I am not alone

 I had had enough, I thought when I looked out of the rounded window of the small white glider. At the time, it was flying at a rather nerve-wracking angle, as one of the wings tilted towards the plummet of mossy ground and the other wing was tilted towards white plumes of twirling clouds. When the pilot pulled straight again, I finally let out a little more air and a lot more ease as my shoulders.

The remote of the radio speaker was swinging to the right of me and managed to ease my fingers from the sweaty duck-egg coloured leather seats and grab it on the up-swing. I pulled the main trigger on the device and heard the transmission of the radio crackle through my own clunky piece of headgear, which were headphones to a certain extent. I cleared my dry throat and started, “How much longer?” and then released the trigger, looking around as if to expect that something would tell me if anything had happened. It must have worked as the pilot ahead pulled on his own radio and answered, “Miss, like I said 5 minutes ago, we are breaching the South side of Sheeba Mountain and the underside is where we are cleared to land. This land’s only air runway for a 1000 miles.” I nodded my head as if to reply, but found myself overthinking the tone of his words. Did he not realise that I have never been this far from home? Did he not realise that I was choosing to start again in isolation, where no one and no virus could come and interrupt me. Just the sounds of wildlife and crunching leaves rattling against each other for their own comfort. Did he not realise that I was sick of the mundane 9 to 5 and just thinking about it made my hand itch. NO, I guess he did not…

I watched my hand after I had eased the itch with a little scratch and saw it turn from yellow to red and back to a purplish colour, due to the dropping temperatures circulating our ascent. As we descended my stomach lurched down before my body could meet it and I frantically looked up and out of the window again, where greenery was meeting us closer to kiss the belly of the glider. Over the crest, we could finally see a scene that was strange indeed. The thick forest here, looked as if a perfectly rectangular cut runway had been made for small planes of this sort and the grass was nicely manicured and looked after in this one flat piece of land. As we skidded to a halt, I noticed that the trees on either side were much taller than expected – were those spruce? 

I decided that the pilot was more of a doer than a talker and he showcased this by removing his belt and headphones and clambered out of the glider to open my own latched door. I still sat frigid in the seat that smelled a lot like a dewy forest itself – pine needles a new smell and that didn’t seem to stop him from removing my own headphones and unstrapping me out of the seat. Maybe he was used to ignorant city folk requesting to live in the great outdoors in isolation and soon phoning him to take them back to a warm hotel bath and bed with crisp linen. But not me, no, I had packed my best purple Storm Shield jacket, thermals and best hiking boots and I was not about to give up everything now, even when the weight of the can of bear repellent hung heavily at my waist, as I clambered down with the pilot’s help.

He gave me a toothy grin and a tip of his mouldy-green fishing hat after handing me my one camping rucksack and sleeping bag and pulled himself back into the plane. Before he started, I walked towards his side of the plane and asked with a crooked eyebrow, “So which side is the cabin then?”. He actually giggled and replied with a mouth full of mismatched teeth, “Yes miss, ye be walking that way,” he pointed at a yellow post in the distance with a crooked finger and continued, “The cabin be 45 trots away and I’d advise you get that safety off of that bear-spray until you reach the boundary fencing.” I tried to not gasp as I knew exactly what I was potentially getting myself into. “You be needing these.” He scratched in the glove compartment next to him for a chink of keys and handed them over to me together with a water-logged little notebook that upon briefly opening the wrinkled pages to a non-descript place, must have been a contact or phone book. “Phone works on Sundays, if the weather’s cleared.” I looked down again at this book and before I could look up and ask, the billy man had started the engine and the glider moved forward on the grass to take off back to the airport two fly hours away. I panicked, “What about internet service?!” Too bloody late!

I tucked the mass of keys and a small notebook in one of my combat khaki pockets at the side of my leg and dug in my rucksack for my own hat, as the wind had brought some droplets from the sky over my way. I checked that the safety was off on my repellent and missioned forward, toward the yellow pillar marking the start of a slightly grown over trail towards my own cabin in the woods. It was marked ‘Sheeba route’ and that’s all I could wish for to give me any sense of direction as I truly had very little. I had passed all of my survival training lessons, otherwise I was not fit to be out here, but that gave you very little ‘sense of direction’, as it were its very own skill on its own.

The hike was a pleasure after my butt had become numb from the flight and it was good to get myself moving like this again. The border fencing was in sight and I didn’t even need to use my repellent, which was a blessing in itself! I managed to finger the latch open on the gate and it made a very ominous echoing sound through the spruce that was indeed satisfying. The rain had held for my little journey and I started to make out a warm wooden sheen that didn’t look like the many trees I had passed getting here, it finally looked like the cabin I had come for. Seeing it reminded me of my wooden desk back at home, where I sat every day for two years, looking out of the window in my apartment, past my hanging plants into the changing of seasons - as they passed me by. I thought it would never end, I also thought things would never change and now I guess I am here. I shook my head back into what I was doing, just in time to place my foot away from the laid out nailed flooring bear traps. I would have to be MUCH more careful here and not think about that anymore, things were changing now and I was currently experiencing it.

When the key finally clicked through, I nudged the dusty wooden door to open up on a small cottage, that smelled violently of more wood and… was that tomatoes? The ceiling beams rose high up above me, where my new sleeping spot looked down at me and I marvelled at how much light there was cascading into the open-plan kitchen and living area, from the massive panes of glass across on the other side by the fireplace. I plonked my rucksack and sleeping bag down on the very wide bookshelf, that hadn’t been looked at in a while, as there were some cobwebs interlinking the pages. There was a very grimy pair of wellies placed where I stood, which was probably the place where I should pull off my own pair of boots to avoid tracking in the mud. You can leave the stresses of your normal life, however you can never leave the mess you’d need to clean up now and again behind.

I walked deeper in slowly and noticed that I was breathing out the warmness of my breath in this very cold space. That’s the first thing I’ll do, I’ll put the kettle on and look for some wood for the quaint little jetmaster fireplace in the living room across from where I stood. As I walked over to the kitchen counter, I noticed that the fridge standing there was not making a single peep, which was odd for someone who lived alone and many days could only hear this damned appliance ringing its functionality. I immediately tried the light switch to the kitchen, however nothing changed, but the weather outside. Damn no electricity! There must be a way to make tea though? I walked back to my rucksack and searched for matches, where thankfully I had packed a Tupperware full. As I was searching, I imagined my laptop make a sound, but tried very hard to push it out of my head. The gas stove seemed easy enough to get going and I managed to plonk the old kettle in place – a little bit of work for your tea never hurt anyone anyway. I looked through the frilly curtains in the kitchen and enjoyed the copious amount of forest and mountain views in the distance. He just left a note on the bed when lockdown was over and that was that, he was gone as if the very idea of him had died inside of me. The sound of the kettle whistling violently snapped me back to the kitchen and I pulled it off of the stove to pour into my cup. While pouring I noticed my arm full of nervous scratch marks as well, which must have been what I’d been doing mindlessly again. My phone gave me a start as a notification vibrated in my back pocket and I immediately set it down on the table next to my rucksack. As it knocked on the wood, the screen lit up and naturally I looked at what it could be, only I was greeted with an ‘out of service’ notification – which is what the pilot man did casually mention on my way here. Never mind though, it was time to get away.

Upon making my way into the living area, which was so pleasantly light, I was pleased to see an open cupboard stocked full of wood. I put my cup down and knelt by the jetmaster to get it going. It was definitely easier than I thought it would be. Those survival training videos definitely helped. It became so warm that I had to close the glass door in its front as soon as the flames erupted. I then noticed a streak of orange pour into the window out of the corner of my eye and when looking back at its direction, saw nothing but the dusty old books on the coffee table beside it. When I turned back to stirring my tea, I heard creaking noises on the floorboards behind me and turning around made those stop to. Was the quiet void making me go a bit funny? No. I sipped on my finely boiled tea and walked back to the window to close it a little more and started in my new favourite position on the suede chair by the jetmaster, to read one of these old books and keep warm, as the rustling outside in the woods made me aware of how cold it would get during the evening.

I placed my tea on the coffee table and thumbed the first leather-bound book open, which to my surprise contained real hand-scrawled pages, made by someone with a wonderfully skilled feminine styled handwriting. Upon bringing it up closer to my face, I picked up a few sentences which spoke about ‘my time here’, ‘my dearest Harry’ and ‘this isolation’. Definitely journal entries and short stories perpetuating this person’s life and who was Harry? Her husband maybe? Was she also stuck here a year ago during lockdown, in such a tranquil place? Before I could read into it any further, I reached for my mug of tea and without seeing, touched something peculiarly warm and furry. It began purring immediately and I was put at ease by glancing over at a ginger tom cat, sitting gracefully in the last sliver of sunlight coming in through the window and warming his paws next to my cup of tea. His beautiful yellow eyes looked proudly at mine and I couldn’t stop stroking him. “Ahh, so you must be Harry then.” When I said this, he plopped straight into my lap, obviously just using me to get closer to the warmth. “Alright, when we are both settled, I think I’ll read this story to you called, ‘Harry in the bear territory’, now that looks like an amusing story!” He pawed my hand back as if in agreement and we both enjoyed the heat from the fire.

I have never felt less alone in my life! I think I’ll stay here and consider it my little lockdown away from lockdown…