What Happened?

I stood in front of my home in Wisconsin after being gone for over two months. I don’t know how or why, all I know is that one night I went to bed at home with my wife after putting our two year old to bed, and when I woke up I was in some strange cave in the middle of a forest. It was so bizarre and disorienting that for the longest time I thought I was in a dream. Then the mosquitoes started biting.

They were voracious, and their bites didn’t itch so much as they stung. I fled the cave, almost falling flat on my face multiple times as I stumbled barefoot on the forest floor. A heavy mist was set between the trees, and the little bit of sunlight that broke through the upper canopy slowly burned holes in the haze, and as I ran I realized that this was not like any forest I had been in before.

Vines hung off the foliage, which was not quite like anything I had ever seen before. The sounds of unfamiliar birds and animals echoed through the mist. It was all reminiscent of how television would often portray a jungle.

I wandered through the lush landscape for days before he finally came across a road. I barely recognized it as such. At first I took it for a wide dirt game trail, but then I spotted the tire tracks. My heart leapt with elation and he picked a direction to follow. Hours passed before a vehicle came up the road. I tried to waive it down, but the older SUV just passed me by, the occupants giving me an odd look as they passed.

Still, I wasn’t dissuaded, and I kept walking the direction I had started. The sun began to set, and I took shelter for the first night beside the road. I slept another night of fitful sleep, and no cars passed in the night.

My trudge continued once the sun peeked through the treetops. I barely noticed the insects anymore as they flew around and bit me through the holes in his pajamas. Another vehicle came along down the road, I assume before midday, and stopped for me. The language they spoke sounded like Spanish, but it wasn’t quite like any Spanish I had heard before. We managed to communicate through general gestures, and the travelers allowed me to ride along with a dog and some other young men in the bed of the truck.

The jostling pace of the truck was slow, but it was an entire world of improvement from hiking barefoot through the jungle and down the road. I was given fresh water to sip on, as well as a little stale bread and dried fruit. It was a feast the likes of which I had not experienced in days. Within a couple of hours, the truck pulled into a town, São Gabriel da Cachoeira.

I thanked the driver as I got out of the truck, though I’m completely sure they understood me. “Inglês, por favor?” I asked every person I came across. But every person I came across would shrug their shoulders, say no, and kept walking. It took three days of surviving by begging on the streets before I found someone who spoke some English. I was amazed, and also fearful that my mind was just playing tricks on me.

His name was Santiago, and after talking with me for a few minutes, he decided he could try to get me a job to help me get on my feet. I had limited construction experience, and that gave me the leg up I needed in order to get a job. Santiago put me up, and charged a very reasonable rent to have a roof over my head. I made enough that I was able to save up a decent amount of money, and after I had enough cash I got ready to head home.

I gave Santiago what I could spare, which it turns out wasn’t much. Still, he seemed pleased with it, and wished me a good journey.

The trip back was long and arduous. I frequently had to find work in order to supplement the funds I had to get home, and although I spoke some Spanish from back when I took it in high school, I didn’t quite speak enough to get by most of the time. Getting across the US border was especially tricky, as I didn’t happen to have my passport.

At first I tried to just walk across the border at a checkpoint. The border patrol was impressed by how well I spoke English, and by my lack of an accent, but they refused to let me in. I explained that I had been missing from home for almost two months, but my pleas fell upon purposefully deaf ears.

I went to the US consulate next, and tried to explain my situation there. The consulate was much more interested in my story than the border patrol had been, but ultimately they were about as helpful. Upon hearing my story, they attempted to look me up in missing persons reports; however, they did not find any cases that fit what had happened to me, when it had happened to me. They sent me on my way, assuring me that they would look further into this and get to the bottom of what had happened. I left feeling the opposite of being reassured.

Later that night I crossed the border in less than a legal fashion. The border around the area was walled off, though wall is a bit of a misnomer. The wall was more of a fence, and it did not have any shortage of holes… both man made and naturally occurring over time. I managed to see one of the holes being made in the metal fence, and I was surprised at how quickly a battery powered metal saw cut through the barricade.

Most of the people who came across the wall with me were men. After we circumvented the fence, we had to hike northward for a couple of hours until we were almost in a small town called Beyerville. There was a windowless van waiting for us right outside of Beyerville. We piled in and then we were off towards Phoenix.

I took any odd job I could to make money when I got to Phoenix. Simple construction, sign spinning, I even went looking for cans and bottles to recycle for the money. I was so desperate to call my wife and let her know that I was okay; I would have possibly killed for a pay phone. But I couldn’t afford a cell phone, functioning pay phones had been disappearing for decades, and nobody was willing to let me use their phone to make a long distance call to Wisconsin.

It took two and a half weeks for me to get enough money saved up to purchase a bus ticket to Appleton Wisconsin, and have enough money to live on during the trip. I was so anxious boarding the bus that I was almost sick, and the trip taking three days with transfers didn’t help the situation. Other than an occasional acknowledgement, I didn’t really talk to anyone on the bus. Not that there were many people on the bus. I spent most of the ride just watching the scenery go by and mulling over the entirety of what I had experienced.

I arrived late morning, and I took a few minutes to clean up and shave in the bus station bathroom before I started walking home. It was early afternoon when I arrived in my neighborhood. I waved at my neighbors, people I had known for years, as I walked home. A few waved back at me, but none of them were particularly friendly, and none seemed to show concern that I’d been missing for the last couple of months. I had never been especially familiar with my neighbors, but I expected a bit more of a reaction from some of them.

Then I was in front of my home, with it’s simple grey paint and dark green trim. I could hear the giggling of my child in the house as I went to knock on the door. She answered the door, and for the briefest moment since this began I felt at peace.

That feeling of peace crumbled to dust as I saw the expression on her face.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked.

I froze in shock. Upon her face, there was no worry, no love, no shock, no recognition.

“Are you okay?” she prodded.

“You,” I finally managed to choke out the words, “you don’t remember me, do you?”

She gave me a good look, head to toe, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “It’s me, John. I’m your husband, Letha. I’m Manesseh’s father.”

Letha, was obviously becoming uncomfortable. “How do you know my name, or my son’s name?” She stepped back, guardedly, and started to close the door. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, “but I’ve never been married. Now go away or I’ll call the police.” The deadbolt engaged immediately, and audibly, after she closed the door.

I stood there in front of the door for a moment before I turned around and stumbled to the curb where I didn’t so much as sit as I collapsed onto my butt. None of it made sense. Everything was exactly as I remembered it, except I somehow wasn’t a part of it at all. I didn’t sob or bawl. I just had a steady stream of tears as I sat, in disbelief, on the curb. I didn’t even make a noise as the police came. They asked me questions there on the curb, but I didn’t answer. Eventually they picked me up under the arms and led me into the back of the cruiser.

I took one last look towards the house; hoping to see her face, hoping to see some cognizance as to who I was in my wife’s eyes. All I saw was the light blue of the drawn curtains as the officers drove me away.