Infectious.

The little compass on my dashboard has not moved from the position of “NW” for over an hour now. Now that I’ve made my way out of the city, the interstate is wide open. Its well into November, and the sun is darting through miles of thick, leafless trees. I glance down at my phone screen and immediately smile when I see that full bars has dropped off to “No Service” in just the last few miles. I look back up at the horizon. It’s only 2pm, but the sun is already casting long shadows. Shadows that will bring full dark by 5pm.

I headed out from my small Wisconsin town around twelve-thirty this afternoon. I hadn’t been planning on leaving work this early; in fact I hadn’t been planning on leaving work early at all. Either way, now that I was heading north, I was happy to get a head start before the evening traffic. Once you are north of Madison, the next town along the interstate that anyone gives a shit about is Minneapolis, and that’s over two hundred miles away. The only places that lie between these two dots on the map are tourist traps, dairy farms, one stoplight towns and miles and miles of dense wilderness. Wisconsin’s North Woods. In the summer, this road would be packed with tourists from the Chicagoland area. Each car heading north to canoe, camp, hike, and maybe, just maybe catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights on summer break. A fading slice of John Hughes’ Americana. A few of them would be back again in early October to see the leaves display their red and yellow swan song, but after that they’d be back south until next year.

The farther north I head, the more the temperature drops. I’ve been too preoccupied to notice until now that I can now see my breath in the car. Adjusting the thermostat, I also notice that have yet to turn the radio on. I switch it on, and between static I’m able to find nothing but talk, country, and stations playing fiery religious sermons. I turn it back off and opt for the constant hum of the road instead. Immediately my mind goes back to how just three hours ago, I’d been sitting in my cubicle at work. An involuntary smile comes over me and I exhale a laugh, despite the circumstances.

The green road sign ahead says “Chisaganom WI - 37 Miles.” I start to feel excited. This makes me involuntarily look into my back seat to see my large backpack buckled into the rear passenger seat. Inside I have a one man tent, three days worth of food, my all season sleeping bag, warm clothes, a small gas stove and a few other essentials. This is not out of the ordinary for me. I’ve been backpacking since I was a teenager, and have always kept a pack in my car in case the mood should randomly strike me to spend a night in the wilderness after work.

“After work, HA!” I say aloud to no one, laughing just once through my nose again. My hands tighten around the steering wheel, and I hear the leather squeak under my grip. You see, up until this afternoon at precisely 12:18pm on Friday November 17, I’d been the head of marketing for a small catering company in my home town.

“You honestly didn’t see this coming? You’ve gotten us nowhere, recently.” These were the first words that my boss Dan had said aloud after, and I quote, “my long coming termination” this afternoon. I said them aloud, hearing his voice echo my own. The leather on the steering wheel squeaked under my hands again.

Dan: “Come on Mike, were trying to be as cordial about this as we can. You did the best you could I guess, it’s just not ever worked out. We just need someones eye that’s….that’s... more on the pulse of what’s going on these days. Someone with more...zeal”

This was Dan’s way of telling me that despite my age of 35, I was out of touch. Old, dated, obsolete. I’d been here for seven years, every one of which Dan had been my superior. His father had started the company, and left it to him when he retired and moved to Des Moines.

Dan: “Trust me, man, I take no joy out of this. I just have to do whats right for the company right now.”

But Dan had smiled at me when he said it, light flashing across his eyes. He’s said these words so...coolly. Like he’d rehearsed this a few times. It was not hard to see that he was in fact taking joy out of this. He could see the panic in my eyes, the shame, but just didn’t care. He’d come into my office, closed the door behind him, and placed both hands firmly on my desk. He narrowed his eyes, and said to me almost too quietly:

Dan: “One last thing. I’ll write you a reference, ok, but just some real advice to you Mike; the next place you go, please try not to be such a fucking….a fucking weirdo, ok? So meek,so... red in the face all the goddamn time. Hell, in the seven years you’ve been here, I’ve never heard you so much as even mention a friend, let alone a girlfriend, you know? After seven years! This is a small company, Mike, were a family here. We wanted you to be a part of it but, you’re just so…..Well, It’s almost like you’d do better at a large company where you’d just...blend in. You’re definitely entitled to three months severance, but just try to think of it as a favor….a way to start over.”

He took his hands off of the desk that I had called mine for seven years and put them in his jean pockets. Blond hair fell over his forehead, and he sighed and smiled a smile of relief. He’d been practicing it all day no doubt, and it had gone better than he could’ve ever imagined. He stuck out a damp hand for me to shake, and I shook it almost without realizing what I was doing. Where words usually formed in my throat was something that felt like a clenched fist. I had nothing to say. He looked into my eyes, shrugging with something that was supposed to look like sincerity. By the time that I had even realized that my own hand was back at my side, Dan had turned and began to walk from the room. I heard my office door shut for the last time.

Back here on the interstate, barreling northwest, I see another sign that reads, “Chicane, WI - 22 Miles.” Chicane is about two and a half hours outside of home, and is home to a vast area of State Land that is available for hike-in camping as well as hundreds of square miles of hiking trails. Afternoon shadows are getting longer, and the interior of the surrounding forest is already starting to look an hour or so later than it actually is.

I glance over my shoulder again, not looking at the pack this time, but look to the other seat. Three grocery bags are thrown onto the seat, their contents slowly spilling out over the course of the trip. Picture frames, two different bobbleheads and other various knick knacks that I’d accumulated over my time working in that fucking office. “Seven years, stuffed into three trash bags. How appropriate!” I say aloud. This makes me giggle. The absurdity of it all! For whatever reason, the more I think of this, the more it strikes me as absolutely hilarious. The giggle has turned into a full laugh that brings tears to my eyes. The laughter is incredibly loud in the small car, but the more I hear myself laugh, the harder the cackles seem to come out of me.

When my laughter starts to slow back down to a giggle, I look up to see that my exit is coming up. I take it, and the highway disappears behind me into the woods. I am now on the two lane road headed straight for Chicane. The blinking red light in the distance means that I’m coming to the four way stop, the town’s sole intersection. I stop at the red light, look at the sign that reads, “Ojaak State Forest, 12 Miles” with an arrow pointing to the left.

The entrance to the State Forest welcomes you with a large wood carving of a soaring eagle posted just at the roadside. Behind that is a small ranger shack that, just as I’d expected, is deserted this time of year. There’s a piece of printer paper stuck to the window on the shack with a number to call in case of emergencies. This isn’t my first time backpacking in the off season, but just in case I put this number into my phone. I close my eyes and smile for a second. This is exactly what I was looking for! The pavement ends and my tires slosh through the muddy dirt road. The road has a slight incline, and although this place is very familiar to me, it definitely takes on a completely different look without all of summer’s vibrant flora and fauna. There are two parking lots that lead to the hike in campsites; the north lot and the south lot. I turn the car toward the south lot, as I’ve always found the hike in more enjoyable and challenging from there. Just as the guard shack was at the entrance, the parking lot is deserted. Not a car to be found. I pull into a spot close to the trailhead, and step out.

The first thing I notice is the wind. Not especially cold, but noticeably more fierce with no leaves on the trees to quell its ferocity. It comes through in aggressive, roaring gusts and leaves just as quickly as it came. Strapping my large pack on my back, one of those gusts comes through and makes me momentarily lose my balance. I regain my footing, look back at my sedan, and make my way to the trailhead.

The second thing I notice is how dark its gotten in a short amount of time. It’s always darker in the woods, sure, but the setting November sun seems to be challenging me to walk just a little faster. The forest’s interior provides me some shelter from the wind, but if I look up I can hear it howling over the the treetops. The trail is muddier than I would usually like, but this was a risk I knew I was taking this time of year. The snow hasn’t come yet, but I know for a certainty that this forest floor will be covered in mere weeks. The hike ahead is forty five minutes or so to the camping area, so I settle in, drink some water and make my way.

Being back in nature, I start to feel really alive, almost giddy. The giggle that led to full blown laughter starts to creep out of my mouth again, and I hear my own laughter echoed back at me from the trees. I think about how strange it is to be alone in the woods, laughing at nothing; but this only makes me laugh harder. Maybe its being so far away from everything that happened this morning that has made me start to feel….FREE. Free from Dan and all of those sycophants that stared at me silently as I’d walked out of the office for the last time just a few hours ago. Maybe it was knowing that I’d never have to see any of them again, never have to explain to them again how hard Dan was making things for me around there. Yes, I guess it’s safe to say that here, alone in these North Woods, with not even so much as an animal around to experience it...I had a moment of clarity. I stop in my tracks, tilt my head to the sky and close my eyes. Arms outstretched, I stand there and listen to that wind gust over miles and miles of treetops, and start to feel like it’s all here for me. Nothing matters except where I am, right this minute.

The south lot trail ends at the top of the largest hill in Ojaak State Forest, which is home to five rustic campsites, all of which are private and not visible from one another. The top of the hill has been partially cleared, revealing breathtaking views of the undulating tree tops around and below. They seem to be moving in unison, like waves on the sea. The clearing provides no more shelter from the force of the wind, and its markedly colder up here. Large clouds are moving quickly from the west, and I count at least ten hawks and Ospreys circling far overhead. I smile widely thinking that they can see me much better than I can see them. I’ve set my eyes on campsite number three. It recessed back, about twenty yards into the woods from the clearing. Its got a fire pit, a picnic table, and a locking box to keep all of your things safe from bears and whatever other nosy, uninvited guests you might encounter.

Setting up camp is a breeze, especially in this renewed state I found myself in. I haven’t had this much energy or purpose in what felt like years. I stake my tent into the ground, tying the leads down as tightly as I can to combat that wind. I slip into the woods from the campsite to gather wood for my cookfire. I hold the wet branches in my arms like a baby, and realize after awhile that I am whistling. Some sort of ad libbed, vaguely Native-American tune thats lifting my mood even higher than it had been before. I start stomping my feet to this tune, and by the time I’m back to the fire pit ten minutes later, I’ve gathered enough wood for both tonight and tomorrow morning’s fire.

The wet branches send large plumes of white smoke swirling up from the fire ring, and I can see through the trees that the sunset is in full spectacle. More orange than any other color, it is in full blaze as the hawks still circle overhead. I stop what I’m doing to watch it for a minute, and that huge smile is back on my face again. Before I even know it, those involuntary giggles are creeping back up my throat again, and this time I really don’t have a good reason why. I embrace them wholeheartedly, though because it just feels so goddamn good to laugh. The laughter crescendos, and chortles out fairly quickly this time, though. The sunset doesn’t last long, and the wind stinging my cold face is a good reminder that I need to get a decent fire going, and quick. It’s just past 5pm and this wet firewood is a challenge, and one that is only made more challenging by the gathering dark.

* * *

Half past seven, and the fire is roaring. I’m propped up on top of the picnic table with my elbows on my knees, watching the flames slowly consume the logs. My belly is full of ramen noodles, and my once cold cheeks were now glowing pink. For this I give thanks to the fire, as well as the half pint of Jack I’d picked up soon after I’d left this afternoon. I didn’t feel drunk yet, just...warm. That bitter wind has died off completely, and the only sound I was left with was the popping from the fire and the occasional noise far off into the woods.

Between the whiskey and the fire lulling me into a state of relaxed, open mindedness, I begin to think. Focused, intentional thinking. This was what I was here for after all, right? That renewed sense of clarity I’d experienced on the trail in was still coursing through me as strongly as ever, and I couldn’t help but marvel at what a joke they all were. Getting up every morning, driving to work just to grovel at Dan’s feet. Him all the while eating it up. Everybody in the office vying for his attention, hoping to be the most important person there. Fuck them. It was pathetic. It had nothing on the calm and tangible reality of the forest around me. THIS place actually made sense. I found that by coming up here I was able to truly see how miserable they all were, and how miserable I was, too. How had it taken me this long to see it?! A pure, white rage burned through me as I thought about them all, Dan right in the fucking center, grinning. In my mind he winked once, right at me. I start to feel that little, tiny giggle rise in the back of my throat again. Up and up it rises, until it meets my lips and becomes full laughter once again. I laughthrough that rage, running my hands across my eyes to wipe away tears of something that was right on the verge of rage and joy. Whatever it is thats cleansing me with this wild laughter, its running through my veins like a steam engine, and goddamnit it feels so good.

My laughter is disappearing into the silence of these woods. I’m conscious of it coming out of me. I can hear the wild, unmelodic howl that it’s become. The woods listen to this laughter with patient silence for quite some time, and then finally, the woods answer back.

Over the top of my laughter, I hear a woman’s laughter through the darkness. A kind, soft chuckle; like the sort of laugh you’d do while covering your mouth at an inside joke. My laughter stops immediately, and I look to the north, where it came from. All I can see is the glow of the fire as it illuminates a few rows of trees before darkness resumes. Its silent again, except me catching my breath from laughing so hard from so long. I listen for it again, and after what seemed like ten minutes it answered again. Soft and playful, the music of a woman’s laugh in the darkness. It finished with a childish giggle, and then silence again.

The south lot was empty. I think to myself. But you didn’t see the north lot. There could easily be someone else here. Plus, you couldn’t see the next campsite over if you tried. Not every backpacker starts a roaring fire, like you. Despite these quick thoughts, I call out “Hello?” into the darkness. Breaking the silence seems to thicken it once it returns, and I await a reply from whoever is out there. The only reply I get is the wind picking up again, and the branches overhead creak and crash into one another just as they had earlier.

After a few minutes of no reply, it becomes obvious to me that there has got to be someone camping at the other end of the campground. They probably parked in the north lot, and hiked in heading south. I would’ve never even been able to see them come in. Probably a couple that could hear some maniac laughing in the woods, and laughed back uneasily. Embarrassment overtakes me, and I can feel my cheeks becoming even redder than they had been before. Another pull of whiskey to quell my nerves, and I’m right back to staring at the fire. The wind is quieting down again, and the pine logs pop easily and loudly like little Black Cats coming out of the fire.

After the embarrassment begins to subside, I try to pick up where I’d left off. It’s hard for me to get back into that same headspace now that I know there are other campers up here, but I start to feel my renewed resolve from earlier just the same. I take another pull of whiskey and look around me into the glow of the woods. It’s so damn strange that I haven’t seen a deer, a mouse, a squirrel….not a single living thing on the ground here. Just those hawks and Ospreys circling, waiting to pick off prey from the ground. Aside from seeing them, the only contact I’ve had was my mystery laugher in the woods.

It’s almost ten now, and the wind is nonexistent. The fire is a flameless glow of orange embers, billowing thick smoke up once again. Despite my renewed vigor, the whiskey has had its say in the matter. And it has said that I am in fact, drunk. Flashlight in hand I crawl into the tent, the cramped space making it all the more apparent of just how drunk I am. As I zip up my sleeping bag, I hear the wind start to pick up again. The sounds are familiar, comforting. I imagine the entire sea of trees in this ancient, sacred forest swaying at the same time. Their unified creaking mimicking the sound of crashing waves in my ear.

* * *

Sleep for me when I’m in the woods tends to be dreamless. It’s usually an exhausted, satisfied sleep brought on by hours and hours of hiking and setting up camp. Tonight, however, I dream of an Osprey, high above the forest floor hunting at night. His feathers are white and gold, and his wings beat softly against the high wind. I’m not sure where I am in all of this but I can see his black eyes scanning the earth below him. Hes searching with a defined focus that doesn’t let him see the shadow above him that’s keeping his pace. Just as he spots a field mouse in a clearing below, he himself is snatched from the night sky, and that dream ends.

Now I’m back at the office. I’ve got my three bags of useless bullshit in my hands and I’m walking toward the door through the thick of them all. No one’s saying a word. They all see me, but only a few of them are openly watching me leave. As I walk, I start to feel that new found tickle of laughter rising in my throat. I try to suppress it but it’s ready to burst out of me. Before my small giggle can become a laugh again, though, I turn around to see Dan laughing from the doorway of his office. His white sleeves are rolled up and he’s laughing harder than I’d ever seen him laugh in seven years. His grin is twisted up from ear to ear, farther than any man’s grin should ever go, exposing teeth that have been sharpened to a razor’s edge. I turn back around to find that everyone else is laughing too! We’re all laughing together! Not just laughing but screeching at the top of our lungs. I drop my grocery bags and start slapping my knee, and everyone else just keeps howling at a fever pitch. Cutting through them all though, is a laugh I don’t recognize. It’s a wild, unhinged shriek of a woman’s laugh coming from the corner of the office. Its coming from behind a cubicle, but I can’t see who is the owner. Just as I notice this woman’s laughter everyone in the room immediately falls silent. I look around to find that everyone is staring at me in silence as the laugh from behind the cubicle gets louder and louder. walk slowly toward this cubicle. But just before I can reach it Dan spins me around and smiles into my ear with sharpened teeth, “Wake up, sleepy.”

I open my eyes to find that its still completely dark. I can’t see anything through the windowless tent, but I know one thing. That same laughter from behind the cubicle in my dream is still carrying on at an unchecked pitch, somewhere out in the woods. At first, I’m horrified, my body goes cold. But after a minute, I start to realize just how infectious that laugh is, and a great big smile creeps over my lips. I lay in my small one man tent, laughing all the air out of my lungs, slapping my knee over and over until my hand stings. Suddenly it occurs to me, I finally get the joke! I understand. It’s so simple. After another half an hour or so of this, I laugh myself right back to sleep, fully understanding what I have to do tomorrow. I sleep the sleep of a man who understands his place in the world, and his place in nature.

I wake up to early light, so thankful to the woods for helping me find my sense of humor again. And this morning, after a few hilarious stops, I’m going to walk right into my old office and show every single one of them how to find their sense of humor again, too! We're all going to laugh ourselves to fucking death.