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Clarisse? Last time someone pronounced my name that way . . . memories flooded back.

The trees loomed overhead, reaching their boughs toward the sky. As if they were and army of humans, and I the invading grasshopper. The woods at night, but for the crunch of our boots, carried a thick, living silence. It didn’t bother me, though. The forest had always been my friend. My companions, walking as close as they could to me since only I held the torch, seemed a bit more on edge.

“Hello, Clarisse.”

The sudden voice spoke from the darkness to our left. My companions cried out behind me, the fearful tones overcoming the scuffing their feet made as they jumped in fright. I had the advantage of never hearing the story of “The Silence of the Lambs,” and thus the voice (a careful mimic of a murderer) didn’t mean the same to me as it did to those behind me. Flashing my light into the trees, I answered, “Hi, Tosh.”

He emerged from the trees, a sheepish grin on his face.

The memory fades, and I’m left with a smile. One of my favorite hiking memories–back when I could still do such things. It warms my heart almost as much as the offering of a small, white item in shiny, clear paper. I pick it up and take a wiff. Mint! One of my favorite flavors. Did she know? The wrapping doesn’t last long, and soon the burst of coolness fills my mouth. I tuck it in my cheek. “Thank you.”

I fiddle with the fringe of a patch on the knee of my trousers. I should say something else. I wish I had something to offer in return. Fishing in the bag that rests on my toes, I sort through things like my dagger, my medicine, a small box of treasures–oh! I pull out a braided leather bracelet. It’s not fancy, but it has a clean blank of leather in the center. Enough to write something.

I pull out my smallest knife, still too big to make this job easy, and carve a word. The thing I’ve been pursuing, and that which I hope to give away. My passion and my theme. The letters are rough. I’ve never been much of a scribe, but it’s legible.

Meeting her curious gaze, I smile again. “Kate, isn’t it? Thanks for the invitation, and the mint. And especially those verses.” I gesture to the table, then work to tie the bracelet ends together. I frisbee-toss it to her, landing it on the table just above her name. “Here’s to community, huh?”

She tentatively reaches out and fingers the bracelet.

“Oh, Kate?”

Her eyes meet mine.

“It’s Clarissa.” I wink. Even with this many candles, that last letter would be hard to read.

She blushes a little, but her focus is soon back on the bracelet, holding it so the candlelight reveals the word written there.

“Freedom.”

 

@kate