3/6

How to start journal? I’m not clever, so had to look up “How to start journal” online. Need: notebook + pen + commitment to self-improvement. But journal not even my idea. Suggestion from Dr. Spector. Dr. Spector = marriage counselor. He said journal helps: 1) work through feelings in safe space; 2) provide helpful relationship insights.

But no helpful insights to date. Only unhelpful ones. Such as: Abi no longer trying to hide adulterous intentions. Bad evening. This evening tuned in to Seafarers (historical drama about Vikings). Started watching way back in Season 1, every Thursday 8pm Eastern. Episode followed Cnut (forget last name), about to embark on grand voyage via longboat, not knowing if / when he would return home or see family again. Was thinking of saying: Hey, Abi. Exciting, huh? To do something like that? To just pack up in longboat and maybe never see home again? 

This conversation starter would (in ideal scenario) lead to banter about being adventurous. Maybe even reignite flailing romantic spark? Was also (finally!) planning to ask Abi if interested in all-inclusive World Connoisseur Cruises. Consists of six continents, 40 ports of call, 111 of world’s greatest towns and cities. Could go all in for Second Honeymoon Suite, i.e. special stateroom designed for maximum sea-breeze exposure.

But Abi majorly tuned out (as usual), tapping away on phone. Assumed Abi playing Gummy Guns where player shoots gummies at other gummies + they explode + player obtains points to buy more intricate gummy shapes. Abi very into that lately.

Except when I peeked over shoulder, Abi not playing Gummy Guns. Abi scrolling through photos of attractive men. Men! Men other than myself! 

Would be one thing if Abi doing this in private, out of sight. Another when doing it so blatantly. Is this (as Dr. Spector proposed) cry for attention? 

Me: Abi? What are you doing, sweetheart?

Abi (glancing up at me, making slightly surprised + miffed face as if my presence on couch totally forgotten): Just looking, hon.

Ouch. What to say? Am I supposed to just let go as if innocuous, as if devotion to partner not cornerstone of marriage? Also, what would kids think?

Have to admit: Maddox (28 yrs old + active member of queer community) would be supportive. M still playing field, doesn’t understand commitment. But youngest, Aiden, (living at home for money reasons) wouldn’t be pleased. Never liked strangers, wouldn’t like strange men (mother’s lovers!) hanging around dinner table. 

Gloomy realization: Abi no longer in love with me.

But didn’t want to start another argument re: fidelity (arguments unproductive) so said nothing. Just failed to enjoy rest of Seafarers. Watched Cnut chart open seas with nothing but stars as guide + sometimes craned my neck to look at guys popping up on Abi’s phone.

3/7

Potential progress? Avoided rambling like usual during afternoon guided discussion with Dr. Specter. Clearly expressed anxieties from last entry about feeling spurned re: Abi’s desire to seek companionship outside of marriage (journal already paying dividends!). 

Abi listened, eyes locked on mine, with occasional solemn nod. When her turn to speak, Abi offered olive branch. Said how she could understand why I might feel way I do. Then explained how I shouldn’t see promiscuity as rejection or failure on my part as husband. Looked at me with glossy blue eyes, which remind me of dolphin (most beautiful sea mammal), then said: I love you (!). Hearing this dissolved a bit the hardness growing in my heart. 

Replied: I love you too, very much. Subsequently hugged it out. This, to my mind, seemed like breakthrough. Departed Dr. Spector’s in high spirits. 

But then, on drive home, a setback. Abi made suggestion. Very bad suggestion. 

Abi: Would you be into making things less one-sided?

Me: What do you mean? 

Abi: As in, you could also look for potential love interests on your phone. We could make it a sort of group activity. Could be fun, don’t you think? 

Me (stunned): How would that be fun? 

Abi (glancing away + staring out window of car): It was a suggestion. 

Me: Okay, let’s think of some other suggestions together.

But silence rest of car ride.

Once home, went into living room. Needed space. Turned on Travel Channel. Watched stylish bald guy in sunglasses try exotic-looking fruit, like red egg with spikes. Bald guy peeled back shell, popped flesh into mouth. According to show, name of fruit = rambutan. Described taste as sweet + sour + subtly floral. Was interesting. Thought might be conversation reset? 

Me: Hey Abs (pet name), have you ever heard of a rambutan?

Abi (in kitchen): Yes, I’ve seen it at the Asian supermarket.

Me: I’d like to try one.

Abi: So there are things you would try.

Implication: I’m dull + don’t excite her like used to. 

Retort: this not bad, this natural. Things become routine after decades of mostly-happy marriage + child-rearing + same house + knowing bowel movement schedules. 

But (Dr. Spector pointed out) I could stand to be more adventurous. Fault of mine: tend to stay inside comfort zone. Sip tea, take strolls, etc. Could be source of Abi’s novelty-seeking + discontent? Decided now or never. Time to show openness to adventure.

Me: Actually, now that you mention it. There are plenty of things I want to try. In fact, I was thinking about maybe even signing up for one of those World Connoisseur Cruises.

Abi (pausing): Aren’t those for old people?

Me: They’re for the young at heart. Felt flustered + distressed. Expected excitement, glee, hugs, kisses, perhaps light applause (kidding). But no: more rejection.

Abi: You’re more than welcome to go on the cruise solo if you like.

Made me feel worse + older than already am. Said I’d think about it. 

Later, Aiden came up from basement (converted into sort of guesthouse last year, with own bathroom + kitchen). Aiden sat next to me on couch, changed TV channel to one with stocks that scrolled down at bottom of screen. Started lamenting how investment in CrowdCache not doing so hot due to erratic consumer confidence. Felt him building up to something. 

Aiden: Do you think you could loan me a few bucks to get out of the hole? 

Me (weirdly eager): Is the family interest rate okay? (Meaning zero interest).

Grabbed wallet and handed Aiden few hundred dollar bills.

Aiden: Thanks Pop, you’re the best.

When Aiden returned to basement, Abi came into living room, stood in front of TV. Abi: You shouldn’t let him walk all over you. He won’t learn that way. 

Had nothing to say. Knew she was right. Usually is re: Aiden. But what kind of father = me if I refuse to help son when have significant resources? Have responsibility to be generous, even when generosity not necessarily reciprocated. Gives me satisfaction to provide for people. Enjoy keeping people warm, safe, cared for. Enjoy making people happy. 

But with Abi, just can’t seem to make happy. Can’t fulfill needs.

3/8

 Tired today, don’t feel like journaling. Went to work. Work easy. Managing supply chains = no-brainer. Well-paid, but boring. Spend most of day playing Solitaire. 

After got home, Abi texted me. Message said: Seeing show with friend. 

Didn’t believe, but what choice available? Can’t accuse. Can’t question. Don’t want to torpedo marriage. Abi came back late. Took long shower (another bad sign?). Got out of shower, steam rising off skin. Looked supple + beautiful. 

Asked if we could cuddle.

Abi: Okay, might be nice.

Cuddled. Was nice. Felt smoothness of Abi. Wished her to love me, but wishes are for fishes. Is saying? Or did I coin? Don’t know, will look up later on web. Hoped cuddling would lead somewhere. But, before potential fooling around, realized Abi asleep. Writing by flashlight. Listening to Abi lightly snore over white noise of fan.

3/10

Dr. Spector’s newest suggestion: PurposeFul Program. Don’t know how to feel. Never heard about. Sounds like scam. Sounds crazy. Premise is: Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. At bottom are basic needs: food, water, warmth, sleep. Easy for people of means. One level up = security and safety. Harder, but doable in this day + age. Next level = friends, lovers, sense of community, prestige (all difficult + highly sought after). Finally, at tippy top, self-actualization.

Abi + me = high up there on Maslow’s Hierarchy. Great, right? No. Very bad. Creates paradox (!). Expectations reset at each level. Like getting promotion with more money, then buying bigger house, then pining for next promotion so can fill newer, larger house with nicer things. Explains why miserable (!!). Can’t reach self-actualization level, so are perennially unfulfilled. Also explains marriage failure + slow splintering (!!!). 

Abi + me miserable like being thirsty and not finding water. 

There’s more: according to PurposeFul Founder, Lance Zimmermann, true self-actualization not possible unless you are movie star or president or dearly beloved by all and have amazing, incredible, important life. As for rest of us (says Zimmermann), we’ll never reach last level, thus are set up for dissatisfaction + feeling of almost being sated but never so. 

PurposeFul big idea is this: instead of going up, lower self down to bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy. Then: if starving and find food = happy. If hail pelting you from sky and you run under nice gazebo = content. The rest of needs stripped away. PurposeFul = fulfillment hack. A have-cake, eat-cake situation. 

But (large asterisk here), to achieve must undergo week-long Behavior Adjustment Plan devised by PurposeFul. Sounds terrible. Includes: starvation, humiliation, extreme physical endurance. In words of Lance Zimmerman: Who gives you purpose? Your spouse, your parents, your children, your bosses, your God? Who’s above your God? Survival. Survival is above all else. Happiness is survival. 

Intense. Very intense.

But worth considering? Capable of doing? 

Learned halfway through session that Dr. Specter has existing relationship with Lance Zimmerman. Met once at conference. Dr. Spector told us Zimmerman inspiring guy / real deal. Told us Zimmerman knew Dalai Lama. Wondering if kickback situation, in terms of sign up? Abi didn’t seem to care + kept stealing glances at PurposeFul brochure, which had large picture of Lance Zimmerman. Have to admit Zimmerman = silver fox, strong chin, intelligent eyes. Feel own chin a little on small side. Should perhaps do jaw exercises to boost manliness? 

On way home from counseling, Abi + me chatted about PurposeFul. Abi all-in from get go, as soon as car door shut.

Abi: This is just the swift kick in the butt we need!

Me: I prefer my butt intact.

Abi (ignoring quip): It’ll show us who we really are. Chew us down to the bone. Don’t you want to see who you are at your bones?

Me: Not sure. They might be calcium deficient.

Abi laughed this time. Wild, carefree laugh I hadn’t heard in years. Not since Lollapalooza (before kids born). We ate weed in shape of jelly scorpions. 

Abi: You know, I could use a bone.

Me (after pause): Like a fibula?

Abi displeased. Reeled head back in frustration. 

Abi: When exactly did you become so clueless?

Left it at that, but threat = loud + clear re: compatibility.

3/12

Sorry for no update yesterday, but big news: Doing it. Doing PurposeFul (!)

Happened like this: me = wishy-washy / really Charlie-Browning whole situation. 

Told Abi I made decision, but then just mumbled something about how PurposeFul might or might not be cure, could maybe change trajectory, not necessarily in good or bad, but in complex way, kind of unknowable…

Abi stopped me. Held finger to lips + sat me down. Played PurposeFul’s promotional video. Video started with aerial shot of neighborhood of McMansions, then zoomed in on particular McMansion with gaudy turrets (much gaudier than modest turret on our house). In living room of gaudy turreted McMansion, saw paunchy guy lounging on leather couch with platter of smoked salmon canapés. Paunchy guy flips through channels on high-res flatscreen while grumbling + looking bored. Then everything, house, canapés, flatscreen, vanishes. Poof. All gone. Paunchy guy now outside, exposed to elements. Then starts thunder-storming. Spidery veins of lightning flash across sky, revealing paunchy guy’s lonely silhouette. Then paunchy guy’s phone lights up with message that says: Find YOUR purpose.

Resonated with me. Could clearly see paunchy man in myself. Could see him slowly overtaking (consuming!) man I used to be (aka funny, curious, motivated person Abi married). Abi obviously saw same thing, same change. 

Took Abi’s hand in my hand, said: I’m in. Let’s do this thing.

Abi let out happy gasp + squeal (like helium squeaking out of smiley-faced balloon). Then rushed in for hug, squeezing hard as if with renewed belief in me.

Heart pounded while putting down non-refundable deposit (surprisingly pricey even for us). Already got email confirmation. Booked two weeks from today. 

Since then, Abi seems happy (!). Much more fun at home. Had dinner as family this evening, minus Maddox (living in Portland at commune, hopefully phase). Cooked together. Made shakshouka = dish of poached eggs in tomato sauce as seen on Travel Channel (Tunisian). Even Aiden helped by chopping red onions + only complained once about smell. 

3/18

Things on upswing (!!!). So good, haven’t needed to journal. But still checking in (Hi!) to keep up habit. Big progress. Abi either stopped with man-scrolling, or at very least, keeping private in consideration of feelings (mine). Either way = huge improvement.

Even skipped Dr. Spector’s this week. Went out to new restaurant instead! 

At new restaurant (also microbrewery), ordered mahi-mahi tacos instead of usual chicken parm. Didn’t like (overcooked), but still = growth. Pushed conversation with Abi in positive direction, mostly revolving around PurposeFul (x < week away!). 

During meal, Abi leaned forward: Do you think PurposeFul will be like how hunter-gatherers lived? I’ve always wondered if they were happier than us.

Before then, never realized Abi was so into hunter-gatherers. 

Me: Didn’t they have shorter lifespans?

Abi: No, that’s a misconception. You’re thinking of the average lifespan. That averages in hunter-gatherer child mortality, like dying during birth or young from preventable diseases and parasites. Their elders lived just as long as ours, maybe longer.

Me: Sure, but they probably didn’t smell too good. And their teeth? Can you imagine no toothpaste? The cavities alone would ruin my life.

Abi (giving me odd look): I hope you can leave that pessimism at the door.

Me (sly smile): But it’s my State of Nature. 

Met Abi in philosophy class in college. This = inside joke. Made Abi smile. 

Hope is for many more smiles. Optimistic re: smiles shared between us.

3/22

Day before PurposeFul (!). Would be more excited, but then email showed up. Have unfortunate queasy feeling. Email came at 3:52am (am!). Phone-buzz woke me up. Rummaged for glasses in dark.

Email from franks@PurposeFul.com. Subject Line: PREPARE YOURSELF.

Never received email from address before, only ghost-written ones from Lance Zimmermann, congratulating Abi + me on living with purpose.

No message in body of email. Stared at it hoping explanatory text would appear. But no. Just blank white space + glare of blue light. 

Couldn’t fall back to sleep after that. Laid there. 

In bed, in dark, heard noise rumbling out of bedroom radiator. At first was faint hiss. But then could make out voice (?). Voice became louder + more solid. Voice malicious. Kept repeating subject line of email: PREPARE YOURSELF, PREPARE YOURSELF, PREPARE YOURSELF. Strange. Assume just my spineless imagination conjuring up scares. But funny thing is: reminds me of being kid. Used to hear sounds coming out of ventilation ducts at parent’s house. Thought at that time (as kids do) sound was God or angel or universe talking to me, sending me special message. Concentrated on sound, tried to decipher message via sheer will. But just as words started to make sense, sound turned back into undecipherable hiss. 

Eventually bedroom radiator did same thing. Stopped hearing menacing words. Just began to hiss at me again (like vexed cat). Fell asleep. Woke up. Decided not to tell Abi about email or sound because would either worry her or make me feel dumb about worrying. 

Later, downstairs, made breakfast before heading to work. Put some bread in toaster. Abi in amazing mood. Must have got amazing night’s sleep. Hugged me from behind.

Abi: How are you feeling?

Me (lying + wondering if eyes looked bloodshot): Good, feeling really good. 

Abi: Me too. I’m ready for what’s coming. 

Nodded. Watched coils in toaster redden and glow, doughy bread becoming toast.

3/23 

Big day. Nervous. Cold outside. Wind bracing. Reminds me of Maddox. Together we did Polar Bear plunge for M’s favorite LGBTQ charity. Hope this like that with heaters + cheering + how M said: That meant a lot, Dad, after we got home. 

Just finished loading outdoor gear in hatchback (good trunk space). Picked up gear from big camping store that sold glamorous tents + stacks of guns on wall. New gear: boots (waterproof), red insulated fleece (warm), zip-off khakis (practical). Abi wearing same, except declined zip-offs for thermal leggings (Abi does yoga).

Aiden came outside to see us off, wearing mesh shorts + hugging himself against wind. Three of us stood in driveway. Abi had car door open, one foot inside.

Aiden took hand out from armpit to wave goodbye. 

Aiden: Have fun, Pop. Remember to let me know when you’re heading back. 

Me: Thanks, kiddo. Will do.

Aiden: Awesome. Like I mentioned, give me some heads up, maybe a few hours?

Abi (irritated): We got it, Aiden. Let’s hit the road. 

Me: Love you, Aiden.

Aiden: Love you, Pop. You too, Mom.

Abi ducked into car, gave Aiden curt smile and wave. 

Sense rising tension between those two. Will explore later. Currently in car, jotting down last thoughts. Abi just asked: what am I doing? Replied: journaling. 

Abi kind of snickered + rolled her eyes. 

Is she not journaling per Dr. Spector’s advice? If so, her loss. Has been therapeutic. 

3/23 (night?)

Long + strange day. Am sitting in fold-up metal chair in white-walled, TV-less room. Still have journal. Relieved they didn’t confiscate.

Car ride over to PurposeFul compound uneventful. Listened to road-trip playlist (Americana Folk Fusion). Guitars twanged + tambourines rattled. Pine forests rushed by in whirl of greenish-brown. About as much as I remember landscape-wise. In hindsight, should’ve been paying closer attention.

Went like this until nav system told us to get off highway. Idled. Didn’t like look of turnoff: unmarked, gravel road lined with thick green-needled conifer bushes.

Abi (turning down music): What are you waiting for?

Me: Does this look safe to you?

Abi: Looks like a road and some trees.

Me: Just seems sketchy is all.

Abi: When we get to the compound, you can tell them to hire a landscaper.

Me: Fine, maybe I’m being over-cautious here. 

Abi (in voice that left no doubt): You think?

Took turn. Green needles scraped sides of car. Managed to refrain from complaining about it. When stubby concrete entrance of compound came into view, Abi clapped hands in delight. Structure partly dug into ground. Entrance reached out like unclasped hands, bidding us forward into concrete mouth.

Me: How inviting. 

Abi: Amused pfft sound.

Parked car in lot next to open-air jeep. While unpacking, two men came out of compound to greet us. Men dressed in camo, holding assault rifles. Understand why they wore camo (important to dress part), but why assault rifles? Seemed like overkill (pun!). Were we armed insurgents coming to storm foxhole? Am pacifist and not pro-gun unless talking staplers. Also height = 5’9 not slouching. Abi even shorter. 

One guy raised rifle in friendly manner. Greeted us: Hello, hello! 

Guy had crew cut + cheery green eyes + distractingly large muscles. Said: Pleasure to be acquainted. My name’s Jackson, people call me Jacky. This here is Franks.

Franks gave us grunt in affirmative. Name rang bell. Realized this guy who sent scary email (!). Made sense. Franks built like pit bull. Squat, muscled with wide, menacing forehead. Looked like he could take punch + give multiple punches. 

Jacky: I presume you’re Mr. and Mrs. Polk? Just making sure. Don’t want to be putting some other folks through the ringer. Won’t make that mistake again. Jacky laughed brightly. Slapped Franks on back. Franks did not laugh.

Abi: We are! It’s great to meet you both. We’re so excited.

Jacky: Hey, that’s fantastic, us too. Right, Franks?

Franks (nodding): Yup.

Me (holding out duffle bags) Where should we put our gear?

Jacky (grinning widely): Oh we can handle that. Franks, mind giving them a hand?

Franks took duffels, lifting them with broad shoulders as if weighed zero, as if filled with Styrofoam peanuts. 

Jacky (putting rifle into holster): One other thing before we head inside, folks. It’s our policy that this is a no phones facility. Defeats the purpose, if you know what I mean? We sort of require your full attention. Better for everyone.

Me: Was that in the promotional brochure?

Jacky (laughing): No, no. We’d probably never get anyone out here if we told them they couldn’t use their phones. But you don’t mind, do you?

Abi looked at me + shrugged. 

Me: One second. 

Messaged Aiden. Said we’d arrived at compound, told him I wouldn’t have phone on me + would try best to let him know when heading back. Then handed over phones. Jacky stuffed them into lockable pouch. Proceeded to lock. Placed pouch into fanny pack. Didn’t (presently don’t) like idea of not having way to communicate with outside world, but makes sense. If have phone, then probably not suffering. Probably not going down to bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy. 

Jacky praised us for doubling down on commitment to PurposeFul experience. Led us inside compound. Interior = Spartan. Consisted of empty rooms connected by concrete tunnels (like lonely ant colony). During walk to what Jacky referred to as ‘Prep Hub,’ Abi made conversation. Asked Jacky about past. Told us before this, used to be wilderness survival instructor + served in Peace Corps in Uganda helping combat elephant poaching. Could tell this impressed Abi based on her little admiring chirps + way she eyed his Adonis-adjacent figure. 

Jacky asked what we did for work. 

Abi: History teacher. 

Me: Supply chain management. 

Felt lowly in comparison to Jacky. Know Dr. Spector said comparing self to others = bad practice + lowers self-worth. But how can I not? 

Jacky was like: Oh wow, cool! 

Could tell he was forcing it. Could tell he didn’t think supply chains were cool.

Me: So, what happened to Franks and our stuff?

Jacky (flashing easy smile, green eyes glinting): Oh that. Franks brought it over to the lockers, he’s hanging back for now. Not much of a people-person, as you might’ve guessed. He was a Navy SEAL before this. Guy’s seen some shit. But he’s been doing this job longer than me, been with PurposeFul since Zimmerman started the thing. 

Abi: Jacky, how long have you been a PurposeFul instructor? 

Jacky: We’re actually more like handlers.

Me: What’s the difference?

Jacky: Well, we don’t instruct you. What we do is help you get where you need to go. That can mean treating you with something we like to call indeference.

Abi: You mean indifference?

Jacky (shaking head): No, indeference. As in outwardly we won’t be treating you as great as you deserve, but inwardly we’re deferential. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.

At time, somewhat confused by Jacky’s explanation. But what happened next cleared things up in big way. 

We entered Prep Hub. Was small room lit by fluorescents with backless benches (like in prison) + projector screen + popcorn machine.

Jacky: Hey, so we’re going to watch a little instructional video in a second. But before this thing starts up, you guys want some popcorn? 

We said sure. Jacky went to popcorn machine, scooped us each big tub. Abi + me sat on bench + munched on popcorn handfuls, waiting for screening to begin. 

Abi (leaning into me, whispering): Not too bad, so far.

Agreed, though in honest opinion, experience already vaguely bad.

Then Jacky turned off lights and projector started up. 

Lance Zimmermann’s bald head + gray-bearded face popped onto screen: Hi, I’m Lance Zimmermann, entrepreneur, life-healer, and thought-leader. Congratulations on committing to PurposeFul living! You are now officially on your journey to true fulfillment. That’s amazing. You should be so proud of yourself. In fact, give yourself a pat on the back. 

Abi + me both patted ourselves on back compliantly.

Zimmermann: So now that you’re here, you probably want to know exactly how we’ll be taking you from where you are on Maslow’s Hierarchy, to where you need to go to reach true fulfillment. From high-low to low-hi, as it were. Well, rather than tell you, I’ll show you. Starting with what may be a surprise. How do you feel?

When Zimmerman said that, realized feeling was: sweaty + oddly off-kilter. Also mouth far too dry than had any right to be. Tried swallowing, but felt like fuzzy green tennis ball lodged in throat. Looked over, saw Abi’s eyes glazed over. Then saw nothing. 

Woke up in room (previously described).

Don’t know how long was out. Don’t know where Abi is. Me = extremely hungry + worried + panicked. But maybe supposed to feel? Maybe part of Behavior Adjustment Plan? Like being scared in haunted house? Am reassuring myself. 

Meantime, found manual in here called Good Engagement Guide. Will read. Hope things get better. Dr. Spector says there are no right or wrong decisions, that I shouldn’t place judgements, that I should ride waves, go with flows. But, being honest, feeling buyer’s remorse. Wonder how Abi taking it? Wonder if Abi also hungry. Wish Abi here. 

Reading back on prior entry + laughing at naive scribblings. Things not better, things much worse. Endless hike. Lost, hungry, plantar fascia killing me (chronic heel pain). 

Told Abi I had to pee. Actually, sneaking in brief rest + journaling. Don’t have to pee. Rubbing heel, telling myself be strong, don’t quit. Will explain events later if time.

Finally stopped due to rain + darkness. Searched all day for Checkpoint A. Haven’t found. Not sure how far away. Supposed to be soup there. Want soup so bad. Hoping for creamy butternut squash + microwave to make hot. Visualizing steam coming out of bowl followed by silky-rich liquid pouring onto tongue. Hunger = worst feeling. Hunger = non-stop, mournful stomach rumbles + painful build-up of gas in absence of food. 

Currently, laying under plastic tent Handlers gave us. Hear rain pattering on tent. Tent collapsed due to wind + storm. Is now flattened out + touching my cheek. Imagining it’s Abi’s hand caressing me. But material rough. Not like soft surface of Abi’s hand. 

Abi also under tent, asleep or pretending. Writing by headlamp. Too hungry to sleep. Writing to distract from hunger. Writing to distract from plantar fascia tendonitis. 

Today started off crap. 

Woke up in room with fold-up chair after Franks barged in with foghorn. Blared horn, handcuffed me, then put sack over my head. Normal circumstance, would’ve resisted, but Good Engagement Guide warned Participants should expect mild-to-medium suffering + shouldn’t speak back to Handlers unless under extreme physical duress. 

So, held in fear + displeasure. Followed Handler Directives.

Franks: Get up. 

Got up. 

Franks: March. 

Marched, head-in-sack, through compound tunnels. 

Outside, heard crows cackling in nearby trees. Haw-Haw-Haw. Laughing at me. Laughing at how stupid I am to have signed up for PurposeFul. 

Franks: Keep your ass moving.

Kept ass moving until Franks said stop. Shoved me into backseat of unknown vehicle (later found out vehicle = open-air jeep). Could not see, but heard voice of Jacky.

Jacky: Hiya, good morning to you! 

Jeep engine started. Off we went. Only sensed Abi’s presence in seat next to me halfway through ride. Heard Abi’s petite, high-pitched sneeze. Wind was worst part. Came flooding in once we reached flat stretch of highway. Itchy wool blankets they put over legs did nothing re: warmth. After that, jeep went off-road, jostling us around like dirty dishrags in dryer. Jeep eventually halted. Mouthed silent prayer of thanks. 

But still had sack over my head. Everything opaque darkness. Air smelled like stale breath (hadn’t been able to brush teeth). No clue where they brought us. Someone un-cuffed me (assuming Jacky). Guided me out from backseat. Must have rained night before since ground was wet + gave way where I stepped.

Jacky: Hope you didn’t mind the ride?

Did I mind? Hah. Had no choice in the matter. Agreed to PurposeFul Terms and Conditions. Said none of that, just nodded. Good Engagement Guide allowed head movements.

Jacky: Fan-tastic.

Franks (in low voice): Kneel. 

Knelt in damp mud. Mud made soft squish as shins sank. Heard heavy + wet footsteps behind me. Felt sausage fingers pull sack off head. 

Then could see. Abi kneeling beside me. Landscape = barren + bright. In distance, forest stripped of leaves, otherwise no identifying features. Took breath. Tried to gather composure. Tried to be in moment. Tried to find inner resolve. 

All for nothing. Because of Franks. Horrible Franks. What he did: he pushed me hard in the back. Fell forward into mud. Face first. Mud squished into mouth, mud everywhere. 

Got up, let out groan. Mistake. Negative vocalizations not encouraged by Good Engagement Guide. Indicated Anti-Committed Behavior. 

Abi still had not made single sound.

Jacky (putting hand on muscular oblique): Too much for ya, pal? 

Said nothing, wished I hadn’t groaned.

Jacky: But, seriously, we get what you’re going through. We totally understand. This is hard stuff. You’re hungry, you’re dirty, you’re cold. We know that better than anybody. We’ve been in situations like this. That’s how we got the job, our well-toned ability to understand. But we’re not out here to complain, are we Franks? 

Franks grunted. Couldn’t tell if affirmative or negative.

Jacky (leaning down over Abi): And are you doing alright, young lady? 

Abi nodded, neck rigid like stone. Couldn’t tell what Abi thinking or feeling. If she’d been pushed in mud, I would’ve been mad. Attack on one = attack on all. 

Jacky: Wonderful, wonderful. Franks, would you help them up?  

Franks nodded, crouched next to me, offered hand. 

Stupidly reached up. Franks pulled hand away (like Charlie Brown + Lucy + Football). Then Franks grinned. Nasty grin, canines large + sharp, like ready to sink into me. 

Pissed me off. Understood that we’re supposed to suffer / suffering is necessary for fulfillment. But Franks = something else. Franks = cruel. Franks = bully. 

Me (unable to hold tongue any longer): You’re an asshole.

Awkward silence, then Jacky shot Franks unhappy look. My guess: Jacky doesn’t want me writing bad review. Valid concern. Service = sub-par at best.

Jacky (taking out tablet from fanny pack, quickly typing): Apologies. It’s a learning process for all of us in terms of boundaries. 

Me (pointing to Franks): Tell that to him.

Jacky kept typing. Franks glared at nothing, knuckles white. 

Abi (leaning in close): Please don’t break the fourth wall again. Takes me out of it. 

Which, fine, get her point. Shouldn’t have talked. Didn’t follow Good Engagement Guide. But still. Where is compassion from Abi? Where is solidarity? Feelings hurt.

Jacky (once done): Okay folks, now here comes the fun part. 

Fun part = not fun. Consisted of Franks jamming walkie-talkie + small red medical backpack into my chest. Jacky handed Abi tent bag + foldout map with large blue dot. 

Jacky (pointing to dot): That’s Checkpoint A. You’ll be looking for a manhole, lift off the top and climb on down. Any trouble, you can reach us over walkie-talkie. Just press the red button. FYI Checkpoint A’s got a banquet’s worth of soup inside. 

Then something weird happened. Promise of soup changed whole outlook + reset priorities. Didn’t care so much about shithead Franks, or ongoing suffering, or even strained relationship with Abi. Just wanted soup. Still want soup. God, do I want soup!

Franks (tapping his watch): Thirty-six hours. You don’t find the bunker by then, we pick you up, no food in your bellies. Time starts now.

Jacky: Good luck, guys, I believe in you both!

Then Handlers got back in open-air jeep + drove off. Stood there watching jeep thud down road, mud caked onto pant-legs. 

Stood there for few seconds without talking. Reminded me of how bad things got between us before counseling (e.g. sitting mutely in restaurants, me stuffing down buttered bread + Abi sipping Merlot, fingers tapping on wooden table). 

Silence broke when Abi re-opened foldout map. Made crinkling sound. Can’t remember last time using foldout map. Foldout map = inferior to Map App.

Abi: We should follow this stream south until here. Is there a compass in that bag?

Checked bag, found yes, there was compass. Handed over, knew she’d use better than me. Then started trudging through muddy terrain, Abi leading, me bringing up rear. We hiked and hiked and hiked. Crunching dead leaves, sloshing through mud. 

Slipped once, that’s when re-injured plantar fascia. Abi did not wait up. 

3/25

Dreamed of dark, moist mouth made of earth. Dreamed earth-mouth swallowed Abi + me up with gnashing teeth of stalactites and / or stalagmites (not clear on distinction, can’t look up on phone). In dream, soil that made up earth-mouth started crumbling away into black pit. Saw us sinking into pit. Tiny, meaty morsels falling into perpetual darkness. Kept falling and falling. Never hit bottom. Never reached ground floor. Not even upon waking. Am typically not one to interpret dreams but this ≠ good omen.

Could not be more lost. Abi’s guess: went too far south, missed blue dot. 

Screwed up, said something unkind about Abi’s navigation skills. Said how this just like Badlands trip all over again (trail > 30% grade, way above skill level). Abi turned away from me, started sulking.

Regret what I said. Didn’t mean. Apologized to Abi, but can’t erase past. Things testy overall. Can’t think straight. With hunger there is no clarity of thought, no pulling together for common goal, no melting away of non-essential gripes. Have no spare room for empathy or patience. Only room for hunger. Only room for soup thoughts. Fantasizing about soup. Constant stomach ache. Gnawing + muffled, like distant thunder going off inside body. 

Want to lay down. Want to stop. Want to use walkie-talkie to ask for pick-up, but Abi said: Wait, don’t give up, you always give up.

PurposeFul = load of crap. Lance Zimmerman = conman. Dr. Spector = quack.

Handlers just called.

Jacky: Good afternoon, you two. Wanted to check-in on your progress.

Abi (fake cheerful): We’re slightly lost, but making headway.

Franks: Only five hours left.

Jacky: He’s right, unfortunately. Once time’s up, we’ll have to retrieve you wherever you happen to be, Checkpoint or no Checkpoint.

Me: But how will you find us? 

Franks: Tracker in the radio.

Jacky: I know it stinks. But, remember, we don’t guarantee success here at PurposeFul. Requires commitment on your part too. No commitment, no results. Anyway, that’s it for now. Wishing you amazing luck over these last couple hours. 

Walkie-talkie went quiet.

Me: So that’s it then? We have five hours to find it or else we’re done?

Abi (rubbing temples): We just need to keep going. That’s our thing. We keep going.

Nodded. Even Badlands trip had bright spots. Will always remember the sky. Furthest I will ever see. Otherworldly vistas. Midway through hike, Abi found dry branches (at time, felt like miracle). Used as walking sticks. Trudged over miles of unsteady, hazardous terrain, eventually made it back to trail head. Best sleep of life that night. Little inn at edge of prairie. 

Morale low, but have faith. Still have faith in us.

After grueling three-hour hike, finally reached blue dot on map. Blue dot = stone quarry, cut haphazard into earth like manmade crater. Looked over edge. Grasped difficulty of getting down into quarry. Required scrambling over jagged slate cliffs, avoiding steep drop-offs. 

Abi insisted this it: Checkpoint A. 

Believed. Hoped. 

Began descent. Got on butt + scooted down. 

Eventually, made it to bottom of quarry. Shared brief smile + high-five. Then searched area for manhole to Checkpoint A bunker. Sifted through slate dust, brushed away leaves, peered through shrubs, tore up weeds, raised fallen rocks. Speculated that storm from previous night covered up manhole, made invisible to naked eye? Didn’t give up. Wouldn’t give up. 

Said encouraging words to each other. But still couldn’t find. Remaining hours came + went. Out of time. Then got call, Handlers told us they were coming shortly for retrieval. 

Jacky: Sorry guys, really sorry.

Imagined Franks lurking in background, gratified by our discontent.

After call, Abi pulled out map again. Studied it.

Abi: I swear the Checkpoint’s here. I swear. This is it, look!

Looked, but couldn’t tell one way or another. 

Thought: Could be? Then came up with better answer: I trust you.

But was not a better answer. Seemed to set Abi off worse: You trust me? Oh, God. You really shouldn’t trust me. Then Abi moaned + chucked map into rocks. 

Me: What’s wrong?

Abi (scoffing): What’s wrong? Everything’s wrong. This is wrong. 

Me: I thought this was what you wanted?

Abi (looking off in distance): I don’t know what I want.

Me (quietly gathering up map from ground). Well, that’s why we’re here. We’re at rock bottom, trying to figure ourselves out. This is where it’s all supposed to change.

Abi: We’re failures. We’ve failed.

Me: There’s still time. 

Abi turned around. Away from me. Began climbing out of quarry.

Me (calling up after her): I haven’t given up!

But Abi just kept climbing. Climbed after her. Fought through sharp heel pain, more excruciating with every foot extension. Reached ledge. Laid there to recuperate.

Abi (sitting down next to me, eyes wet): Why did I think this would work?  

Don’t know why, but what she said, way she said it. Impulse overtook me. Rage. Rage that PurposeFul was scam. Rage at growing older, at love fading, at inevitable entropic force dissolving bonds that hold relationship + world + universe together. Ripped walkie-talkie from backpack, wound up arm, and pitched it over slate cliffs into quarry’s open-pit. Watched it sail through air, then shatter into plastic pieces.

Abi (shocked): What the hell?

Realized it was over. No point salvaging. No going back to the way things were between us. Must accept change. Must accept what’s to come.

Then (hah!) began to rain. Went from small drizzle to deluge in seconds. Sky cracked open, water came down on us, heavy, droplets splattering like egg yolks. Abi moved under leafless tree, limbs barely blocking downpour, then sunk down into dirt.  

Sat under different leafless tree, curled up into ball. Rain seeped into fleece, torn-up pants, supposedly waterproof boots. Not waterproof. Socks = soaked 

Handlers still not here. Wish they’d come already. Put us out of misery. 

Need to remember. Need to recount exactly what happened. To never forget. 

Went like this: Abi + me sitting under respective trees, waiting and waiting. But Handlers never came. Once rain let up, looked at each other confused re: turn of events.

Abi: Why aren’t they here?

Me: I don’t know. 

Abi: Me neither.

Me: Should we go back and look for Checkpoint A again?

Abi: Maybe.

Me: Could be the manhole was blocked and they’re giving us another shot? Probably shouldn’t have destroyed the walkie-talkie…

Abi (laughing lightly): Probably not.

Me: I think we should give it another try.

Abi paused. Then nodded. 

Nod gave me courage. Got up from ground. Did some reconnaissance, i.e. looked over edge of quarry. Quarry covered in fog after rainstorm. Slate rocks slippery after rain. Had to be careful going back down. Went slowly, on butt again. Inch by inch. 

Later, told officers I slipped on rocks. Said this how I got cuts and bruises. But is not what happened. Was sure-footed on rocks. Didn’t slip once, despite heel pain. Abi followed suit, also on butt.

Quarry looked different now in fog. Smelled different too. Smelled sulfuric. Attributed to gases seeping to surface from abandoned mine. Or maybe acid rain interacting with slate rock.

Me: You smell that? 

Abi: I smell it.

Began searching again, splitting up same as before. Tried to spot if terrain changed. 

Then heard Abi gasp: Jesus Christ, come over here. Now!

Hopped over to her on one foot to avoid knife-like plantar fascia pain. 

Saw immediately why Abi worked up: Jeep wreckage. Horrific. Debris of gnarled metal, broken glass, acrid smoke rising from rubble. Saw body. Body of Jacky. Saw top of head, saw matted black hair specked with dark red. Head and neck slumped down, arms hanging out in front like he’d tried to claw way out of wreck. But couldn’t see legs. Legs crushed inside jeep. Couldn’t access Jacky’s pockets to search for phone. Pockets crushed inside vehicle along with legs. 

Didn’t bother to check pulse. Answer self-evident.

Stood there, holding Abi by shoulders. Abi still. Heard her breathing.

Abi (mumbling): Awful. Terrible.

Searched for other body in rubble, but Franks not there. 

Me: Do you see Franks? I don’t see him.

Abi didn’t respond. 

Felt wind blow. Already broken rearview mirror snapped off. Fell into dust. Assessed situation. Jacky dead. Jeep gone. No phones. No idea of location or Checkpoint A. Made silent prayer to find Franks alive. If Franks not alive, thought how screwed we were. Alone in cold + unknown wilderness + no food + diminishing water. Realized we hadn’t yet hit bottom. Further to fall. Always further to fall until there is no fall. No nothing. Just death. 

Fear rose in throat, like missile out of silo.

Me: What do we do?

Abi still motionless. Seemed catatonic. Blank-faced, eyes flat, mouth slightly parted. Was she, like me, contemplating doom? Hopelessness?

Do not know, because, in instant, hope returned. Saw large form moving slowly through fog. Franks. Franks alive! Franks to save us. Franks = golden ray of light shooting across blotted out sky, revealing grand forest lush with life + potential + boundless future. 

Gripped Abi by shoulder.

Me (yelling): Franks, over here! 

Saw Franks emerge out of fog. What was left of Franks. Franks lurched forward, dragging severely broken leg. Had huge gash over left eye + covered in soot. Looked like Franks’ body was crumpled into paper ball, then launched out of four-story window. 

Franks (voice rough as looks): You! 

Me: Yes, it’s us! The Polks! Are you okay?

Franks: I know who the fuck you are. Where’s the goddamn tracker? The beacon.

Didn’t know what to say about that. Location tracker in shattered walkie-talkie, somewhere in quarry.

Me: Oh. I, um. Well, we were upset. And I just kind of...threw it. Down here. 

Franks’ face went slack.

For first time, pictured it: Jeep following our little blinking dot through fog…then dot disappears. No tracker. No us. Just mist and rock. Realized error.

Me: Franks, listen. Just wait there. We can go for help. Which way toward the road?

Franks (shambling closer, broken leg trailing behind like anchor): Help? No help. Lost you when the tracker went dead. Flew blind. Hit the ridge.

Franks laughed, like glass shards in throat. Snarled at us: You weren’t supposed to find it. There’s no Checkpoint A. It’s the motherfucking journey. 

He stepped closer. Pointed shaky finger back toward smoke behind him.

Franks (growling): I’m dead, you know. Not coming back from this. 

Underlined his point by sticking finger in left eye gash + moving it around. Neck veins bulged, blue, taut. Incredibly disturbing. 

Abi (whispering): He’s lost it.  

By then Franks within few dozen feet of us. Smelled like charred flesh. Realized we should have been backing away. But before could move, Franks bellowed, deep from chest. Most wrathful sound I’d ever heard, like dying animal on warpath. 

Lunged at us, pumping massive arms through air in sudden burst of speed.

Abi: Run! 

But Franks on us too quick. Brought me to ground. Tangled up. Dense, hulking mass wrapped around me, like monstrous boa. All wisdom, empathy, intelligence left me. Took my thumbs, went straight for Franks good eye, gouged pupil, pressed down hard. Franks howled. Struggled + squirmed to get free, but Franks jammed immense arm into neck. Air crushed out of larynx. No thoughts, just gasps.

All hope lost. 

But Abi, magnificent Abi, came to rescue. Stabbed Franks in spine with EpiPen from backpack (thank goodness for peanut allergy!). Franks startled, then grabbed fruitlessly at own back, unable to reach. Let out guttural moan from throat, then forearm released me. 

Took lungful of sweet air. Felt Franks go slack, then wilt forward. His weight pressed into me like gargantuan rag doll. Managed to wriggle out from under body. Then rolled over, chest rising + falling, heart pumping at jackhammer pace. 

Abi reached her hand down. Helped me up from ground. 

Abi (motioning to Franks): I think he passed out. 

Dusted self off, glared at Franks with disgust + dread. Breath pained, throat flattened. Me (rasping): I’m not checking his pulse. 

Franks body motionless. Chest not rising. Grabbed fallen stick from ground. Poked him in ribs. Then poked him in head. Third poke was in bad eye. Became clear he hadn’t just passed out. Franks = dead. Maybe from heart? From adrenaline burst?

Abi crouched over Franks, then checked his pockets.

Me (fearing Franks might wake up suddenly and seize her leg, like in last seconds of horror movie that wants sequel): What are you doing? 

Abi (pointing to left pocket): The bulge. 

From pocket, Abi pulled out black device. Satellite phone. Held it up like holy grail. Called 911. Gave them our coordinates. Pulled out EpiPen from Franks. Hid it in backpack. Would only complicate. 

Within half hour, state police arrived. Rescuers wore crisp blue uniforms. Talked to us as if toddlers. Provided warm blankets + soup of all things. Delicious. So delicious. Warm. Salty. Bits of chicken. Will remember soup always. Until end of days.

Said to police: Got lost, found bodies like this, don’t know what happened. 

Police asked: Nothing else to report?

Hastily shook heads, but not in suspicious way, in scared + tired way (reminder: delete PurposeFul email exchanges once have Wi-Fi).

Officers hauled Franks up on stretcher. Put yellow tarp over him. Couldn’t see face. Better that way. Better to remember as tarp.

Suddenly, Abi hugged me hard, nestled face into crook of shoulder. 

Abi (whispering): Only up from here.  

Riding home now in police car.

Think this experience = breakthrough? Ah-ha moment? Return home with everything changed? Imagining what we’ll find when we get home. Aiden with hard cider cans + pizza boxes strewn about + three monitors set-up from which to play gaming console. Maybe take Abi’s advice: Tell Aiden enough is enough, no more loans, no more investments. Tell him he always has home with us, but needs to get act together ASAP. Can see it now. Aiden nodding, saying he appreciates all I’ve done for him. Would be nice of him to say.

After things sorted out with Aiden, maybe sweep Abi off feet with grand romantic gestures, woo like before. Purchase dozen roses, arrange in heart-shaped pattern on bed. 

Maybe not roses. Roses cliché. Maybe geraniums instead. Maybe type of flower not important. Spontaneity most important. Will be so spontaneous that Abi can’t predict next move. Will be like she doesn’t even know me. Will be like exotic stranger to her. Yes! This it. Throw caution to wind. Be bold. Be suave. Be action oriented. Maybe vacation in Maldives, make love on private sandy beach as waves crash to exotic shoreline. 

Or not. 

Better idea: little family trip to see Maddox in Portland. Be together again just like in good old days. Except not good old days. Good new days. 

Theory: Everyday life better for having known pain. Have to remind self of this. Don’t need, always, to be striving toward grand purpose, toward majestic, unreachable vista of fulfillment. Instead: Delight in no purpose. Delight in sheer grandeur of existing. Is sustainable? Don’t know. Maybe not. Or maybe yes? Hope so. Hope Abi feels same. Hard to tell. 

Abi looking out window, chin cupped in hand.