We wander through the lovely woods

We wander through the lovely woods

We wander through the woods.

Ironic, isn’t it?  This used to be a happy vocal warm-up practiced by me and the rest of the choir on the bus on the way to show choir competitions.  But now, since our bus broke down in the mountains and the sopranos slipped off the cliff and we were forced to eat the buttocks of the baritones just to stay warm, it’s not so lighthearted anymore.

Today is day 65.  I’m scribbling this in blood on a piece of birch bark– the small piece–the larger piece I ate.

Kenneth is asleep.  So it’s just me, Julie and Karen from the alto section, and Kenneth (tenor) left out here.  No idea where we are.  In addition to this being life-threatening and traumatizing and emotionally draining and just sucky in general, this cold is really bad for the voice.  And it’s not just the cold…. it’s also really dry up here.  So, it’s a double whammy.  Plus I’m missing winter carnival.

You know what the shit of this is?  The night before this happened, I had actually made a real effort to charge my cell phone ALL THE WAY, which I never do.  And wouldn’t you know it, the bus broke down in the exact place where there is absolutely no cell phone service.  Oh no you didn’t!

We wander through the lovely woods

We wander through the—

Oh forget it.  We’re not even wandering at this point.  We’re just sitting down.  We dug a pretty deep ditch and the four of us get in there every night and huddle together like bears.  Skinny, naked bears.  I mean, we’re not naked, I’m just saying we have no hair, not in the way that bears have hair.  Except for Jonas Randheim, but he was a baritone, and so we ate his butt, and I don’t know where he went after that.  I guess he was embarassed or something.  Whatever. Also, Kenneth is gay, and none of the rest of us are, so this is all strictly platonic, you know, in a kind of “we’re-all-probably-going-to-die” sort of way.  It feels sort of like a weird school assembly that just never ends.

Being up here, if nothing else, gives me a lot of time to think.  Like maybe this is god’s way of telling me that I should have played the trumpet in jazz band instead of joining choir.  I thought about it.  The jazz band bus would never get stuck in the mountains–they’re too cool. Sometimes I think the only reason we got stuck is because we’re the ones with the sparkly vests.  So even if they do find us, we’re going to look stupid.  We’re wearing the vests because the vests are warm, because they’re made of man-made fabric.  (Cotton kills, cotton kills, say it again, cotton kills.)   But if the rescue chopper comes and sees us waving at them and wearing our sparkle vests, they’re probably going to think we’re doing jazz hands and the shuffle off to buffalo or something.  They’ll probably think we’re just having a great time, and fly away.

Man.

This is what The Sound of Music never really told us.  It’s freaking COLD up in the mountains, and birch bark doesn’t taste that great.  But at least I don’t have to go to chemistry class.  I guess there’s always silver lining.  Or a light at the end of the tunnel, like the song says.  Although, when there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, usually that means you’re about to die.

I’m going to bed for real now.  Maybe tomorrow we’ll start inching down the mountain.  I don’t know.  If the baritones can do it without their butts, then I don’t know why we couldn’t.  Probably because we’re altos and tenors and have self esteem problems.  But this could be our week!  This could be it!

Never trust a bus.

 

 

 

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