Out of the Woods

by Hannah Bonam-Young

My mother was religious in the same way that leggings are pants. By that I mean whenever times were desperate or for comfort.

“I think this could be good for you. Seven days, no distractions, a little bit of couples counseling in the great outdoors. Might give you some time to think. To talk. To dream about what you want out of life. What’s the worst that could happen?” “I squat to take a shit in the woods and my vagina grazes poison ivy.” She blinks at me, stunned. “Wow, your mind didn’t even hesitate to come up with that scenario.” “We both know how sensitive she is,” I say, looking down at my lap. “I’ll be nursing her back to health for the rest of my days. Now that wouldn’t be good for my marriage.” “We’ll get you a collapsible bucket to shit into,” Win says, reaching for her drink. She uses her tongue to fetch her straw, takes a long, drawn-out sip and then sets it back down. “Ooh, and one of those lady urinal things.” “So according to you,” I hold up both hands to perform air-quotes, “to save my marriage,” I drop my hands into my lap, “I have to shit in the woods? Or piss into a funnel?” “People have done a lot more work for a lot less reward.”

“And, what if there’s an emergency? How would we call for help?” I ask. “I’m sure that Helen and Yvonne have a plan for that.” “What if someone mentions a movie or television show but no one can remember the name of the lead actor? Or song lyrics but not the title? What will we do? Sit in the frustration of not knowing for seven days?” “I suppose we’ll just have to find the nearest cliff and put ourselves out of our misery.”

“I’m the only girl you’ve ever dated,” I say, giving him one last reason. “And I’m not easy.” Okay, two. “I don’t want easy. I don’t want anyone else. I want you, Sar. I want to be the only man lucky enough to be loved by you.”