Rare Meeting

We were strangers less than two weeks ago. It was December 27^th… or was it the 30^th? I couldn’t remember the exact date. It was sometime between Christmas and New Year’s, that nebulous surreal time when the calendar dates lack meaning, and when the anticipation of a New Year and the pressure to change one’s habits or direction mounts steadily, pressing on the shoulders. A person should be completely prepared or risk losing that perfect 01/01 on the calendar, a clean slate shown in the four numbers. We met under tedious and tiresome circumstances. I spent Christmas Eve and Day with friends, and now these interim days in solitude and reflection. 

The leftovers from the holiday spread were finally depleted, and with absolutely no motivation, I forced myself to the grocery store around 7 at night, the hunger and laziness of the day catching up to me. With even less effort put into my appearance, I hoped to avoid any unnecessary social interactions. Grabbing a random assortment of sandwich supplies and snacks, I spent less than 15 minutes at the store, and made a quick dash for my car. It was then that I heard his voice for the first time. “Excuse me!” he followed me towards my car. A moment of panic struck with a man approaching me in an otherwise deserted parking lot. He was holding my glove, now covered in the dirt and melting snow mix from a warmer day. It took me a few moments to register what happened, my brain trudging along at a similar slow pace to my body in the end of the year. I looked at the glove he was holding and realized it matched the taupe-colored wool one in my right hand. The grocery bags pulled on my forearms and I couldn’t reach out for it without having to set them down. The stranger noticed my struggle and asked if he could help me. I accepted out of habit and sheer inability to compose myself. He grabbed two bags, and I was able to access my key. Once all was situated, he handed me my glove, and I noticed how absolutely impeccable and put together he appeared. He had thick black framed glasses and was wearing a gray wool beanie. His beard was freshly shaven with clean lines around his cheeks, and the color of chestnut brown that matched his hair. My eyes met his, which were dark brown and smiling along with his sharp dimples. A moment of awkward silence passed, as we both contemplated if this should be then beginning or end of our meeting. As if any person can decide in a moment whether a new acquaintance should remain a stranger or if they should pursue a more lasting and deeper connection. He broke the silence first with a name. “Jeremy…My name is Jeremy. Are you visiting for the holidays or are you around longer?” He asked with an almost childish smile. “I’m a student here,” I replied timidly. “My name is Sam.” After stumbling over words, we both agreed to exchange numbers, and a tentative plan for a date at an ambiguous time before the New Year was promised.

The only sound was that of the windshield wipers steady rhythm as they moved back and forth with a squeaking from pulling along the glass in retreat. The fresh snow gently piled onto the roadside, and the wind picked it up again, throwing it into a stream of drifts. Jeremy smiled again at me, his mustache curling on a face that was slowly becoming more and more familiar to me. “Almost there,” he reassured with a voice similarly recognizable. I thought about how a few weeks can change a foreign voice to one that can be anticipated coming from the other end of the phone or from across another room. I shifted in my seat in an attempt to stretch my lower back after sitting for hours on the long drive. We were on our way to a small isolated cabin that looked over a lake. I pictured its glowing yellow light surrounded by dark silhouettes of trees that I had seen after Jeremy showed me the reservation. He asked if I was interested in a weekend winter trip, and though it might appear too soon for a private freshly committed couple’s vacation, I decided to approach the New Year with openness and not to hesitate at his invitation. I couldn't help but wonder if this time together would soon be the foundation of a commitment to each other. The thought of a winter with him seemed less stark and gloomy.

The headlights lit up the road around every corner and turn, as the vehicle was surrounded in complete almost opaque darkness. It was a cloudy night, and only as we approached the bridge did I see the reflection of them off the lake. “This must be it,” Jeremy assured, as the paved road turned to gravel. Eventually we could see the reflection of the address sign which simply read LakeBend. We pulled around the last winding corners to a stop1 just below the wooden porch. After hours of driving and hypervigilant driving at nightfall, we quickly grabbed our bags, and rushed up the steps. Jeremy entered the code in for the door, and I was impressed that he was able to easily recall it without referencing his phone. I took off my boots covered in snow, and the tile floor was cold even through my thick socks. After settling in and getting ready for bed, I checked my phone to tell my friend we had arrived. She was admittedly concerned and as many young women do, pointed out the worst-case scenario that Jeremy could be a murderer or something else. In a moment of alarm, I saw there was no signal, but then I forced my mind to remain positive. I had vetted this man over the past few weeks, and he has only been exceedingly kind and hadn’t shown a single red flag or reason for caution. As Jeremy entered the bedroom, he mentioned it was a little more “rustic” that he was expecting, and that his phone also had no signal. He made a playful joke of protecting me from wild wolves or bears, and the safety of his presence lured me away from thoughts of harm to a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, I woke up the sound of a sizzling pan, and the smell of breakfast meat. With much difficulty, I lifted the warm quilt and put on some fleece leggings and sweater to inspect Jeremy’s cooking in the kitchen. The skillet was dripping with a thick red liquid that looked like blood. “Blood sausage,” Jeremy informed me in a quick response to my understandably quizzical and disgusted face. “Haven’t you ever had a full English breakfast?” I slowly shook my head confirming I had not. The rest of the breakfast was delicious, but I admittedly forced the blood sausage into my stomach, attempting to override the textures and flavors with coffee. 

After breakfast, we packed our snowshoes and went for a hike in the woods behind the cabin and around the lake. I brought my phone and occasionally checked for signal, but had no luck. Jeremy made a self-deprecating joke about his attention span and how he forced himself off the grid to build up his attention span again. Feeling self-conscious, I put my phone on airplane mode to conserve battery and tucked it away. The snow seemed to absorb all the sound around us, and when a bird or squirrel moved by, the noise was startling. The stillness was refreshing and healing after the dizzying feeling of the holidays. I followed Jeremy’s tracks in the snow, and gave in to the present feeling. 

When we arrived back at the cabin, Jeremy started a fire, and before long his culinary skills were on display again. I was both impressed and delighted at his seemingly effortless motions, and how confident he seemed in the kitchen. He warned me as he was preparing lunch of his German ancestry and this family recipe. He told me to keep an open mind, and that it was super nutritious. When he set the plate in front of me, it appeared like another seared red meat covered in onions, and side salad. I entertained him for a couple bites, and he gleefully watched me. “Liver and onions,” he said with a grin. I chewed slowly and gave a small giggle. He said he wouldn’t be offended if I didn’t finish it, and that he would happily eat the rest. I focused on the salad and onions. 

The rest of the afternoon we spent lounging around the fire, reading our separate books. We played a game of chess with the set we found in the cupboard. We talked about our New Year’s resolutions, and at one point, he leaned over and brushed my hair back and kissed me lightly on the cheek. After that, my focus was lost, and he swiftly took my king. When it was time to prepare dinner, I insisted on helping this time with the meal. He obliged me, and I cooked the mushrooms and asparagus. I looked at the counter next to my cutting board, and noticed yet another package. He opened the butcher’s paper to reveal two steaks. “You really are a carnivore aren’t you?” I suggested laughing. He smiled and said he grew up with a family of hunters that would eat game meat all year. “It’s respectful to not waste that life, and to use as much of it as possible. It’s also delicious,” he added with a wink. “The most important step is to bring the meat to room temperature.”  Once I prepared and staged the plates, he added the steak. “Is this cooked enough?” I asked, looking at the chunk of flesh surrounded by a small pool of blood. “Medium rare, I would say,” he replied. The steak was much more easily stomached than the liver, but I was starting to develop a meat aversion from this trip. I would probably be choosing vegetarian options on our future meetings.

           Dinner was a long affair. We laughed and talked of our family and friends. We told stories of our childhoods and past relationships. We shared our career aspirations, and in which cities we could see ourselves living. As the red wine emptied, our conversation continued to flow. We both ventured to be more flirtatious, and after a particularly funny comment, I laughed so hard I was almost doubled over. He moved closer to me and put his hand on my arm and also laughing said, “You’re so cute, Sam. I could just eat you up.” I was bemused in erratic thoughts of spring and thawing, of flowers blooming, of Jeremy and I moving forward together through the seasons.

           When I woke up this time, it was not gradual or from the comforting sound of cooking, but suddenly and terrifyingly with a flashlight shining in my eyes. “Are you okay, Sam?” A county sheriff was staring directly at me with concern and pity. I looked around, and realized I was laying down in a police car. My hand went to my right temple which was pounding. As I quickly shot my head up, I felt dizzy and laid back down. “You’re safe, Sam. We are going to take you to the hospital, and contact your friend, Marie. She’s been worried about you the last three days and notified us…” “Food poisoning?” I managed to mutter to him. Unable to make sense of the situation, and feeling extremely fatigued, I laid back and closed my eyes, releasing myself to the darkness again. 

           Light cracked through slowly and fluttered with my eyelids. Marie was sitting next to me, and I was in a hospital bed. Her red curly hair and big smile assured me, but I was terribly confused still. “Jeremy?” I asked. Marie’s smile lowered and with concern and gentleness, she rubbed my hand. “Oh, Sam. That wasn’t Jeremy.” She explained that his name was Richard Fischer, and that he was being investigated for cases of missing women…murdered women. They found a freezer in his garage of game and human meat.