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The Gift Richard's SF Intro, Part 1 copyright comidacomida 2018

Ever since I could remember I hated living in the little town where I grew up. My grandmother, who lived in Prineville, a long drive north of us was my escape; my folks were always busy so every time I had vacation from school they shipped me off to live with her. Prineville still doesn't even have 10,000 people there, but it was barely over 9,000 back then, but it was way more than the tiny place I lived. Just after my twelfth birthday my grandmother went into the hospital and, since I was with her at the time, I went with until my aunt could come pick me up; it was the first time I had ever really been to a hospital and I guess I did a good job of distracting myself from worrying by watching everything going on around me. From that point on I knew I had to get into the healthcare industry.

I spent most of my high school years doing research on the best colleges to go to for a medical degree. I had learned that doctors spent almost all of their time dealing with paperwork and very little actual face time with people. Personally, I liked the idea of people more than paperwork. I toyed with the idea of becoming a Physician's Assistant for awhile, but by the time my Junior year had rolled around I realized just how expensive that would be so that idea went right out the window. Ultimately I settled on a nursing degree, and spent all senior year being laughed at by the other students. I didn't care about any of that because my friends were supportive, and that's what mattered.

As we got closer to graduation we started talking more and more about where we were going to attend school, and that got me thinking. I figured that living in a small eastern Oregon city limited my options and eighteen years of 'not a lot' needed to come to an end. In the end, I narrowed my decision down to Portland or Cherry City. While Portland had a lot going for it, the cost of living was REALLY high, so that was one mark against it. Cherry City also had a choice of colleges, and I liked the idea of going to Willamette Community College, which would get me a lot of the required classes out of the way before I transferred to a more expensive four year; credit hours at WCC were barely half the price. After that, my mind was made up.

After we graduated high school I had enough money saved up from summer jobs and gifts to move to Cherry City, but the first order of business was to celebrate. Since my group of friends decided to vacation down in Mexico I had to use a good part of my graduation money to get my passport. Fortunately, my friend Dina's parents owned a ranch not far from Prineville and they offered to cover the cost of our trip; considering the cost of spending a week down in Mexico it was pretty much the only way I COULD go. Considering we only had one final week together to bond before we went off to separate colleges it just made sense. It was also the first and only time I'd been out of the U.S. but I had my friends with me, so everything was okay.

Dina was Chuck's girlfriend, then there was Aaron and June, Allie and Travis, and of course, me, flying solo. I guess you might think it was embarrassing to be the only one going along without a 'special someone' but, truth be told, I never managed to find a connection, and I figured there'd be plenty of time in college... or after college... or, whenever, I guess. On the plane Dina kept joking that I'd probably run into the love of my life while we were in Mexico, and then after we got there Travis kept trying to point out possible hook-ups. He made it all the worse by pointing out guys and girls; I guess that was partly my fault since I never did talk to any of them about what I preferred.

Regardless, I weathered the onslaught of 'match-making' from everyone in good humor, and we spent as much time together as the hours would allow. The two couples and the 'lone guy' were quite a sight I'm sure, tearing up the dance floor, visiting bars, and carrying on like teens with nothing to lose. Of course, I was the responsible one-- always have been, and, though I did have a few drinks I made sure that I stayed sober since, after all, SOMEONE had to. I also managed to talk them into some more relaxing activities, like going to the beach and, of course, checking out the local ruins. The fact that I spoke a little bit of Spanish made it easier for us to find locate someone who could get us a guide.

We were staying at a resort in Oaxaca, which I guess is pretty famous for its Mayan ruins and Travis, who wanted to study anthropology at PSU took a real interest in it, so it wasn't hard getting him on my side. Allie, who wanted to do anything to keep in touch with Travis after high school was planning on moving up to Portland with him and do the PSU pre-nursing program-- she and Trav were the main reasons I'd considered Portland before I found out how expensive it was. Aaron and June didn't have to so easy; they spent most of our trek arguing over whether they'd go to OSU or U of O. That discussion ended when Chuck just suggested they go to different schools, which started a whole new argument. I guess that was just one more reason why I was glad I wasn't in a relationship.

Our guide didn't really seem to take an interest of any of the arguments, but did occasionally ask everyone to politely keep it down. Apparently, according to the tribes that used to live in the jungles of Oaxaca the area we were in was considered sacred, and we needed to respect that. Since I was more interested in the ancient trees and beautiful surroundings I hadn't said a word so I didn't find that very hard. Dana and June, on the other hand just kept going on and on about I-don't-remember-what. Eventually our guide came to a stop and refused to continue until everyone was willing to be quieter. Travis laughed about it and made some stupid joke about the man being darker inside than outside.

It was racist, yeah, and that pretty much sums up Travis, but he did bring up a pretty good point. It's not like there are a ton of Mexicans in Oregon, but there isn't a huge shortage either, and our guide was darker skinned than a lot of them. He was one of the 'pueblos indigenas', which means "Indigenous People" in Spanish-- Native Americans. It really did explain why he was so upset about everyone not observing the customs and being respectful. Well... except me, I guess. I was so caught up in the experience of the jungle that I hadn't really felt the need to talk. It turned out that my curiosity about and reverence for my surroundings saved my life.

Toward the end of our hike into the jungle there was a section of rocky cliffs we had to walk around. The trail wasn't particularly wide but it wasn't like we had to scoot along it with our backs against a cliff. Being in better shape than most of my friends I offered to spot everyone and took the position at the end of the group. I wasn't a stranger to climbing because the gym I'd made a point to visit back home had a rock wall so between various roots, stones, and bushes that jutted out of the rocky wall to our right I was just fine. Every now and again I'd glance out to the left where a long, steep slope disappeared into the jungle that stretched out below us; a long ways off past that I could see the area where the guide parked our jeep. It was during one of those horizon-gazing moments that the rock I'd been holding onto for balance came loose.

I had just enough time to shout out a cry of alarm before I tumbled over the ledge. The world went upside down then right side up, then sideways, flying past me as I went rolling down the slope. I'm lucky it wasn't steeper, I guess, and doubly lucky that when my fall was stopped by a tree I impacted backpack first, which took up most of the shock. It was still enough to knock the wind out of me, and it was while before I could answer any of the calls from above. When I finally did, it was pretty basic. "I'm down here!"

I'd fallen a good distance, and it wasn't incredibly easy to make out what they were shouting, but eventually I pieced it together: they couldn't get down to me, and the guide said that the slope was too unstable to climb but if I kept walking beside the hill eventually we would meet up. I confirmed as loudly as I could with an "OKAY!" and started walking.

If you've never been in a jungle before I can't possibly explain the feeling, especially since I grew up in the high desert and I was in a pretty low rainforest. All around me living things made noise... or didn't make noise, and that made it all the worse. Every little drop of water coming down from the canopy gave me a shiver, and every time one landed on my head or my back I couldn't help but wonder if it was a spider falling on me and, if it was, how venomous was it? I lost track of time, but I kept telling myself I would meet up with everyone soon. Just one more turn. Past one more tree. Over one more fallen log.

It wasn't all that long past that when my mind started playing tricks on me. I thought I was seeing shadows. I thought I was being watched and followed. I couldn't escape the feeling that there was someone, or some THING tailing me. It caused me to quicken my pace until I was almost jogging, which, thanks to constantly slipping on wet stones and tripping over fallen limbs did little to actually speed up my travel. Just as I was finally starting to realize that what I was seeing wasn't in my head, I also came to another conclusion: the dark shape in the shadowy undergrowth wasn't following me or hunting me; whatever was out there was guiding me.

It wasn't any overt, obvious guidance like pointing or shouting "Hey! Stupid! Go THAT way!". It was much more subtle, as if whatever it was had been watching me move and responding to the way I tried to avoid it. I was being shepherded-- and there became no doubt in my mind that it meant no harm. I know it sounds a little crazy to be stuck in a jungle in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly come to the conclusion that there was some strange 'forest guide' there helping me out, but... well... yeah-- that's pretty much the case. And the crazy thing? It really did help me find my way through there.

All of my friends were happy to see me when I showed up scraped, battered, and exhausted. They asked tons of questions, and I told them everything... except for the shadowy figure who had 'helped' me. We had our afternoon looking around the ruins, which was okay, I guess, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that I was still being followed. Even as we went back to the jeep I hadn't been able to escape that paranoia, and it only got worse when I swore I saw something move among the bushes in the reflection off of the side view mirror.

Everyone left me alone for the last night of our stay in Mexico; maybe they thought I needed time to recover from the fall in the jungle, or maybe they just thought I was in a brooding mood because I spent more time looking around and listening to the world around me rather than taking part in their conversations. Even the following morning after we got to the airport or during the flight back that same feeling of being followed and watched stayed with me. When we got back to PDX we all piled into Allie's mom's minivan, which she let Allie use. We started the long trip back to Prineville. where we were going to stay at Dana's folks' ranch before finishing the trip home. It had been a long day, and Allie fell asleep at the wheel; I don't remember much of the crash except for a blur of movement, gold and black, and pain in my upper arms... then: nothing.

I awoke in the hospital a day and a half later. In the scheme of things I was none-the-worse for wear: some cracked ribs, a dislocated arm and some lacerations. The doctors had been able to explain everything except the location and angle of the scratches, which continued to stump them even during the next several days before they released me; they were similar to ones Dina had on her shoulders, but we were in completely different seats in the mini-van so I didn't lose my life to trauma caused by a concrete barrier. Just as in my case, the doctors didn't know what had caused them to her and there wasn't an autopsy performed.

I, however, had no trouble realizing that my cuts had been from the claws of a humanoid jaguar who had wrapped himself around me to take the worst of the impact; I remember assuming at the time that Dina's had been from a similarly humanoid gryphon. I know, it might seem like a strange conclusion to come to, and I would have thought the same thing if not for the fact that they were there with me in the hospital room, staring at me with rich, topaz-colored eyes. Despite one being feline and the other avian, it was surprising at how similar their eyes actually looked. Shortly after I came to the Gryphon turned and walked THROUGH the wall, leaving me, though, based on the way he glanced at me before departing, he was sure to return. The Jaguar, however, remained.

For the first time since falling into the jungle, I no longer felt as though I was being observed from secret; my watcher had made himself known. My parents, who were in the room with me showed absolutely no indication that they knew the Jaguar man was there and, even as I continued to stare (with him staring right back), their talking went in one ear and out the other. Eventually they decided that I needed some rest, and they promised they'd be right outside. They stepped out, intent on leaving me alone with the otherworldly predator.

At that point, injured, and alone in the room, there was only one possible thing for me to do, so I--