Lost in the Woods

Lost in the Woods

Red huffed and puffed, the extra twenty pounds she’d gained over the year saddling her like a pack horse. She’d been looking for the last of the chamomile plants to dry out and grind up for the winter. For over an hour, she spun around and around, unable to see through the heavy forest mist that clouded aspens of birch as soon as she’d passed through them. She leaned on a large, mossy oak to catch her breath.

“Where is that goddamned crooked tree?” she spit out, putting down her woven basket.. Her red cloak and hood, usually lightweight and comfortable in any weather, let the chill of the air through while causing her to sweat profusely at the same time.

“Fucking menopause,” she murmured.

She looked around her, trying to locate familiar roots on the forest floor. She didn’t know exactly when she’d started to lose track of the landmarks that had been guiding her for decades to her grandmother’s house, which was now her house. The young doctor she saw the week previous, glowing with wrinkle-free, quenched skin and adorable freckles on her face, explained that hormone imbalances from menopause had the potential to cause fatigue, weight gain, and brain fog. The sprightly doctor advised that hormone replacement therapy could help a lot. Unconvinced that her family’s longtime herb and plant remedies couldn’t assist, and also slightly offended—she was Red Riding Hood after all, she lived in the goddamned forest for a reason— she’d turned down the prescriptions with fake politeness. Now she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

She pressed her back against the strong oak and inhaled the forest smells: decaying leaves, wet wood, the mildewy smell of moss. It seemed to be only a few years ago that she could practically close her eyes and smell her way to her grandmother’s house. These days, she felt like she needed street signs.

“Feeling tired, Red?”

His voice, still deep and as smooth as a narrator’s, came from behind the big oak tree.

“Piss off.”

Red kept her eyes closed and focused on her breathing.

“Ouch. No need to be so snappy.”

The Wolf moved next to her, his arthritis obvious in his stiff movements. He’d gone from a substantial, muscled beast covered in thick, peppered fur to thinning white. His teeth were worn down and yellow, and his right eye was cloudy from cataracts.

“You’re not exactly spry yourself these days,” she said to him. He chuckled.

“No, I’m not. Thank goodness for grandchildren with big appetites.”

Another one of his digs. Red’s children, a boy and girl both in their twenties (not named Hansel and Gretl, in case you’re wondering), hadn’t yet married and settled down. Wolf’s family easily numbered a dozen.

“What the hell do you want?” Red asked the Wolf.

“Why to help you, of course.”

“Hah!”

Red pulled herself away from the steadying weight of the oak tree and took a few steps forward.

“Okay, okay! There is something I need.”

“So what? Why should I help you?”

“Because you got lost looking for it.”

The chamomile. She needed a last bundle of plants for multiple remedies, including helping her sleep.

“Why do you need it?”

“My daughter’s second litter of pups is having a hard time with teething. They yip all night long. It’s agonizing.”

Again with the grandkids.

“I’ll show you where the patch is,” Wolf said. “ Just give me one of your wonderful chamomile teething powders for my grandbabies.”

Red crossed her arms.

“It’s a small price for ensuring you have what you need for the coming winter.”

She hated when Wolf was right.

“Fine,” she said. “Show me where the chamomile is and I’ll put together something for her. But if this is one of your tricks, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Red began to follow Wolf, his steps slow but deliberate. Their walking revealed the mistake she’d made earlier by herself: instead of turning west at the small spring, she’d turned east. She made a note to herself to start using the compass on her cell phone.

They walked through an open meadow and passed a small cliff that overlooked the village where Red did her main grocery shopping and got her mail. She still hunted for deer once in a while, but honestly, why kill yourself to land a deer when a nice, prepackaged pound of ground beef was only an hour’s walk away?

Just as she was about to ask Wolf where the hell he was taking her, they came upon the field she’d been trying to find all morning. She inhaled deeply, filling her nose with the hay-like scent of the fresh chamomile plants.

“Just like the doctor ordered.” Wolf waved a paw over the field as if he’d magically created it right then.

“It’s ‘just what the doctor ordered’” Red corrected. She carried her basket to the swath of chamomile plants.

“I would have found this eventually, you know, ” Red said, more to herself than Wolf, as she snipped one plant after another.

“Uh-huh.”

“The fog confused me, that’s all.”

“Right.”

Annoyed at his mock agreement, Red stopped talking and focused on gathering as much chamomile as possible. Clipping and collecting, she made a mental list of the powders she needed to create with the chamomile to get ahead on her winter supply. These remedies were some of her bestsellers and she didn’t want to fall short.

Her basket was almost full when she realized she no longer heard Wolf. She didn’t hear him breathing, didn’t hear him munching grass, didn’t hear him sniffing the air. Sometimes he slept in the grass, especially when he temporarily escaped from his family. She turned around to see if he was napping under a tree and found nothing. She was alone.

“Wolf?” she called.

Nothing but the sounds of birds chirping nearby.

“Wolf?” she called again, louder. “Where the hell is that asshole?”

Seeing and hearing nothing, she shrugged and went back to cutting plants. Just as she was about to snip a large, blooming, healthy stem, she was pushed to the ground with the weight of a truck.

“What the—”

Wolf’s breath was hot and carried an earthy smell. He snapped at her neck. She blocked his jaw and punched him hard in the snout. He yipped like a puppy, shook it off, then snapped again. Ready for his return, Red kneed him in the stomach and threw him off her with a great yawp, as if releasing a demon. Scurrying to a standing position, she pulled pepper spray from her cloak pocket and got Wolf right in the eyes and nose. He yipped again, blinking and sneezing as he fell to the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing, you moronic canine?”

Wolf pawed at his watering eyes.

“I thought I’d have one last go.” He coughed, making his eyes water more. “I am a wolf, after all.”

“And I’m Little Red Riding Hood, but you don’t see me traipsing through the woods singing songs to myself anymore!”

Wolf lay on his side and wheezed.

“We’re getting old, Red.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t like it.”

“No one does.”

Solitude fell on them like a blanket.

“My kids call me ‘Old Man’.”

“My kids barely call me at all. They say the reception is crappy.”

“When did we get so old?”

Wolf exhaled loudly, rolling onto his back in surrender.

“First, we’re not that old. At least, I’m not that old.”

Wolf chortled.

“Second, I kind of like being older. I don’t feel like I have to dress up anymore, I don’t feel some overwhelming need to impress people, and I speak my mind way more than I ever did,” said Red.

Wolf contemplated what Red said.

“You can’t be a young lion forever,” Red told him.

Wolf stood up and shook himself.

“I’m an idiot, my dear. Please forgive me.”

“Just get me back home, you foolish furball. And walk in front of me so I can keep an eye on you.”

Red and Wolf took their time ambling back through the field, past the cliff, and across the meadow, a comfortable silence enveloping them. She could feel her muscles stiffening from the tussle with Wolf. She would need a hot bath tonight. A well-earned, indulgent hot bath.