Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. That’s what a gravel road sounds like in the
middle of the night when you have a long way to walk.
Crunch. The sound of gravel even if your sneakers are wet. Even if it’s cold out. But best to keep moving because it’s warmer that way, plus you get home eventually, if you keep moving. A sound concept. Sound is right. I felt aurally conspicuous. There was the rhythmic crunching of my steps and the sound of my hurried breathing.
When it’s good and dark you can’t see much while walking next to the ditch. There was tall grass. Vines snagged my jeans and made an interesting zipper noise as I pulled away. I stepped on an occasional aluminum can. Crunch!
This was way before mobile phones. Without the phone, you’re on your own! A marching cadence? If only I could have taken a phone from now and sent it back there. As if! I wouldn’t have known how to use it anyhow, and the infrastructure wasn’t there, then. 1966. June.
So I kept walking and muttering to myself.
There was no moon overhead. Oh, you can see a little bit, but not much. Trees loomed over both sides of the road. Man, it was quiet. Shouldn’t there be crickets or something? Owls? Even somebody’s mutt dog barking would have sounded more normal.
After I had gotten into the car and we got out of town, they broke out the vodka. Not beer. Much too mundane. So when my buddy Milo parked, I bailed. Cars can’t follow you out into the woods. So that’s where I went. Then I waited until they drove away to whatever fate might befall them.
Something bounced off of my right leg. I stopped. Did I run into a branch or something? It didn’t make sense to me. I kept going. I had maybe five miles to go.
Another something hit me in the rear and fell to the ground. Aw, come on! What! I turned all the way around. Didn’t see a thing.
I figured I better get a move on. So I did.
After a couple more minutes, I got an idea. I mean it just popped up.
“Who goes there?”
“Who goes there?” Again.
“Me. I’m going here.” I thought I was losing it maybe. I was stone cold sober too. Who talks to foreign voices in their own head? Crazy people. That’s who.
When I started walking again, I heard motion to my right, just inside the tree line. I stopped and looked out there, which was stupid, because it was pitch black out there. Flat black.
“Who is Me?” Another packet landed.
“Who are you?” I snapped out loud because this was getting weird and the hour was getting late.
“I’m the Watcher here,” said the inaudible voice.
“Rooty, toot, toot! I’m the walker here. I’m walking,” I bounced back. I’ll play, I said to myself. Might lighten the weary hours.
I kept crunching down the road, seconded by the brushy steps to my right. I should have been scared out of my wits, shouldn't I? A mystery. I felt as if I’d gotten off track somehow and landed in a fairytale. You tell me.
“Walker, you walked into my domain.”
“A maiden in distress. Bravado.”
“Well. What are you going to do about it, Watcher. I must get home,” I nearly wept.
A darkness separated itself from the forest, moving slowly and smoothly. I heard grassy footsteps. I held steady, just looking.
As he approached I was wrapped in some kind of cloud of peace, or something goofy like that. I didn’t care. It was alright with me.
This Watcher was a good 9’ tall. I can’t tell you the details. I think he was black, It was night. He seemed very bulky in a way, but not fat. It occurred to me that perhaps I had been covering up distress with bravado.
“I will walk with you until you are home,” he said in a basso whisper.
“Thank you,” I said, surprising myself.
So we walked all the way to my mailbox. It didn’t take as long as it should have, and I don’t remember talking.
He watched as I went to my parents’ door. I saw him once in the light before going inside.
I had never felt so safe in my life.
Crunch. The sound of gravel even if your sneakers are wet. Even if it’s cold out. But best to keep moving because it’s warmer that way, plus you get home eventually, if you keep moving. A sound concept. Sound is right. I felt aurally conspicuous. There was the rhythmic crunching of my steps and the sound of my hurried breathing.
When it’s good and dark you can’t see much while walking next to the ditch. There was tall grass. Vines snagged my jeans and made an interesting zipper noise as I pulled away. I stepped on an occasional aluminum can. Crunch!
This was way before mobile phones. Without the phone, you’re on your own! A marching cadence? If only I could have taken a phone from now and sent it back there. As if! I wouldn’t have known how to use it anyhow, and the infrastructure wasn’t there, then. 1966. June.
So I kept walking and muttering to myself.
There was no moon overhead. Oh, you can see a little bit, but not much. Trees loomed over both sides of the road. Man, it was quiet. Shouldn’t there be crickets or something? Owls? Even somebody’s mutt dog barking would have sounded more normal.
After I had gotten into the car and we got out of town, they broke out the vodka. Not beer. Much too mundane. So when my buddy Milo parked, I bailed. Cars can’t follow you out into the woods. So that’s where I went. Then I waited until they drove away to whatever fate might befall them.
Something bounced off of my right leg. I stopped. Did I run into a branch or something? It didn’t make sense to me. I kept going. I had maybe five miles to go.
Another something hit me in the rear and fell to the ground. Aw, come on! What! I turned all the way around. Didn’t see a thing.
I figured I better get a move on. So I did.
After a couple more minutes, I got an idea. I mean it just popped up.
“Who goes there?”
“Who goes there?” Again.
“Me. I’m going here.” I thought I was losing it maybe. I was stone cold sober too. Who talks to foreign voices in their own head? Crazy people. That’s who.
When I started walking again, I heard motion to my right, just inside the tree line. I stopped and looked out there, which was stupid, because it was pitch black out there. Flat black.
“Who is Me?” Another packet landed.
“Who are you?” I snapped out loud because this was getting weird and the hour was getting late.
“I’m the Watcher here,” said the inaudible voice.
“Rooty, toot, toot! I’m the walker here. I’m walking,” I bounced back. I’ll play, I said to myself. Might lighten the weary hours.
I kept crunching down the road, seconded by the brushy steps to my right. I should have been scared out of my wits, shouldn't I? A mystery. I felt as if I’d gotten off track somehow and landed in a fairytale. You tell me.
“Walker, you walked into my domain.”
“A maiden in distress. Bravado.”
“Well. What are you going to do about it, Watcher. I must get home,” I nearly wept.
A darkness separated itself from the forest, moving slowly and smoothly. I heard grassy footsteps. I held steady, just looking.
As he approached I was wrapped in some kind of cloud of peace, or something goofy like that. I didn’t care. It was alright with me.
This Watcher was a good 9’ tall. I can’t tell you the details. I think he was black, It was night. He seemed very bulky in a way, but not fat. It occurred to me that perhaps I had been covering up distress with bravado.
“I will walk with you until you are home,” he said in a basso whisper.
“Thank you,” I said, surprising myself.
So we walked all the way to my mailbox. It didn’t take as long as it should have, and I don’t remember talking.
He watched as I went to my parents’ door. I saw him once in the light before going inside.
I had never felt so safe in my life.
💚
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