What He Missed

There are two types of travelers: the one who travels out of necessity, and the one who travels out of opportunity.

Martin began that day as the first, but ended it the second.

Before that day, Martin was not ashamed to admit that he was most definitely the first type. The way he saw it, travel was a necessary evil between meaningful activities, and whenever he drove, or flew, or walked, his only concern was to reach his destination as quickly as possible. Inefficient travel was wasteful, and he had much better things to do than stare at flowers and trees and grass that existed in abundance all over the planet. On road trips, he only appreciated what he could from an uninterrupted distance. Driving to work, everything was ugly and unworthy of looking at. And during the 30-second walk to the mailbox, none of his neighbors or their dogs interested him as much as the possible Business Insider magazine he could be reading at his desk, with a plate of his wife’s cooking, within minutes.

As he drove to work that morning, the only discovery he had in mind was finding his office as clean as he’d left it and ready for him to operate. So he failed to notice the hulking shadow passing between the trees of the apple orchard to his right, his eyes instead fixed on the road like a hawk on its prey. A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of his office building and headed inside. A coworker greeted him with more cheerfulness than Martin cared for, but he returned the greeting out of ritualistic courtesy.

“So who do you think it is?” his coworker asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“What? Who?”

Martin’s coworker looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from beneath a rock. “That guy in the orchard! Everyone saw him, and the office security is on high alert in case he tries to come here. Some say it’s that serial killer who’s been on TV all week; others say it’s just some homeless guy. But me…” The coworker leaned in close. “I got a better look at it than the others, and let’s just say this guy is hairy. I mean, really hairy, like a bear or an ape. He’s eight feet tall, and walks with a really weird gait. So it’s gotta be him. It’s Bigfoot!”

All that story got out of Martin was a raised eyebrow. He more or less ignored the man’s nonsense and proceeded to a remarkably unremarkable work day.

But driving back, Martin couldn’t help watching the orchard more carefully in spite of himself. He’d nearly passed it by and reentered downtown when suddenly he found the road ahead blocked by an enormous humanoid figure standing in the middle of the street.

Martin yelled and swerved to the shoulder, his 1995 Ford Buick screeching to an angled halt. Luckily, this road was usually pretty empty. The figure lumbered toward him, and he beheld it in full detail.

He was certainly tall, and ungainly, and hairy all over his face and body like Martin’s coworker had said. But there was no viciousness in his dark green eyes; just the sadness of a person used to being misunderstood. He came up to Martin’s car and pulled open the driver’s door before the man could lock it.

“Evening, sir,” Bigfoot said matter-of-factly. “Hope I didn’t frighten you; I just recognized your car from this morning and thought I’d try and give you notice: Your tail light’s out.”

“Oh.” That was all the shocked Martin could get out. “Thanks.”

Bigfoot just nodded as if there were no strangeness between them, and loped away. Then he paused and turned to Martin one last time. “By the way—the apple blossoms are lovely this spring, aren’t they? It’s nice to slow down and just drink it all in every once in a while, you know?”

Martin just stared after the departing figure, blinking in disbelief. After a long 20 minutes of sitting in silence, he drove home, every shimmering blossom in his peripherals completing his picture of the world.