She’d been checking in occasionally, sending pictures of the scenery and whatnot, but it felt as though she were leaving out certain key details. Namely, who she was sharing a tent with.

It was a tricky spot to be in, you know, not wanting to commit, but also not wanting her to fuck anyone else but me. We hadn't been seeing one another long--less than three months all told--and while it was nice having someone to spend time with, I wasn’t convinced about the potential of our relationship. Still, there was some anxiety surrounding the whole thing, and I hit the streets that evening hoping to leave some of that discomfort behind for a while.

It was a beautiful night for it. Warm, the sun a molten red-orange orb spilling into the horizon. I hiked out past the school and baseball fields, the student garden, and into the back forty. An overgrown field speckled with birdhouses on stilts had a path mowed through it, and I walked along the path until I came upon a family of deer. When they heard me, they lifted their heads from grazing, necks erect and eyes alert, and stared. Not wanting to startle them, I stopped and stared back for a moment before continuing on. They turned and bounded off into the forest, white tails raised, kicking hooves behind them.

The scene put me into one of those funny, contemplative moods where regular “no shit” observations somehow seem profound and meaningful. The deer ran into the forest as a reaction to me, I thought, as if that were some great realisation. I wasn’t even stoned. In that moment, I honestly felt I wielded some great power, an ability to influence all the world around me. Then again, there I was, walking a path just because it was there, as if it dragged me along with some invisible tractor beam, like all the other paths we find laid before us, sidewalks and educations and relationships, pretending like we have some agency as we’re carried through life by the choices of others, the great winds of reaction, unable to separate ourselves from our time and environment and yet somehow, on nights like these, still feeling so very alone. Unlike that other guy.

It got dark. My legs got tired. I turned around and walked home. The grey light of dusk cast on blank, lifeless pole barns with fork loaders resting on gravel lots. A stream of red taillights down the busy street was an electroluminescence guiding me home. I walked in the front door and took off my boots. I told the small yet persistent gnawing in my guts it would be okay. I got under the covers and went to sleep.

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