Mile 1220

“Your spirit animal is Denny.”

“What?”

“Your spirit animal is Denny.” Sunshine clarified, “Denny is a Llama that we worked with during our hike-in-only cabin days in the Smokies.”

“O-okay-y,” Misfit encouraged her to continue.

“See, we worked for a hike-in-cabin where a llama convoy was the only way to get supplies to the facility to serve guests. Denny is a llama. He was a trooper and floated over the trail — especially the rocks. We would be trekking cargo up the mountain, and you’d look back, and while the others would give us grief, Denny wouldn’t care a bit. He was just floating over rocks like you. While we were hiking the other day, I watched you pull ahead. You just glided over the rocks like you were dancing.”

Sunshine, Misfit, and others were stalling for time in front of the Port Clinton Post Office. An unfortunate necessity for those expecting a food package or gear drop. Unfortunately, this particular Post Office had a reputation for opening whenever it felt like. They were already 20 minutes passed due, and no one was in sight.

“I would never have used the word “dance” to describe how I hike,” said Misfit. “At least it certainly doesn’t feel like I am dancing. This section is downright murdering my feet, and frankly, I am having a rough go of it.”

It was true. Misfit had been having a rough couple of days, and the Port Clinton Post Office was the final straw. Her optimism was wearing thin, and unlike Sunshine, Misfit had been hiking on her own for the last 80 miles. The terrain was wearing her out. Rocks at every which angle. Sharp stabby rocks, flat toe-catchy rocks, and giant boulders that look stable but are as wobbly as a teeter-totter. It slowed her down. It bruised and battered her feet. But, most of all, it exhausted her mind. A tired mind can be a cruel mind.

The post office opened an hour late, which meant that Misfit got her resupply late and therefore hiked out… late. Delayed hours translate to poor timing. Thus, as soon as she hit the climb out of town, it started to rain. The rain brought the fog, blocking the first and finest view Pennsylvania had to offer so far. Of course, there were rocks to overcome. Of course, the hill out of town was steep. Of course, her fully loaded pack was extra heavy. She was in a rough spot and feeling low. In addition, possibly for the first time on the trail, after several days of this slog, she was feeling lonely. After all, a distressed mind can be a cruel mind.

Misfit wasn’t sure when but at some point, she realized she was being followed. The woman was clean and dry, coming up on her heels, which made no sense considering the weather. She wore cotton and carried no pack. She smelled of soap and walked without a care in the world. She didn’t ask to pass or introduce herself as she was uncomfortably close behind. Instead, she said, “You could go home, you know. Just head towards that road down there. That road leads to a town which leads to a train that will take you home. It’s nice at home.”

It was someone that Misfit thought she had left behind on the second day of hiking. She recognized the voice as the one that also told her to turn back. The voice that said she was stupid and this was awful. She is an apparition of the worst variety. She is Misfit’s fear and anxiety personified. She is the comfort of home and the convenience of knowing what’s around the bend. She is Rebecca. “What ‘is’ the point of this anyway?” Rebecca continued her monologue.

“I will not turn around,” Misfit thought “go away; you’re not helping.”

“Seriously, 1200 miles is plenty. No one will blame you for turning in now.” Rebecca replied. “Remember how nice it is to sleep with your head on Melissa’s shoulder? Or maybe you should hop on a train and skip a few miles! Visit the Family in Poughkeepsie.”

“I’m going there already and hiking it,” Misfit said. However, it wasn’t as demonstrative as she had hoped. In fact, Misfit realized that she was hiking down the trail through the rain and starting to cry. Her confidence wavered.

Rebecca noticed this, too, and used her knowledge of the world beyond the trail to chip away at Misfit’s remaining composure. In a cocky way, she noted, “Isn’t Mom feeling a little under the weather? No, wait. The job you thought was waiting for you is in jeopardy, is it not? So why not use your time more wisely? Go to mom’s. Find a job.”

Misfit tried to think of a retort, but nothing came to mind. She felt the tears come more readily. Such a sight. If she passed another hiker, what would they think?

“What would they think?” Rebecca said in unison with the thought. “You’re a mess! You are obviously tired and hungry. Overworked. Your body is eating itself, and your poor feet are shredded. You’re wet all… the… Time.” She clapped along with each word which rattled Misfit further. “And don’t get me started on the smell.” She persisted. “Lately, there is a new flavor to that odor. What’s that all about?”

The rain was coming down a little harder. The rubble that is the trail was starting to get slippery. She hopped from rock to boulder to ground and back again. “Maybe, I can outrun her,” Misfit thought. However, she was grounded enough to know that was insane. Wherever you go, there you are. She couldn’t escape herself. No, she had to let this play out.

Rebecca saw Misfit’s resilience was failing, so she went in for the kill. “This…” she picked up a rock and dropped it in Misfit’s path “isn’t fun.” Misfit stumbled. She could hardly see what was in front of her through her sadness — lost in her thoughts. Her own worst enemy. As if on cue, the rain was becoming a real problem. Rebecca remained dry as the rain came down in sheets. Misfit’s saving grace appeared in the form of a privy, just off trail, with no earthly reason to exist where it was situated.

“Are you kidding? Are you going to hide in that? This is absurd!” Rebecca hollered. She wasn’t wrong. However, Misfit was at the top of a mountain, wind kicking up and rain coming down through the canopy. Plus, she did have to pee. In she went.

Misfit sat down, door open, packed on the floor inside the 4ft square booth. She stared out as the rain came down even harder. It was LOUD! Wind gusts hammered the trees in her narrow view. Water pounded the side of the outhouse. She began to sob in time with the weather. The more she gave into Rebecca’s doubts and fears, the worse the weather got. She hadn’t cried like this in a long time. She was tired. She was shredded. It would be so easy to quit. Rebecca was filling her head. The cacophony of thoughts and the drum of the rain on the roof overwhelmed her senses. Misfit needed to break free from the spiral. No one was going to rescue her from herself. She needed something to ground her in here and now. Break the cycle. She stared Rebecca square in the eye and hollered aloud the only thing she could think of, “I AM A LLAMA, AND I GLIDE OVER ROCKS!” At that very moment, the rain stopped. Suddenly.

It was quite cinematic, really. The absolute absurdity of her words and the immediate silence around her brought forth a chuckle. It suddenly occurred to her that she was sitting in the toilet… in the woods… talking to herself.

She emerged, pack in hand, and observed that the rain had, in fact, given up just then. Only the light pit-pat of drips from the trees remained. Her sobs ceased. Eyes dry, scanning her surroundings, she said again, slowly, this time, “I. Am. A. Llama.” Rebecca stood mouth agape. Silenced if only at that moment, but a moment was all Misfit needed. She headed north.

Rebecca didn’t follow. For the moment, Misfit was untouchable. Rebecca had lost the battle. She watched as Misfit glided from rock to rock, chanting “I am a llama” quietly to herself, and just before she was out of sight and out of mind, whispered back, “I’ll see you soon.”