Go to the end of the street

Go to the end of the street and walk into the woods. There will be an old man waiting there.

I re-read the letter. It was an actual letter, like the ones the mail carriers deliver. It was postmarked from Newark, NJ. I glanced up, there was no woods at the end of my street, there never had been. I flipped the piece of paper over, looking to see if there were additional instructions, there were none. Just out of curiosity I walked to the end of my street, it ended at Meadowlark Lane, I looked across Meadowlark lane, I could see the brick house across the street, but no woods. Woods were hard to find in the suburbs. I looked down at the letter and noticed a postscript, written in tiny letters at the bottom of the first page:

P.S. keep going, the woods are just around the corner.

I turned left onto Meadowlark Lane and kept walking.

I can’t explain why, maybe it was the lack of job prospects for an aspiring photojournalist, maybe it was the fact that it was a beautiful day and the walk felt good, but I turned that corner and walked the length of Meadowlark Lane. I turned right on Overlook drive, because it felt right, and walked past the high school. It was football season and I could see the players practicing. I smiled; I remembered high school, when I thought I was a good enough football player to play in college. I wasn’t. I kept walking, still no woods. At the end of Overlook I turned left, this time onto Stafford Rd, there used to be woods here, before the construction of the condo complex. They had called the condo complex Woodview Estates, but there were no woods, just rows of identical gray condos.

By this time, I was a few miles from home and I felt good. The sun was shining, so I just kept walking, the letter tucked into my backpack next to my camera. Stafford Rd wound its way down towards the river and two hours later I was still walking, still no woods, but enjoying the day. At some point I had turned onto Riverside drive, and I could see the dome of the museum across the river but still, I kept walking. I was downtown then, walking through Riverside Park. I took a left on Pine St, because even though the woods were long since gone from downtown, it seemed ironic to walk down Pine St. looking for the woods.

Pine St. was short and so I turned right on 5th ave, and walked to the end again, it was later afternoon by now, the sun had sunk a little lower, but it was still warm and my feet didn’t hurt yet. At the end of 5th ave I came to the train station. I had to pee, so I turned to go into the train station but before I went into the train station, I glanced across the street at the back of the huge grey post office building; and old man was perched atop the building smiling and waving at me.

I blinked and he was gone, perhaps just a figment of my imagination.

I used the horrible public restroom and was wondering what I would do next. I still hadn’t found the woods, I may have found the old man (I was not sure if the figment of my imagination counted), and I certainly didn’t feel like going home. I looked up at the train schedule, there was a train north leaving in fifteen minutes. I couldn't tell you why then, and I still couldn't tell you why today, but I bought a ticket, and got on the train. My phone was out of battery by now, but I wasn’t worried, it was a beautiful day. I had no family and my friends were used to me disappearing for days to go take photos somewhere.

The train rushed north, winding through the woods, and at the last stop, I got off. I had been here before, I just wasn’t quite sure when. Everything looked familiar, maybe it was from a photo book, maybe it was from a dream, maybe i'd come here on a field trip as a kid. I didn’t know, but it was dark now, so I got a room at a hotel near the train station. I was tired after my journey, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept taking the letter out of my bag and re-reading it. I hadn’t found an old man or the woods yet, but the post script kept speaking to me:

P.S. keep going, the woods are just around the corner.

In the morning I kept going.

Going north that first day was my first adventure. Many more followed. Like the time a grizzly shit in my tent, or when the Chechnyan rebels kidnapped me for ransom. I don't know why, but I never returned home, I just kept going.

I found a tattoo in Tibet, and a wife in Iceland.

I found my courage in Lesotho and my fear in Malta.

I found hate in France and my history in Arkhangelsk.

But I never found the woods, nor the old man.

I do not regret a single day.

I have not only seen the world, but been a part of it.

I have lived on the kindness of strangers in strange places.

But today, after the long adventure, I am finally going back home.

I am on that same train I left on fifty years ago and my wife is sleeping in the seat next to me. This time I'm traveling south. Outside the window it all seems familiar, the thinning houses replaced by the evergreens. There are fewer trees now than there used to be. It’s dusk outside as the train rushes past the woods, the green trees turn purple in the fading light. I take the letter out of my bag, and switch on the overhead light. The letter is yellowed and the writing is cracked and worn. I can still make out the first line about the woods and the old man, but the postscript has faded to a gray smudge, the letter no longer urges me to keep going.

I look up, out the window, and see my reflection on the glass, an old man staring out at the woods beyond.