The Walk
Andy, Ayera, Ben, Selina, and I hover uncertainly at the edge of the parking lot, peering into the woods.
“Okay, guys,” Ayera says finally, her voice sharp with latent irritation. “Are we going or not?”
We’ve just come out of our biwwostatistics midterm, and we’re pretty sure we bombed it. We’d compared answers for a few minutes, fraying where they differed, before deciding we should all forget about it and go for a walk. My chest still thrums with the test anxiety, still feels heavy with the grief of the past couple of months. There is no trail to the main path from this parking lot. We’ve been dissecting what our next move should be for the past ten minutes, the conversation looping around and around.
We stand in an uneven circle and stare at each other.
“Are we going or not?” Andy echoes.
I turn and plunge down the sharp dip from the road into the woods. I hear the scurry of following feet and a couple of shrieks–equal parts surprise and laughter–as my friends trip down, unprepared. I spin in a slow circle, taking in the sight of the trees. They’re neck-breakingly tall: long fingers of black and white and grey, traced in their last vestiges of red and gold and orange.
Andy hops over to me. “Where to now?”
Ben squints off into the distance. “I guess over there?”
We set off. As the trees get thicker, the woods get darker. A huge fallen tree looms in the sea of leaves and twigs like a shipwreck, and we immediately jump onto it, balancing on it with our arms outstretched like we’re little kids. A soft breeze rushes through the canopy of branches, and the sea shimmers with flecks of light and shadow as a fresh cascade of golden leaves flutters down. We each freeze, jaws agape. It’s so beautiful that it seems fake.
The carpet of detritus on the forest floor is ankle-deep, soft but slightly itchy. It crunches softly as we weave our way between the trees. Another breeze—this time, one with a bite—whooshes through, scattering more leaves. Selina shudders and turns to me.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “But I’m so cold.”
I shrug off my coat and hand it to her. She accepts it gratefully.
Ben looks at Ayera, who is also trembling. “Are you cold?”
“No,” she lies, but when he offers her his jacket, she takes it.
I look at her and laugh. “Dude,” I tell Ben, “it looks better on her than it does on you!”
We plunge further through the forest with renewed energy. Andy, Ben, and Selina pull ahead while Ayera and I lag behind. We find another log, this one too small to use as a tightrope. Ayera crouches to examine it, then pulls my arm to make me crouch next to her. “Look,” she points. “Mushrooms!” When I lean closer, layer upon layer of brown and white tissue ripple like waves on the shore of a cappuccino-coloured beach.
Suddenly, our feet stumble upon firm ground. Without realizing—and without even trying very hard—we have found our way to the main path. The sudden change is disorienting: our view of the sky is too unobscured, the world around us is too bright, our steps are too easy. I am startled by the electricity of the blue sky and by the haste with which the wind picks up clouds and whips them away. Leaves dance above our heads, tossed higher and higher without ever descending to rest. We follow the path until we’re back on campus. My heart feels light.
When I get home late that evening, I spend more than an hour scrolling through all the pictures and videos I’d taken. There is one clip I took: a close-up of vibrant green leaves edged in gold. When I’d filmed the video, I’d been momentarily annoyed with my friends. I’d wanted to capture the sound of the wind and the leaves falling, and the camera rolled for more than a minute while I waited for my friends to shut up. They never did, so I eventually gave up and ran to catch up with them. Watching it back, the sound of their murmured conversations and loud laughter as it recedes into the distance is my favourite part.
