Woodrow closed his eyes for just a moment. All was quiet in Fred's Diner and Gas Emporium. Sleep. Just a moment of peace. He could feel the blackness overtake him, and he saw swirls of light, sprinkles of color forming circles. I hope Samantha survives this. She's all I've got. I have nothing else. Why do I even try? His right hand slid off his lap and rested comfortably next to his right leg. His hand still had blood stains on it. So what? He'd wash his hands later. Within a few moments, Woodrow looked up and saw a tree outside the window.
He stood up and looked around and found himself beneath a huge tree. Where the hell am I? Woodrow looked up and the limbs of an oak tree spread out above him. It's branches crookedly stuck out in all directions, spreading themselves outward from a huge trunk which must have been five feet wide. Green bushy leaves filled the air. Woodrow could smell the wood. The sun was bright, so bright Woodrow had to shield his eyes. It rode high in the sky. The heat. Where did the heat go? Coolness hit Woodrow in the face from a breeze coming from somewhere beyond the trees. He looked at the huge oak tree and couldn't decide what to do. I'm lost, he thought.
To his right, Woodrow saw a narrow path through the trees. He walked down the path for a while but found the trees obstructed his view. He saw no open space anywhere. Just the path ahead, and the tree limbs climbing upward, causing ripples of shade and lines of light that crisscrossed the trail through the thickly green forest. He walked for hours, or so it seemed. He could find no way out of the trees. Amazingly, fatigue had not set in. He felt great. He had strength in his legs. He could go on for a while without pain. If only he knew where he was going. He thought of his childhood in the deep East Texas piney woods and how he could walk for hours without ever leaving the shade.
After a while, Woodrow finally saw an open area in front of him. A grassy plateau rolled out before him to the far horizon. As far as he could see, a field of gold, green, yellow and auburn colors saturated his point of view. To the left side of the scene, he saw glimpses of a river. The bluish green river water was flowing in a steady stream from right to left. He took a moment to consider his position. The sun appeared to be setting on the horizon in front of him as he entered the plateau, westward. The river to his left must be to the south, so north would be in the opposite direction of the river. The oak tree, where his journey began, must be eastward. Woodrow stood there for a moment and sighed. It's confusing as hell. I'm all turned around. Which direction do I go? The river. Get to the river and follow it.
Woodrow walked for a very long time southward and the river continued to flow without noticing him. He should have reached it by now, but distances could be deceiving. He was determined, however, to reach the river before the sun set. He looked westward toward the horizon to his right and the cool blues of the coming darkness were beginning to appear high above. The sun itself glowed bright yellow as it began to sink behind the forested area beyond the golden and green plateau rolling west. If he continued walking southward, he should arrive at the river by sunset. His next move after that remained a question in the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about the future. Just live in the moment. He knew from experience that in times of crisis a person must live in the present, one step at a time. Get to the river. Then I'll decide what to do next.
Woodrow approached the riverbed and stopped just before entering a group of trees. The grassy plateau stretched behind him leading back to the path which brought him here from the huge oak tree. His memory went as a far as that oak and no further. His life began at that tree. Why am I here? If I could just remember. He heard the river flowing just ahead and found a trail leading to it. The sun lowered its face toward the western horizon, dark shadows taking over the landscape in front of him. Down the trail he walked, one careful step at a time. The ground beneath him began to slope sharply toward the water and he almost slipped as he entered an open area at the riverbank.
“Dad? Don’t cross the river.” A voice from behind whispered to him. “It’s too deep.”
“What? What was that?” Woodrow asked out loud, startled at the sound coming from the shadows. “Sam? Is that you.”
Woodrow turned his head toward the voice. His neck. Damn, it hurt. He reached up and rubbed his neck with his left hand.
“Dad, wake up,” the voice said quietly. “Your eggs are ready.”
Woodrow opened his eyes and saw Sam staring at him from the other side of the booth. His neck had a pain slicing through the back of his scalp like a sharp knife. His back hurt, too. He slowly sat up, his stiff body not cooperating.
“Hey, Sam,” Woodrow said. “Guess I dozed off.”
“I woke up in the van and you were gone,” Sam said. “I came to find you. Staying in that van by myself creeps me out.”
Fred was standing at the end of the table with a plate of food in his hands. He set the plate of eggs in front of Woodrow and walked back to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.
