I never have a sense of where I am in the world; maps are like foreign languages to me, and I couldn't describe how to get to City Center from my apartment on East Campus if my life depended on it. So finding the Lions Gate Bridge for this class was probably more of a "flow" experience for me than actually participating in the lessons once I arrived.
I set out from another class around 5:45 and headed up the street and into the Mariner's Museum park. I had a general idea of where to go, having been to the spot once or twice before, but I had no concept of how long it would take. I followed the road; I thought at first that the turtle bridge near campus was supposed to be our meeting place, but I could see it through the trees, and realized it was empty. Most other students would never have made a mistake like that, but I had some association between the two bridges in my head, and I lack a lot of common sense.
I passed the turtle bridge and called out to a runner who had stopped for a breath, asking if he could point me in the right direction. He did: "just follow this road and you'll get there eventually." I started walking.
The area is wooded, but with cars passing every few minutes I still felt very distracted by the man-made aspects of the landscape. The road, especially, was uneven, with no sidewalk and edges that dipped sharply into the ground, so that I had to pay close attention to stay safe from passing cars, or even from tripping.
After a while I noticed a girl walking ahead of me, seemingly in the same direction. I thought I recognized her from class, but from the back I couldn't be sure. She was on the phone for a while, but once she hung up I tried to make obvious noises to let her know I was behind her, to see if she might turn and decide to walk with me. She didn't.
We walked for what seemed like hours, never speaking, and slowly the distance between us grew. Once in a while she would disappear into the trees ahead of me, and I would feel worried, afraid suddenly that I might be lost, that my impromptu guide had disappeared completely. She would always reappear, though, and I would feel relieved.
The road became more unkempt, and the cars became fewer. We passed some little houses behind a wire fence; I saw more squirrels, heard more bird songs. Everything seemed calm. The girl I was following was far in front of me by now; if I had called out she may not even have heard me. I imagined myself as Alice, following the white rabbit, farther and farther into an unknown place. I felt overwhelmingly that if I lost concentration, if I lost her, I would be hopeless.
Finally, finally, I saw water in the distance. I felt renewed; it seemed that we were almost there. Thankfully, too, since my shoes had started to blister my feet, and every step became a defiant act against the pain. The road twisted more sharply here, and I lost sight of my guide, but for once I had faith that she would be around the corner when I got there.
She was, and so was the class, standing on a hill. I think I actually laughed out loud when I saw the semi-familiar faces. It seemed like I had been in the woods for years. I looked at the clock on my cell phone. It was about 6:30.
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