The Night the Wolf Rode With Me

It was the kind of rain that doesn’t care about your plans — steady, soaking, and endless. The kind that makes silence louder and headlights look like ghosts. I hadn’t meant to be out driving that late, but everything about my apartment felt heavier than usual. The walls, the bed, even the air — it all pressed down on me. So I grabbed my keys and drove.

The highway stretched ahead, nearly empty. The windshield wipers tapped out a slow rhythm, in sync with the thoughts I couldn’t quite shake. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. I just needed to be anywhere but inside my own head.

And then I saw him.

At first, I thought it was a stray dog — a large one, limping along the shoulder, soaked and completely alone. Instinct made me slow down. Curiosity did the rest. I rolled down the window halfway as I approached.

He turned to look at me.

Not a dog. A wolf.

His eyes were dull gold, quiet but filled with something I couldn’t name. He didn’t growl or run. Just stood there, dripping wet, staring at me through the downpour.

I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was madness, or loneliness, or something deeper I hadn’t yet faced. But I reached over and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” I said, surprising even myself.

He didn’t move right away. I thought he might run. But after a moment, he stepped forward. Slow, steady, as if he understood me better than I understood myself. He climbed into the car, circled once on the seat, then curled up, his fur soaking into the upholstery.

I closed the door. Shifted the car into drive. And kept going.

For a long while, neither of us spoke — not that I expected him to. The car smelled like wet fur and cold air. I turned on the heat and let the road unfold in front of us. The radio played something soft and forgettable. Every now and then, I glanced at him. He was just... there. Breathing, present.

It should have felt dangerous. A wild animal beside me, so close I could touch him. But instead, I felt calm. As if something inside me had been cracked open and the fear had drained out.

I stopped at a gas station a few miles down the road to fill up and grab some coffee. I left the engine running, looked back before stepping out. He watched me, eyes half-closed but alert. I half-expected him to vanish by the time I returned.

But he didn’t.

We drove through the night. No destination. Just movement.

By morning, I found myself pulled over near a field I used to walk through, long before things in my life had fallen apart. The rain had eased, leaving behind a damp quiet that clung to everything. I opened the door and stepped out into the wet grass.

The wolf followed.

We walked toward the woods at the edge of the field. Side by side. No leash, no command. Just quiet understanding.

At the tree line, I stopped. He kept walking. Slowly, he disappeared between the trees.

I stood there, heart thudding, unsure what to do. I told myself that was it. He was wild. I was just a stop along the way.

But then he reappeared. A few feet into the forest, still and watching. He didn’t come back. He didn’t make a sound. Just looked at me.

And in that moment, I understood.

I wasn’t meant to follow. But I wasn’t meant to forget either.

—

For weeks after that night, I found myself glancing at the roadside whenever I drove. I checked the woods, the ditches, even empty fields. I left food by the trailhead. Sometimes it was taken. Sometimes not.

I told no one. What would I say?

The weight in my apartment began to lift. The silence felt softer. I started writing again — not stories exactly, but letters to something I couldn’t name. Sometimes, I’d drive past that field, roll the window down just a little, and let the wind carry something of me into the trees.

They say we see what we need to see. That grief and loneliness can make us imagine strange things.

Maybe that’s true.

Or maybe I really did meet something wild and wordless on a night when I was completely lost — and maybe, just maybe, it rode with me long enough to help me find my way back.

Either way, I still leave the passenger door unlocked when it rains.