Waking up is familiar, something he knows.
He pets the dog. Enjoys the feeling, the repeated motion. Finds immense pleasure in the concentration.
The dog bends, scratches. Growls in satisfaction.
They are both satisfied.
The man rises, moves into the adjoining bathroom. Small, like the rest of the cabin. Cozy, the man thinks as he looks at his face in the mirror. The mirror is small but clean.
He shaves. He doesn’t know why.
Showers. Dries. Goes now to the bedroom window. Stands there for a while gazing out at trees, mountain range in the distance. Dresses himself. Moves into the main room. At the far end is a fireplace. Iron spit, empty pail hanging. Next to this is a stool, an icebox and a cabinet.
He puts on his coat, opens the door. Hears the dog follow him outside.
There is no trail. This is okay. The man is familiar. Has become familiar with the lay of the land.
He moves down the slope, grunting until he is again on steady ground. Dog at his heels, he walks through a dense sea of greens and browns. Walking, looking. Peering through the trees. Crunches beneath his boots. He stops.
“Here,” he says, catching his breath. “This is where I saw her.”
The dog sniffs toward the clearing.
Another dog, all white, emerges from the trees, into the clearing. A woman follows behind. Dark hair, slender. Yes, he remembers.
“It’s her.” The man bites his lip. “See. I told you.”
The dog growls.
“Come on.”
The man moves toward them. The dog follows reluctantly at first, then quickens, takes the lead. Stops, sniffs the white dog.
“Sorry,” says the man. “Can’t help himself.”
The woman laughs, brushes hair from her eyes.
“It happens,” she says.
“Paul,” he says.
“Alena.”
“Nice to meet you, Alena.”
She smiles and nods before looking away.
“Don’t bump into many others.”
The woman glances around, doesn’t respond.
“What were you doing?”
She looks at him now.
“Hmm?”
“Before this. What were you doing?”
“Oh.” She thinks. “I forget.”
The man nods. “Me too.”
“I’m . . . I’m forgetting a lot.”
“That’s okay.”
The woman looks down at her dog, says, “I used to have something, I think. A life.”
“Our lives are all we know.”
“Different moments, things.”
The man’s dog barks. The white dog cowers, whimpers.
“Ronnie! Stop.”
“It’s okay.”
“Thought I taught him better manners.”
“Paul, you said?”
“Yes. Paul sounds good. Close to what it was, probably.”
“Solid name. Traditional. Like John, or Mike.”
“Alena is pretty.”
“Isn’t it? Thanks. I like it.”
“The memories.”
“Hm?”
“They’ll go. Soon. Go away completely.”
She nods. “Oh.”
“Don’t concentrate on what we’ve lost. Think of what we’ve gained. We can name ourselves. It’s good. Meaningful. Means something. Focus on the good. The now. The moment.”
The woman kneels, pets the man’s dog. “What do you do?”
“Do?”
“Yes. Every day. What do you do?” She focuses on the fur, the texture. Watches her hand moving, touching the fur.
“Mostly I walk. I like to walk. Concentrate on the walking.”
“Mm.”
“I have felt feelings. Moments of unbridled sincerity.”
“Is that so?”
“Yesterday I saw a rainbow. And I just sat. And appreciated it.”
The woman is staring at her hand as it rests on the animal’s fur.
She says, “What if when we die we see the world through our dog’s eyes?”
“Is this something you’ve thought about?”
“Since I’ve been here. Yes. All I do is think.”
“It’s much better,” the man says, “to focus on survival.”
“No need, really. Shelter is provided, food delivered.”
“Would you prefer to hunt?”
“No. I love animals. I don’t remember if I did before, but I do now.”
“Animals. Yes. At least we have them. Look to the animals. Instinct. This we can learn from.”
“Sometimes there are flashes. Dreams. Flashes in my dreams. Things half remembered. I know I used to be able to remember.”
“Survival. That’s the best thing. For the body, the brain.”
“No longer wanting to remember. The last thing I remember, is wanting that.” The woman furrows her brow, trying not to think. “What if that’s all life is anyway?”
“What?”
“Remembering.”
The man scratches the back of his neck, looks off. Trees and trees. In the distance is a mountain. Remember the mountain. The lay of the land.
She says, “Maybe there are clues. On how to get back. In my dreams.”
“I really like to walk,” the man says. “You ever walk through a tree tunnel? Found one the other day. It was like a vortex.”
“To another world. Or the past.”
“Or the future. Or right here, right now.”
She stands, looks at him. Really looks at him. His face. Freshly shaven, bits of stubble. Lines, blemishes. She thinks, tries to recall. Has she met him? Does she know him? Is he from before? Pushing through the thoughts, trying to get to the real thoughts, to something that feels real, past a haze of things familiar and foreign at the same time.
“No. Dreams,” she says. “I want to talk about dreams.”
The man points. “That squirrel. Over there. Look at it.” Points in the grass next to them. “Or that bug.” He focuses on the act of pointing, on the bug.
The woman squishes the bug.
The man looks at her.
“Alena. Why did you do that?”
“Were you focusing?”
“Yes. It’s dead, now.”
The woman is crying.
“Whatever you do,” the man says, nodding, “have focused energy.”
The woman stops crying.
There are sounds. Sounds of nature. From the trees, from all around. Trying hard not to think, he thinks, The trees are nice. This seems like a nice place, a good place. Especially this clearing, where there are no trees at all.
“Please,” she says.
“We can talk about dreams,” says the man. “But I don’t remember them.”
“Yes.” He sees her face change. Hopeful now, smiling. “People always say they don’t want to hear about people’s dreams. I think they used to say that, before. But I find them interesting. Always have. I think.”
There were, of course, dreams. Subconscious memories. Segmented visions of a building, an agency, of people in suits. Signing a contract. Blurred words. Leaving somewhere. Arriving here. A long time ago, maybe yesterday.
The man looks at the woman, at her smile fading. Her dog sniffs his hand. He keeps looking at the woman.
The woman gazes off again and he notices her body stiffen. She must see them. He has seen them, is almost certain they’re there. He tries not to think about them. But sometimes he feels them, watching. Some are in trees, others farther in the distance. Dark suits from his dreams, watching. He signed the contract. Now he is here. That must be it, but it doesn’t matter. Because he is here now. He wanted to be here. The why does not matter.
The man breathes deeply, closes his eyes. Opens them.
“The air is good,” he says. “Clean.”
The woman says, “What are we doing here?”
“You need to think positively.”
The woman is crying again. Wiping tears with the back of her hand.
“Alena,” the man says. “Not remembering is better than having regrets. I probably used to have a lot of regrets. It’s because I thought too much. Regretted every decision I made, or didn’t make. Except for the one that brought me here. Here it’s okay. Everything is okay.”
“I just wanted to feel free. Inside my brain.” She looks at the man. “Is that wrong? Bad?”
“You’re thinking.” The man frowns, shaking his head.
“I can’t stop.”
The man shrugs. “You get used to it.”
The woman leans in, whispers. “If I leave tonight, would you come with me?”
The man takes a step back. “No.” He pauses. “Where would we go?”
“Somewhere. Anywhere.”
“But,” the man says, “it’s beautiful here. The scenery, the views. Nature. Animals. It’s good. Food. Food is provided.”
The woman stares off into the trees again. The man does as well. Shadows all around. One of them is closer, seems closer.
“There’s not many of us here,” says the man. “You should stay. We could be friends. I think.”
“You think?”
“Yes. Well.”
The man laughs, scratches the back of his neck again, looks down at his dog.
“Ronnie, be nice.” He looks over at the woman’s dog. “I never did get this cute little pooch’s name,” he says.
“Marlene.”
“Marlene?”
“Sure.”
“A very good name.”
They stare off again, this time at the horizon.
“Beautiful,” the man says.
“I’m going to go.” The woman says to her dog, “Come on, Marlene.”
“Oh,” says the man. “Well. Maybe I’ll see you back here tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she says. “If I remember.”
She smiles a little and then she is moving away, toward the trees. The forest where those blurs, those shadows, those figures stand and float and loom. He can see them. First there are thoughts and then there are none. He smiles. There is sweat on his brow. He knows it because he feels it. Feels the moisture emerge, trickle down. Tastes it. He even tastes it.
The man looks down at his dog, up again. The woman is almost gone. He’s already forgotten her face as he watches her disappear, down the slope.
