“I’m sorry?” asked the woman, turning to East.
“My name’s East.”
“Oh.” The woman considered the unusual name. And then asked, “Like the direction?”
“Yeah,” East answered, and he went on to explain his unusual name, like he had done countless times in his life. “It’s short for Easton.” And he took a few eager steps toward her as he explained his name. “It’s the name of a town—that way”—East pointed east—“where I was born.” And then he offered more of an explanation so the woman wouldn’t have to ask for one. “There was a mess-up on the birth certificate: a son, Easton, born in the town of Matthew, Maine. Instead of the other way around.”
The woman seemed to pity East when she learned the origin of his unusual name. “Oh,” she said with a wincing smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t name me.”
The woman smiled, conceding East’s point.
“And—anyway—I like my name,” continued East.
“Well, good.”
And then the woman congratulated East on his recent birthday.
And East thanked the woman and appreciated her thoughtfulness.
And then the woman—who had completely forgotten why she was where she was—asked, “So … Easton, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Yeah, I passed a sign for there on my way here, and, by the way, where is ‘here’? I couldn’t find it on my map.” The woman pulled her cerulean gloves off with her teeth again and pulled a map out of her jacket pocket.
“Um … well—”
“Where am I?” asked the woman, unfolding her map.
“You’re in unorganized territory. Township 13, Range 7.”
East went on to explain that over half of Maine’s land area—an area the size of the states of Vermont and New Hampshire—was unorganized territory. Back when the country was being put together, surveyors went out and started mapping the wild places. And those wild places were divided into townships that were about thirty-six square miles each. Almost was one of those townships.
The woman looked on her map for this “Almost” place, but East warned her, “It’s not gonna be on your map, ’cause it’s not an actual town, technically.”
“What do you mean?”
“See, to be a town, you gotta get organized, and we never got around to getting organized. So we’re just … Almost.”
“Oh.”
“Plus, we’re almost in Canada.”
“Okay.” The woman nodded.
“And almost not in the United States.”
“Okay.”
“So … Almost.”
“Okay.” Appropriate name, supposed the woman.
And she wondered what in the world this “Almost” place was.
And then decided that she needed to get back on task and said, “Okay, well—I’m just gonna do what I need to do, here, if that’s still okay?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” said East, and he reminded the woman again to let him know if she needed anything and the woman said, “Thanks,” and East turned to go. And as he did, the woman added, “And my name’s Glory, just so you know.”
East turned back to the woman and felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again and said, “Hi, Glory.”
And Glory said, “Hi.” And felt the strange lightness fill up her insides again, too.
And Glory didn’t quite know how to deal with the lightness she was feeling and suddenly directed her focus back up to the sky.
And East didn’t know how to deal with the lightness he was feeling, either, so he turned and started to make his way back to his house.
And he felt a deep, strange sense of loss as he did.
And so did Glory.
And then Glory realized that she was feeling a sense of loss because she had actually lost something.
Or was missing something.
And then discovered that the small brown paper sack she had been carrying was no longer in her possession.
“Oh, no!” she gasped. East heard Glory and stopped and turned to her. “Oh, no!” uttered Glory again. And she dug her flashlight out of her backpack and started searching the area for what was missing.
But it was nowhere to be found.
“What’s wrong?” asked East. He saw her flashlight beam dancing on the snow, and when he shone his Maglite on her, he saw her frantically searching the area around her campsite.
“Glory?” he called, rushing back to her. “Are you okay?”
Glory was emitting strange grunts and groans and gasps as she searched.
“What’s wrong?” repeated East.
“My heart!” called Glory.
“Huh?”
“My heart!” Glory repeated, clutching at her chest, her breathing labored.
East wondered if she was having a heart attack—even though she seemed far too young to be having a heart attack. “Where is it?” gasped Glory, searching more frantically.
Glory shone her flashlight on East and was about to ask him to help her find what she was looking for when she gasped, “Oh! You have it!”
“Huh?”
Glory was pointing at something East was holding. “In that bag, it’s in that bag!”
East looked to where Glory was pointing and saw that he was holding the brown paper sack in the crook of his arm—again. And wondered how on earth it had gotten there. He didn’t know that when he hugged Glory, it had become lodged between their bodies again, and another imperceptible transfer had occurred.
“Please give it back. Please, I need it!” Glory demanded, struggling to breathe.
“Yeah, sure, here,” said East, going to Glory and offering her the bag—which she grabbed and held close.
“Thank you,” said she greatly relieved, her breathing starting to normalize.
“You’re welcome,” said East, completely bewildered.
Glory looked back up at the sky. And tried to make like nothing had happened.
And East stood and stared at Glory. And wondered if he had heard her correctly. Had she just said that her heart was in that bag?
Glory felt East’s eyes on her and kept looking at the sky, hoping that East would go away so she wouldn’t have to explain what she had just said was inside the brown paper bag she was clutching.
But East wasn’t going away. He was staring at her. And trying to make sense of what had just happened. And—even though he knew it wasn’t any of his business—he couldn’t help but ask, “Um … I’m sorry, but, did you just say that your … heart … is in that bag? Is that what you just said, that your heart is in—”
“Yes,” interrupted Glory. He had already asked the question once, and there was no need for him to repeat it.
East thought long and hard about Glory’s answer. And then finally remarked, “It’s heavy.”
It was. But Glory chose not to let East know that she concurred, and said nothing. Because she was too busy trying—and failing—to find a way out of having to explain what she knew she was going to have to explain.
“Why is it in that bag?”
“It’s how I carry it around,” said Glory curtly.