A Tunnel to Remoteness

Inside the cabin a man sits near the fireplace, a single lamp illuminates just a corner of the floor in the cabin. On a hewn log frame day bed with bolsters and pillows he sits propped up reading with his back to the light and fire. Dressed in a worn plaid wool shirt the sleeves rolled to the elbows, he appears comfortable. The weathered wrinkles and lines in his aged face begin to tell the story of his existence. His hair long and unkempt is gathered in a pony tail which runs down his back.       

He stops reading and sets the book face down on his lap. He closes his eyes in deep thought. His mind connects his experiences with that of a character in the book. He painfully recalls thirty plus years ago he and Sally had only been married two years. They were still honeymooning. Living in an apartment they both worked and were starting to get ahead. It was a Tuesday evening and he’d just arrived home from work. There was a knock at the door, he wondered if Sally was just playing games. He opened the door expecting to see her. The sight of two police officers made him take pause. They asked to come in, standing the one officer asked, “Is your wife’s name Sally?”

           “Yes, is there a problem? Is she okay?”

           The second officer spoke, “Sir we are sorry to inform you but Sally is dead.

She was assaulted as she closed up the office.”

           “No!” he screamed over and over in hysterics, covering his face with his hands. He knelt on the floor rocking back and forth. Every emotion, every memory, and every dream were shredded. His identity a broken mirror splintered into jagged pieces. The officers tried to comfort him, though they knew from experience it rarely helped in this circumstance. After some time and stuffing his emotions long he was able to dismiss the officers. In the days and weeks that followed he spent night and day speaking to the police and following up with the investigation into Sally’s killing.

           He robotically planned and executed the funeral and wake. Took care of her estate with the help of his in-laws. His mind frozen like smooth pond ice sheltering what lies beneath. With every entry into their apartment, he’s overcome with a kaleidoscope of emotions with all the reminders of Sally. The life he used to know now separated by fathoms of grief. The silence of loneliness a song which plays on repeat.

           In the few years that followed Sally’s murder was never solved. Her case had gone cold and police were focused on other cases. In his mind his love came to a needless end. He tried to keep on with the life he knew though increasingly dissatisfied. He did not associate outside of work and lived reclusive in their apartment. His depression and grief blanketed his life with delusion, seemingly stuck in a time capsule of her death.

Seeking a change and using the life-insurance he bought a cabin. He sold or donated everything except for clothing and some personal items. Over the first year he modestly furnished the cabin, and equipped himself for this remote life. The cabin is ten or more miles from the nearest improved roadway. The driveway into the cabin is a mile long winding through towering white pines as if a tunnel to remoteness. At the crest of the final hill is a panorama of trees, water and a small log cabin its stone chimney belching smoke. The drive ending abruptly almost at the door to the cabin. The small yard and garden plot to one side are well kept. Only a narrow walking path connects to the shore. Though the lake is a picturesque sight through the trees. His cabin is the only one on the pristine four-acre lake. At dusk a pair loon’s their silhouettes mirrored on still waters their tremolo echoing.

The cabin is broken into two rooms. The fireplace on the west wall of the living space. The day bed on the north wall looking out to the south at the lake. A large worn area rug warms the feet lending some color to the starkness. The kitchen, dining table and small bathroom consume the rest of the cabin. Over years he’s lived here he cannot shut off his pain at losing Sally so early. Being alone still seems the best way to manage his feelings. The questions and unspoken sympathies meant nothing and only exacerbated his grief. Eliminating those triggers meant some sense of peace. It is nature’s equilibrium and harmony which assist in calming his mind and feelings. His way of living, some might say is an escape.

           He gets up to stoke the fire adding a log. Standing his six-foot frame is lean like a distance runner. He makes some tea and returns to read the book some more. A routine he repeats daily, the number of books consumed in a year is voluminous a measure of his loneliness in the absence of Sally. In the shadows across the room are stacks of books randomly shoved into some shelves and piled on the floor. He rarely leaves his property and the lake. He has the things he needs delivered and pays dearly for the service. But it allows him limited contact with the outside world and the questions that are sure to be asked. He keeps telling himself he owes no one anything and least of all the untruthful display of wholeness. Over the years he has never put the shards of his life back together again. It is only when a book jerks him back into his pain that he examines that one shard.

           Sitting on the kitchen counter in a corner next to the toaster is a framed picture of the newlyweds. He only glances at it limiting his trauma. The photo and frame are the only things he kept from their life together. Now they are covered in dust, the frame faded encases the years Sally never enjoyed.

           The silence of night is broken by the howling of wolves in the distance as the moon light dances on the surface of the lake. A normal occurrence it’s become a signal to end the day. Looking at his watch he realizes how late it is. He closes his book placing it on the table with the lamp, getting up he stokes the fire for a long night’s burn and arranges the daybed for sleeping before turning out the light. The darkness is welcomed as a safe place to take shelter.