Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [54]
I lowered my head and began to stride down the trail like an Olympic speed-walker. With great enthusiasm, I hiked up a mountain, past a shelter, up another mountain, over a bridge, and into the woods, until the sun finally disappeared. It grew darker and darker and darker, and when I could no longer make out the trail, I took out my flashlight, traveled twenty yards into the woods, and set up my tent.
Inside the tent, I changed clothes, and wrote in my journal about how glad I was to no longer be with Moot. And finally, I turned off my headlamp and laid down to sleep. Then I heard a noise…
At first I thought I was dreaming, but then I opened my eyes and discovered I could still hear it—a melodic whistle traveling down the trail. The tune was accompanied by footsteps, and then, peeking under my tent cover, I saw a light beam through the trees. I lay motionless, like an escaped convict trying not to be recaptured.
The footsteps and whistling grew louder until they were right near my tent. I hoped that in a few seconds I would hear them fading away as they continued up the trail, but suddenly the sound stopped, and all I heard were crickets. When my tent walls lit up, I knew I had been caught.
“Odyssa, are you awake?”
“Hi, Moot.”
“I’m beginning to get the feeling that you’re trying to lose me.”
Really? Because I’m beginning to get the feeling that you’re trying to stalk me! Mumbling obscenities under my breath, I listened to Moot’s ramblings as he set up his tent next to mine and prepared his dinner.
I stayed relatively quiet inside my tent, but Moot talked throughout his dinner and hardly seemed to notice my lack of response. At one point during his monologue, Moot suggested, “You know, Odyssa, since you haven’t had sex, if you ever have any questions, feel free to ask me, because I would be happy to answer them. I’m really open, and I think you might find the information helpful down the road.”
I still didn’t respond, but I was quite certain I knew more about the subject than he thought I did, and furthermore, the last person I would ever want to consult on the issue was Moot.
Despite my silent treatment, after he finished dinner, Moot had the gall to conclude his monologue with, “So, do you think that hiking partners can be cuddle buddies too?”
What!? I don’t know what bothered me more: the phrase “hiking partners” or the term “cuddle buddies.” I knew that I didn’t want to hike with Moot, and the concept of spooning with him made me cringe. Even if it was ten degrees outside and I didn’t have a sleeping bag, even if my only chance of making it through the night was to rely on Moot’s body heat, I still wouldn’t have cuddled with him. A shudder traveled down my spine, and instead of responding to him, I pretended to be asleep.
The next morning, I didn’t even try to be quiet and sneak away. I knew I was trapped.
I angrily packed up my belongings and thrashed through the brush back to the trail. I had progressed from resistence to resignation, and I spent all morning trying to come up with coping mechanisms.
At first I tried to rationalize my fate. I mean, was Moot really that bad? After all, he had been relatively interesting for the first twenty-four hours that I’d known him. He was outgoing, he was a strong hiker, and most importantly, he said he had a girlfriend, so there could be no way he was looking for more than friendship. But then why would he ask if we could be cuddle buddies?
When Moot caught up to me a few hours later, I laid down the final card in my hand, hoping that it would be enough to win some solitude.
“Moot,” I said. “I’m having girl problems this morning, and it’s best if you just go ahead.”
I wasn’t really, but typically the topic was guaranteed to cause men to distance themselves. Not Moot.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I have a sister, so I understand. I don’t mind hiking slowly