The Forest
by Kayla Bills
TV by Anonymous
A forest appeared in front of my eyes. Redwood trees with winding branches shot up right from my carpet; green moss began to flower out and expand right underneath me. Creatures of unproportionate sizes carried on with their daily activities and I struggled to fathom their existence as they ignored mine. There were no words for the scene unfolding, shifting, and thriving around me other than ethereal and paradisical.
In the forest’s center was a familiar object. My television set sat in the middle of the forest, blending in with the flora and fauna. A wall of unsettling static played upon the screen, juxtaposing with the heavenly sights and sounds around me. The noise flowed through the air and into my ears, making my spine shiver in the process.
With muscle memory kicking in, I fiddled with the dials of the set. Turning to the left created heavier and more irksome static. Turning to the right gave way to a crisper picture. Upon the screen were varying colors. Blue, orange, red, purple, and yellow lines all danced across the glass in a mesmerizing display. Unable to peel my eyes away, I found myself forgetting to blink.
It was an amusing thought to entertain that in a few moments, the forest would dissipate and the screen’s picture would normalize. The creatures would scurry off and my clarity would return. Soon, the nausea would set in and the body aches would creep up. After that, I would make it all happen again. However, I was sure that the forest would not be my mind’s next destination.
Perhaps I would conjure up a beach or a tundra. Perhaps I would not conjure up anything at all. Maybe I would sink into silent oblivion for an hour or five until the bustle of the streets outside roused me from my catatonic state.
I did not want the escape to end. When it did, yesterday’s problems and tomorrow’s woes would intermingle with today’s anxieties. Bills would remain unopened on the coffee table and the job openings in the paper would remain circled. I would not call about them. It’s not that I did not want to work. It was more that I lacked the motivation to pick up the phone, dial the number, and dress for an interview.
None of that mattered anyway. The American Dream passed me by. Instead of a family, a job, and a house, I found myself with a sobriety issue and a draft card. An existential crisis did not fit what I was feeling.
No. I felt torn between two realities. The draft card offered the reality where I had the opportunity to sober up and get some semblance of structure in my life. However, the price of such a reality was my life itself. The other reality was safer. In my apartment, there was no war. It was the neutral state in a raging world.
In my apartment, there was a forest.
Shaking away my thoughts, I felt the moss turn back to carpet. The trees faded from view. The cluster of colors that danced along the television screen became less vivid; they turned out to be the clothing of protestors that were being broadcasted on the news.
“Hell no! We won’t go!” The protestors chanted over and over as they stood in a unified front with their picket signs. Symbols for peace were painted on them haphazardly.
In front of the television laid my draft notice, thrown there in a fit of fury and disbelief. I had only read the first paragraph before I was too overwhelmed by the implications of my situation. Without even reading the rest, I escaped into the forest in my apartment.
I looked at the clock; it read 12:57 A.M. Even though I felt like I was in the forest for mere minutes, it had been three hours. Three hours of sitting on my living room floor and playing with the dials on the television set and touching grass and leaves that did not exist. The forest comforted me and gave me refuge from the present circumstances. Only the refuge was fleeting. The feeling of safety that I had seconds ago was replaced by panic, fear, and loneliness.
Who would miss me when I went to war?
Who would talk about me fondly if I did not come back?
Who would embrace me if I did?
Again, the thoughts were too much to bear. I craved the familiar respite of insensibility and wonder. Was it too much to ask for some stagnation during this time of violence and confusion?
Taking a deep breath, I leaned back against my couch and prepared to escape again. I knew the time for structure and discipline was coming, but it was not here yet.
Instead, I quietly pleaded with the universe for a few more moments of peace.
I begged to go back to a place like the forest.
Kayla Bills is a junior double major in business administration and media studies who lives in Whitehall, Pennsylvania. Writing has been one of her passions since she was a child. She hopes to incorporate writing throughout her future career in business and law.