Yes. And your friend woke you. You needed to be woken. Look around you. Look next to you! Is this normal to you? the little voice asked.

No, of course not, he thought. It wasn’t normal at all.

Over time, the warmth of the bear dried his clothing. He turned on his side and smelled the rich black fur as the bear’s lungs rumbled. This probably wasn’t the famous Ernie, but perhaps a relative. This bear sported a darker coat, and was smaller, but not small. Wherever the bear came from, he was glad to have a protector for the night.

A twig snapped outside the den and his thoughts filled with the squad car rolling over and the choking officer. The remnants of the police sirens screeched into his brain. He blinked, trying to refresh the memories like a computer desktop. Yes, he was glad to have a guardian for the night.

Someone’s looking out for me, he thought.

No Matthew, everyone is looking out for you, the little voice said. Everyone.

The warmth took him to dreamland, away from the domain of the Being.

Every Good – 15 Years Ago

EVERY GOOD – 15 YEARS AGO

John Kearns moved his prominent frame across the understory like a moose, fly rod in hand. His big forearms rippled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His size fourteen tan boots kicked through the colorful leaves. He was an animal, no different than a deer or a bear. At least that’s how he felt.

It had been too long since he fished the Black and he’d worked too hard without a break. Susan had pleaded with him to go up north, promising to watch the kids in his absence. That was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

John reached into a flannel pocket and found his Marlboro Reds. The sensation of the filter between his thumb and forefinger let his body know the fix was coming. He fingered into his jeans pocket and clasped a silver Zippo lighter. He snapped open the lid, relishing the mechanical ritual. His thumb pressed down on the spiked wheel, forcing up a flame. Then he leaned his face down into it, mouth puckering around the cigarette. After flicking the Zippo closed and sliding it back into his pocket, he gazed into the canopy, pulling deep on the cigarette.

A good day, he thought. A good fall day. No work, no people. The winding currents of the Black called his name.