Mr Wrong

“Hey,” he shouted at her back. “You’re going the wrong way.”

In Eliza’s head, it was a shout, an interruption of the thought spiral that had so thoroughly distracted her. In reality, it was likely a very normal tone of voice, perhaps even quiet.

She stopped, her hand raised to push open the door in front of her. The door that was clearly labeled with the word MEN and what was clearly intended to be a stick-man.

Eliza turned back toward the elevator to say thanks to the man she had glimpsed as she passed a moment ago. She expected to see the pea green flannel coat on a tall frame topped with black curls that had barely registered in her peripheral vision.

The hall was empty. The elevator closed, the shaft behind it silent and still.

Where did he go? Eliza took a few steps toward the elevator, but her desire to know where her bathroom savior had gone was quickly overwhelmed by her bladder’s desire to be empty. She shrugged then moved to the correct door, the man falling out of her head as quickly as he had disappeared.

Weeks passed. Eliza passed through the proper doors. She did not meet the man in the pea green coat. But she did meet another man, a man she thought might be one to stick around.

This new man did not wear a pea green coat. He wore a series of hoodies emblazoned with logos of sports teams. He did not have black curls, but short brown hair that he pushed up in the front. His name was George, which Eliza secretly regretted, but remained silent about, because he otherwise seemed like a good idea.

They dated in the way some young people do, casual adventures to bars and concerts, often planned in the moment they walked out the door. They were in the midst of one of these outings, in the midst of a kiss outside a bar, George’s back leaning against a brick wall, Eliza leaning close.

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”

Eliza pressed her hands against George’s chest, pushing herself away from his body and his kiss. She spun, looking for the green coat that suddenly popped into her mind. No green coat stood on the sidewalk. No coat at all, or any person without a coat waited on the sidewalk or even in the street. They were alone outside the crowded bar.

While the man in the coat wasn’t there, the thought he pushed into Eliza’s head was. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It echoed through her head, so loud that she pushed her palms against her temples in an attempt to stop the vibrations.

“What’s wrong?” George asked.

The word wrong repeated at her back. Eliza spun again, returning to George in his hoodie. As soon as saw him, she knew the word was right.

“Everything,” Eliza said. “This.” She waved her hand back and forth between them, encompassing them and whatever this relationship was or what it was trying to become.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I think we’re done.”

“Do I get a say in that?” George pushed away from the wall, taking a step toward Eliza.

Eliza shook her head and headed into the bar. George followed, trying to snag her attention. She ignored his voice, the touch of his hand at her elbow. With zero shame she hid in the bathroom, pulled out her phone, and requested a ride home.

When she came out ten minutes later, George was blissfully gone.

That night, Eliza dreamt of the man in the pea green coat. Her brain was nice enough to give him a name, allowing her to think of him as more than a coat and hair. Peter (the man in question) didn’t speak to her in the dream. He was constantly on the periphery, appearing in ever shifting scenes, quietly nudging her in the right direction. He was her dream compass.

As soon as she woke, Peter fell from her mind. Weeks passed. Eliza moved on, making choices, directing herself, not dating a man who seemed like he might stick around. Not dating anyone.

Some of her choices were good. Many were insignificant. One was shockingly bad.

It was the height of fall, so Eliza headed out in her car to take in the brilliant colors and cool air. Not quite satisfied with her view from the car, she pulled off at a trail head, locked her car, and headed down the path on foot.

That was not the shockingly bad choice.

The error Eliza made came about a mile down the path. In the distance, Eliza saw a giant tree, the branches twisted high into the sky, a brilliant red cloud of leaves perched at the tips. The tree wasn’t the tallest tree in the wood, but the unique bend of the branches made Eliza want a closer look.

She stepped off the path.

Off the hard-packed path, the ground was soft, lifting her a bit with each step. Eliza enjoyed the spring, imagining for a moment that she was walking on the moon. The crackle of crisp leaves under foot ruined this for her, and pulled her back into the wood.

Eliza reached the tree and pressed her palm against the rough, peeling bark. Up close, the tree was less impressive than it had been from the path. A bit underwhelmed by her experience, and ready to be back in her warm car, Eliza turned back toward the path.

She had expected she would be able to see the path from the tree. She couldn’t. Confident that she knew exactly where the path was, Eliza quickly walked in its direction.

When she had walked more than far enough, there was still no path in sight. Eliza turned again, looking back toward the distinct tree. It was definitely smaller than it had been when she first saw it, so she had really walked further than she needed to. She must have gone the wrong way. Maybe she had taken a step or two around the trunk of the tree and headed back in the wrong direction?

Eliza walked back to the tree and looked up into the branches, resting her hand against the bark again. This seemed like exactly the spot she had approached the first time, but she must be mistaken.

She shifted two steps to the right, then turned her back to the trunk. This felt wrong, but her first attempt to return to the path had been wrong, so maybe this was actually right. Eliza walked. And walked. And took ten more steps.

No path. The tree too far away for this to have been the right direction.

Eliza returned to the tree, took two more steps to the right and repeated the process.

And again. And again.

There was no path. Anywhere. It was gone.

Eliza lost the calm she had held so tightly to, a wave of panic crawling up from her stomach into her throat, cutting of the movement of air into her lungs. She dropped to the ground, her back against the trunk of the tree that had tricked her into the wood, her head dropped between her knees as she focused on moving her belly in and out, in and out.

She finally got air into her lungs and immediately used it to begin sobbing.

Eliza was lost, alone in the woods. The sun was beginning to drop in the sky, bringing the cold of night across the forest floor like an anti-blanket.

Peter.

The name flickered into her mind, followed by the image of a pea green coat, a glimpse of a man gently guiding her in the right direction. Or at least pointing out when she was headed the wrong way.

Where was he now, when she really, truly needed him?

Eliza stood, took a deep breath, and yelled his name. The two syllables bounced off the trees, ricocheting through the wood.

There was no response. But had she really expected one? He had never said more to her than the same simple phrase. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Maybe if she were on the move it would force him into action, force him to tell her she was on the wrong path. Well, wrong path to the right path.

She found the side of the tree she was mostly sure she had seen first and started off again, her steps confident as they had been when she walked down the hall and almost into the men’s room. No voice sounded behind her, calling out a warning. So she kept walking. Even when she could no longer turn and see the tree behind her, even when the sun was so far down she could barely make out the next step in the weak light of the half moon, she kept walking. With nothing to guide her, she placed all her faith that Peter’s voice would redirect her if she made a misstep.

As she walked, she mumbled curses under her breath, all directed at the damn tree that had tempted her. It might as well have been a shiny apple. Interspersed with the curses were pleas, begging and promises to Peter, or anyone else who could save her from the situation she had gotten herself into.

No one answered, Peter or otherwise.

So she walked on. All the way through the night and into the sunrise. The first rays of light glittered on the skim of frost over the leaves beneath her feet, caught in the clouds of breath leaving her mouth.

Seeing her breath made Eliza finally feel the cold that had stalked her all night. It stabbed, sharp and slick, right into the center of her bones. Shivering took over, silencing the last of the mumbled curses and pleas that trickled from her lips.

She was going to die out here in the wood.

Eliza stopped walking, found a fallen log in a ray of brightening morning light, and dropped onto it. The tears came again. She wiped them away, thinking for a moment that was water she probably couldn’t afford to lose. Then she remembered there was nothing to save her, she was going to die here, so what were a few wasted drops of water? The tears picked up, rolling one after another down her cheeks.

She didn’t have the energy to properly cry, or to wipe any more tears away. She sat silently, letting the drops plop onto her legs.

Through the silence, Eliza heard something that made the tears stop. A pair of sounds, really. The gentle growl of an engine and the shush of tires against concrete.

A car. Driving on a paved road.

Eliza stood and turned slowly in a full circle, shifting her head from side to side to find the right direction.

The car was driving where she had been headed through this whole long night. Eliza began to walk, then pushed her feet into a stumbling run. Within a hundred strides her feet found the pavement. She dropped to her knees, tears again sliding down her cheeks, this time accompanied by laughter.

She should have kept her faith in Peter. He had been silent because she was not going the wrong way.