I don’t know how he got there. Actually, at first, I wasn’t sure he was really there at all… The drugs will do that to you, sometimes. Mostly it’s when you don’t take the drugs, you see things. Over the years, people have told me “ahhh, you’re nuts, there’s nothing there.” At least in their reality, there’s nothing there. But I digress… At first, I just walked by quickly, averting my eyes after the first glimpse. It hadn’t been so long ago they’d put me in the ward again and I wasn’t in a big hurry to get back there. But he wasn’t looking my way, so it was pretty easy to slip by. For a few days, I took another route, thinking when I returned to this one, my mind will have settled and all would be well. You see, I walk every day through the paths in these woods. It helps calm me, helps my body deal with the drugs, straightens my thinking. And over the years, it’s become my reason to get out of bed every morning. I’ve tried walking in town, but it’s just not the same. People jostle you, glare at you when you stop mid sidewalk to contemplate a crack in the concrete, or to watch an ant marching along his purposeful path. Sometimes they mutter hateful things under their breath, things like “crazy nut!” But sometimes it’s not said so low, and I hear. The words match the lips, and I know it’s not imaginary. Out here it’s nicer. Quieter too, although there are lots of noises, just more peaceful ones. The deer and squirrels never taunt me, nor do the birds. I’ve seen lots of birds as I’ve walked these trails. I don’t know what kind they are, usually. I’ve a friend who does a bit of bird watching, but he’s not an expert either. He refers to most of the little ones as “LBJ’s.” For a long time I was afraid to ask him what that meant, thinking I’d missed something along the way. But he must have noticed my puzzled look after a while, because one day he explained to me it meant “little brown jobs” for all the ones he didn’t know. Oh yes, I’ve got a friend, two actually. Even the insane make friends. Well, one of them is my therapist, but she told me she could be my friend as well as my councilor. They tell me I’m much more interesting than most people, that I have a way of looking at the world that is a little different. (Ha! But I guess when you see things the rest of the world doesn’t see…) I am pretty sure they are sincere though, and aren’t poking fun. After about a week, I went down my favorite path, I’d almost forgotten why I’d been avoiding it. Well, really, I’d not forgotten at all. I just told myself that so I would seem a bit more rational. But I didn’t want to not use this way again. It’s the best trail. I know it’s the best one, because I’ve blazed them myself. And they are pretty secret, you see, I am very careful not to begin them by walking in the same spot as I leave the road edge. There isn’t a discernible trail until you are well away from the eyes of motorists. But once past the view from the road, I’ve wandered some very pretty ways, over and over, so often I’ve created my own well beaten paths. It’s not that I’m really secretive about everything I do, it’s just this part of my day is so just for me, I don’t want to have to share it with others. People who may make me feel self conscious; make me feel I have to watch my every move. You’ve no idea how tiring that is to constantly self monitor to be sure my behavior falls into “socially acceptable” patterns. Can you understand why the thought of an intruder here disturbed me so? Holding my doubts in check, or rather holding them at arm’s length, for I was still trying to convince myself I hadn’t really seen him at all, I went along the path at a brisk clip. It wasn’t quite fall yet, there were a few leaves on the ground, of course in this area you don’t get that many trees that drop their leaves anyway. So I was pretty quiet on the path. I try to be that way on purpose anyway; I’ve seen many a small critter gamboling along in the woods because of my quietness. And yes, they ARE real; not everything I see is imaginary. But he was there. I tried at first to tell myself it was just one of those optical illusions. Have you ever stared at a paneled wall or a random patterned tile floor and after a while you see images in it? I tried to convince myself that is what I was seeing. But he blinked. I ran. Quiet went right out of my mind. I ran fast and hard, breaths coming so fast they sounded more like sobs than breathing. I didn’t stop until I stumbled and almost landed face first in the dry dust of the trail. I didn’t run because I was afraid he would chase me, I didn’t think that at all. I ran because I didn’t want him to be there. I didn’t want to see strange fellows in my woods, especially this one. His predicament seemed so odd, even to me, who was used to odd. After a bit, my breath less ragged, my fingers no longer trembling and my knees able to support me without feeling like they were going to turn to jelly, I once more took to the path. It was a circuitous route, this path, so I didn’t have to go back the way I’d come. Which was a good thing, I’m not sure I could have made my legs go back that way. You’re probably asking yourself “what’s so scary, if you see things that aren’t there all the time anyway, what’s got you so spooked now?” He’s real… I think. You see, usually when I see things, there are subtle differences that even I have learned to recognize as part of a hallucinatory episode. I’ve discussed it with my friend several times, he likes to listen to what’s there that he can’t see, and he’s helped me to find these small clues that help me know what I’m seeing isn’t necessarily in everyone else’s field of vision. There is crazy, and then there is crazy. And I’m not THAT crazy. I know I’ve got imbalances, I know I need meds. Sometimes the meds lose effectiveness and they try new combinations. Then there is that whole adjustment period to the new medications. That’s what put me in the ward last time. One of them didn’t work too well, at least not for me. There are a lot of variables. I’ve been this way long enough to have learned a lot about what makes me tick, or makes me sick. Some say anyway. But I don’t see it as being sick. It’s the hand I was dealt when I was born. Some people are born deaf, or blind, or missing a limb. Luck of the draw, I say. Besides, I’m accustomed to it, I mean, I don’t know anyway else, other than what people tell me. But I’ve never been in those shoes, so I only can imagine what “normal” is really like. Sometimes I almost pity the normal. It’s got to be a bit boring. I mean, not everything I see is scary, like when they put me in the ward last time. Sometimes I enjoy the visions, like the time the moon sprouted wings and flew all over the night sky. It was so pretty watching her do that, she looked so happy to be free. I didn’t want to tell my therapist about him. I was regulated on the new combinations of drugs; I’d been doing pretty well for several weeks now. I didn’t want her messing with the combo. Aside from the different colors than what people tell me things are supposed to be and the occasional episode where the earth looks like it’s breathing, slowly rising up and down in the distance, I’ve been seeing very few things that they say are “not normal.” And I didn’t want to tell her because I think he’s real. It’s not me! And it’s not like I have to do anything about him. It’s just he was there, by my path, in my woods, where I find peace. I went back again the next day, it was my routine, and I know that is important, always keep to the routine. Besides, why should I give up my walks just because he’s in the woods too? Maybe he needed some peace as well. This time I walked slowly when I came to the spot where I’d seen him before. Yup, he was there. He happened to glance my way and I politely nodded. Just because I’m crazy doesn’t mean I’m not capable of all the little amenities that help keep the world running in a civilized way. That’s when he spoke. Now up until this point, I’ve never heard voices; my therapist told me that it’s not usual in my particular kind of crazy. If I were going to hear voices I would have been doing so all along. He said “hello”. I didn’t reply, just nodded again and kept on walking. Wondered too, but then I wonder all the time, nothing unusual there, although he was the focus of my wondering, instead of me. You see, when you’re “crazy” when people tell you your perception of reality is always wrong, you tend to grow into a permanent case of self-doubt. So I spend a lot of time wondering about things in my head. But I didn’t doubt he was there, much. I just mostly wondered about why he was there. And if he’d been there for a while and I just never noticed before, stuff like that. I almost went back a second time that day, into the woods. But that would have cut into my routine and I didn’t want to do that. Change one thing, and before you know it you’ve changed everything and then where is your routine? Besides, it might have made me late for work. It’s not much of a job; most people wouldn’t even want to do it. But I don’t mind. Six days a week I clean out the cages at the animal shelter. Scoop poop mostly, food and fresh water for the dogs and cats. Animals don’t make judgments like people do if you’re a little different. Once they had an opossum, beady little eyes and a pink nose, which matched his pink tail. He wasn’t the most social critter there, but I got to liking him quite a bit, I think he reminded me of me. Kind of stuck out in the crowd, he did. So I waited, and next morning, a bit earlier than usual, (I will admit), I took off for the woods. A little early doesn’t hurt, even though a routine is good for me, too rigid isn’t good either. I don’t want to become like Raymond in that movie. You know the one, with Tom Cruise. He wasn’t looking my way, as a matter of fact, his eyes were closed, looked like he was sleeping. I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to be really sure he was real. So I carefully, quietly, stepped off the trail to where he was and slowly stretched out my hand. I touched his hair with my fingers. Very lightly, and just for a second, I didn’t want to wake him. I just needed to know I wasn’t going through some new kind of crazy. It was very soft, pretty color too, and it felt very real. I quickly backed away. I didn’t want him to wake up and talk to me again. I had enough of my own problems. I didn’t want to know what had brought him here. He seemed nice, and I’ve always had a soft spot for nice. But one thing leads to another, and I just didn’t want to get into why he was here and, more to the point, did he want my help to get back out. But now that I was sure he’s real, what do I do with that? I mean it’s not like anyone would believe me anyway if I told about him. Then I thought…. Maybe if I took a picture. My friend, you know, the bird watcher, he’s got a camera. Maybe if I borrowed it… Then I could say “see!” So I did, and I was polite and asked if I could snap his picture. Like I said, I’m not insensible to the small graces that one needs to be part of society. Do you see him? Right here, can you see? Just to the right of the knothole. If you don’t look real close, you could miss him. And his hair does look kind of like tree moss. But it’s not, it’s hair. I’ve felt it. I think he’d like to get out, he never said, but if you look close into his eyes, they sort of plead at you… You do see him, don’t you? YZ 11-10-02