so desperately in need of new stitching. I swear that when an object receives that much care and affection from a child, it feels like love. Except now the bear was in a dump somewhere in the wood where no one would see it or touch it or notice it ever again ever. I don't think loved objects still feel like love if no one ever sees them.
I felt compassion for the creature. One last hug. We stood there, the two of us, snuggling for who knows how long. See, this time I didn't check my watch. I held it as tightly as I possibly could, tighter than I've ever held a human. I didn't feel alone, and I didn't feel surrounded by reality.
I put the bear down, and once again walked toward the car. No, wasn't going to make it. I needed another hug. This would be the last hug that bear ever had. This would be the last time the teddy bear would actually be a teddy bear. As soon as I turned my back again, I would be just another human, and the bear would transform into trash. This hug was longer, and I think I might have cried.
And then it was over. I had to let it be over. No one will ever pay me to hug a stitched up mess of of cotton and cloth. No one would respect me for playing with garbage. I could love that object, but nothing was loving back. The real world says yes to everything in existence, but it doesn't say yes to make believe, especially make believe love. By hugging that thing, that junk, I was avoiding the actual truth of what happened to me every day. Instead of making new, real, connections. . . I was just pretending I wasn't alone. With a kids toy. Pathetic.
I was going to dump the bear back into the pile, but the gesture felt uninspired. I couldn't abandon the bear, I needed to reject the bear. So I approached the lake fourteen trees away from me. I felt guilt for hurting the bear, and my ears stung with an intolerable buzzing. It sounded like the perfect merger of life and technology, except the sound was clearly neither life nor technology. At the time it sounded like guilt and regret, which surprised me because I didn't know guilt or regret could have a sound. Guilt for a filthy rag that didn't even resemble an actual, true, bear. Again, pathetic.
So I threw the bear into the lake. The lake refused to accept my sacrifice.
