The day I met Leila

A Chapter by aoeu

Chapter 1: The day I met Leila

Chapter 1, The Day I Met Leila

Salt Lake City, Utah. Summer of 2008.

June 20th was the day that I met Leila. I was camping with my daughter on a Friday night in the canyons not far from my house in Cottonwood, Utah.

We camped together frequently--just my daughter and I. It was an escape for me. Lately I didn’t want to be home on the weekends anyway. It was easy for me to tell my wife: “This is father/daughter time. We both enjoy camping.” It was a valid excuse to leave the house for extended periods of time. So valid, that nearly every weekend so far this summer we had been in the mountains, starting by Theresa watching movies on the laptop while I set up our camp.

This particular evening I joined my daughter, Theresa, after setting up the camp, and we had both fallen asleep while watching the movie she'd chosen, but it was a restless sleep. It was almost dusk, probably only an hour or two until the light was completely gone. I estimated the time to be around 8:00pm then, just when the mountains are most beautiful. It was when the sun shone through the horizon casting its pink hue across the forest. Slivers of light streaked between the trees, making the colors and contrasts stand out with vibrancy for the last hour of the day before the world would settle into the bleakness of night.

It was my favorite time of the evening, and part of me knew I was missing it as I slept. I wanted to wake myself up, because I needed to witness the beauty while it lasted. The Friday night's observation and respect for God and nature helped me hold on to sanity for the remainder of the week, in spite of my troubles at home.

I had been failing to convince my subconscious that it was time to wake when something sparked the unnerving idea in my dreaming state that my daughter wasn’t safe. We were in the forest alone, and my daughter was next to me, I was sure of it. I was slowly waking up with her safety on my mind, and I considered my surroundings before I regained control of my muscles. I felt my daughter’s bare feet tucked under the knee pit of my leg as I laid on my back. It was a position she was fond of, and in which we usually fell asleep while camping. I enjoyed the feeling when she automatically stuffed her cold toes into my knee pits to keep them warm at night, reminding me that she was dependent on me for her shelter and comfort.

But this time, as I woke up, I remembered that we weren’t in the tent. We were laying out in the open, and had both fallen asleep. That must have been why I had the eerie feeling of danger: from exposure. I opened my eyes, deciding that it was time to move into the tent, and I saw what had troubled me: her.

A small girl, not particularly dressed for camping, but with the appearance of one who was quite comfortable in her surroundings, was kneeling about ten feet away; watching me intently. The sun was behind us, the rays hitting her straight on leaving her shadow extending up the mountainside behind her. It lit her up with the same brilliant pink hues that made my heart leap.

She was wearing loose fitting and heavily worn light blue jeans with several scuffs and tears, and a girls button-up shirt. The shirt tapered to fit her flatteringly, but it was also quite ragged. No undershirt that I could see. The holes and tears in her torn up clothing were from use – not from a distressing process at a factory where teenagers today buy brand new torn up jeans. Her small size may be deceiving me into thinking she was younger that she really was, but there was no way could she have reached her second decade yet. She was too smooth. No spidered eye-wrinkles, no facial lines. Just healthy rounded features. A precise and blemish-free forehead with medium length plain blonde hair pulled back into a pony-tail, and a nose that was good sized, but not fat or wide, nor too long or skinny. It was an adult's nose that she had correctly grown into.

I sized her up, as is typical male behavior, both for the reason of determining her threat, and also because she was quite attractive. She was not skinny like some stick-figure children, whose widest point is at the knees. Hers was appropriately at the waist, which tapered to her thighs, and continued to taper to her ankles. Her arms, exposed at the short sleeve of her shirt, were toned, not flabby. She had a fully formed frame with curves: thighs, hips, waist, and breasts. These were the only hints that she was more woman than child, because her skin looked too young and perfect to have ever been exposed to any danger.

I worried that I surprised her, maybe scared her, by opening my eyes and staring at her suddenly. I ventured speech. “Good evening miss.”

She blinked her blue-grey eyes, but that's all. I couldn't tell if we were communicating or not. Her bright eyes were fully open, gazing directly at me, in spite of the sun behind me shining directly on her. She knelt stone-still and remained perfectly balanced. I looked at her for hints that she noticed my speaking, but even her steely eyes were solid and textureless like her skin. They conveyed deep wisdom and depth, but no emotion towards me at all.

I glanced at Theresa again, still sleeping next to me. I felt exposed, laying on the ground casually and being looked at in my sleep. Was she here to hurt Theresa? Fortunately I was in between this girl and my daughter, so her safety wasn't much in question now that I was awake.

I contemplated my intruder's motive. For one thing, few girls would have the patience or occasion to wear the same jeans long enough to trash them. Didn't girls go through jeans like lipstick and boyfriends? It added to the deception that disguised her age. No socks either. Just feet smashed into flat leather shoes, which may have been sturdy once but were now thrashed likewise. The bare skin around her ankles was very dirty, but blemish free. She had made no attempt to cover up the full hair growth on her legs, although all I could see was between her pant legs and her feet, plus a patch on her knees where the largest holes were. The hair was very thin and light blonde, made to stand out more obviously by the coating of dirt that shimmered in the horizontal rays of sun. It did not deter from her loveliness in my eyes. Yet it was long enough that a pretty teenage girl should have been mortified to be caught anywhere with such unkempt leg hair exposed. She must have been an avid camper, up here long enough to have forgone the luxury of shaving for a while.

Her uniformly colored light blonde hair, soft milky white cheeks, and poutingly full lips were an oxymoron to her ragged clothing. And her skin was light and untanned; from scandinavian descent perhaps judging from the coloring overall, but not tanned like an avid camper's should have been. Everything about her was a quandry. Maybe a rich runaway, unprepared for real life outdoors? The family she strayed from, whether she inadvertently wandered away while camping or intentionally ran away, would undoubtedly be looking for her.

The silence between us went on too long. Was she unwell? Mentally ill? She certainly looked more than merely healthy, rather consummately flawless. She was absolutely beautiful.

“How are you?” I encouraged again with my friendliest non confrontational voice.

“I am fine, thank you.” she immediately replied this time. Her speech was crisply enunciated: formal, and educated; although it was a bit raspy, like she hadn’t used her voice for a long time. Her answer was polite, but the look in her eyes was still deep and indiscernible.

She wouldn’t stop staring at me. How long had she been kneeling there, watching us, as I slept? At this point my perplexity contributed to the danger I sensed in my sleep. She was unarmed, the only thing for me to fear was that she would attack me out of her own fear of being cornered or trapped while caught doing something mischievous. I quickly reached back to check my wallet. Had she taken it, and was afraid I would find out? If so, my checking should have alarmed her and I shouldn’t have done it! But I already had, and my wallet was there, and she continued to stare at me undaunted.

“Is there anything I can do for you? You look a bit…”

I tried to say that she looked a bit crazy, disturbed, lost, or that something must be wrong, but I didn’t know what. After a couple of seconds delay, she answered.

“No, I’m fine.”

This was said with a smile, and I felt relieved that all was well.

“I’m sorry, I suppose I've just ventured off of my path.” she said.

“Are you lost?” I asked cheerfully, anxious to help her find her way and be a hero. I hadn’t seen any other campers or visitors anywhere around, but she couldn’t be here all alone. She was too perfect, and not paranoid enough to be on the run, so I cast that idea out again. Somebody must have been nearby, probably actively looking for her right then. She had no fear of me directly, although she seemed wary, almost irritated, at having been seen. That upheld the lost-but-well-cared-for theory. Maybe she's too sheltered to be afraid of strangers, and she's only worried about getting in trouble for being lost?

She stood up eventually and said “No, no, I’m not lost”, but made no efforts to return to anyplace. She kept staring at me with those bright eyes, and I had the feeling she wanted to leave, but was delaying.

Now standing, I saw her in profile, lit up by the sun. Her body, if I may use this word so boldly to describe a young girl, was exceedingly tight. Her pants were loose, but through the holes and thin areas, her tone and muscle was obvious under her ivory skin. She didn’t have blemishes or splotches, or any of the normal imperfections most people have. Or at least, none that I could see, and I was trying to see as much as I could. Contributing to her youthful appearance was a smooth torso with only a slight outward curve of a belly pulled tight between her hips, although mostly hidden by her loose clothing. Maybe some of that was my imagination filling in details, which I couldn’t help but allow to happen.

Well, what does she want, should I take her back to somewhere? Should I give her a ride to town? Would she get in my truck with me anyway?

“This is your daughter?” she asked, nodding to Theresa, who was just now waking up to see the conversation between us.

“Yes, Theresa, she’s mix. She’s mine, she's six, I mean.” I smiled at my stumble, trying to shake it off. I felt speechless and silly, like I was trying to come up with words to say to impress her, and I was embarrassed by them, obviously floundering to sound intelligent rather than flustered to her. “I mean, yes, Theresa is my daughter, and she is six years old.”

Why did I have to offer this information to a stranger anyway? I was being shy in front of this beautifully perfect girl, and my words betrayed my troubled feelings before I was aware of them myself.

My daughter, undaunted by this stranger’s beauty which didn't have nearly the same affect on her as it did on me, and oblivious to the odd circumstances that we’d found her here, put out her hand as she knew was polite, ready for a complimentary handshake. But the girl still didn’t move. She was peculiarly still, and made no effort to shake hands.

“Nice to meet you Theresa. I'm happy to see you having fun camping with your dad.” She said, dismissing the handshake by folding her own arms together, yet smiling widely at Theresa as if to portray as much friendliness as possible to the child.

“I’ll be on my way now.” she said suddenly, as if coming to a conclusion in her own mind and finally acting fully on it. Maybe asking about Theresa was just a diversion to change the subject and get her out of here. She nodded formally at me, then turned to leave, walking easily.

I jumped up, scaring my daughter, but the girl made no movement of alarm. She just kept walking, not even looking back over her shoulder when I rose.

“Let me…”, I panicked. I couldn’t let her go. She was too pretty, and something was wrong with this whole meeting. It was too odd. Why was she just sitting there watching us? This girl was far too young for me to be so attracted to. I was horrified by the urge I felt in myself that desired to approach her. And shouldn’t she be at least a little bit afraid of me for the same reason I was afraid of myself? But she didn’t turn around to even look. She was entirely undaunted by being alone in the woods with an unknown man. I couldn’t bear to think that she was afraid of me, but she did appear to be absolutely alone at the moment.

“Wait, um, miss, may I help you?”

“No sir, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll be going now. There is no need to follow." she told me without even looking back.

Humph… "Sir"?! That exaggerated the age difference between us. Obviously she felt no anxiety about the chemical surging in my body forcing me to get closer to her and to do anything I could to stop her. If I could just touch her, to get a little closer and pet that smooth hair. I would do anything to stop her from leaving!

“Wait! Please! Hey, there, um…”

Now I had done it. Please? Please what? 'Please stay here because you are so beautiful that I want to look at you. Could you let me touch something of yours? Just Anything?' That would hardly do. But the longer I wait, the greater the chance she’ll leave. I have to act now!

“Do you come up here often?”, I asked her.

Well I had to say something. I had already started talking, I couldn’t ask her to wait, and then not say anything. And that was the first thing that came to my mind.

She turned around and stood perfectly still and symmetrical. She looked defeated as she conceded to speak with me. She did not shift weight to either hip, and kept her legs parallel only a foot apart from each other, with her feet flat on the ground. She gave absolutely no body language to help me with her communications.

“No, never.” She answered, waiting to see if it would stick this time.

That was odd. I didn’t want to believe her. I wished she would be up here all the time. But I couldn’t avoid believing anything she said. Would such a flawless beauty even be capable of fabrication?

She didn't look angry at all, everything I inferred was from her words, which by themselves lacked inflection too. She was polished and formal with precisely spoken words. She did not waver in her stance, just stood looking at me and waiting for a response. I worried that when I responded, she may turn to leave again.

“But you’re not lost.” I confirmed, hoping I could help her find… well, just find anything, as long as I was the one to help her do it.

“No, I am fine. Excuse me now, please.”

She seemed to be more pointed in trying to leave by talking her way out of a confrontation with me. And with my daughter here, especially, what could I do to keep this girl here with me? Had she noticed the ring on my finger? Would that deter her, or make her feel more safe? Was it too late to take it off?

Yet she still did not turn to leave. She stood watching me, to see what I would do next. So I daringly did the only thing I could think of. First I grabbed Theresa around the middle. She knew instinctively what was coming and stiffened her torso. I did this to her all the time: I tossed her up and dumped her bodily onto my shoulders. Except that this time she was still half asleep, so she teetered on me, her two fistfuls of hair yanking her body upright while she righted herself. I grimaced at the hair pulling, but tried not to look like it was anything odd in front of this new girl.

“What’s your name?” I asked desperately.

“I really should be going now, leaving my name inconsequential.”

Her voice took a more instructive tone, and her eyebrows raised, like a school teacher emphasizing a fact to a student. I worried that I was angering her now. How could I make my actions appear more chivalrous rather than malicious, even though honestly, they probably weren't? Did I want to help her because she was beautiful and I wanted to be nearer to something that was so appealing? Or did I want to help because I felt it was the right thing to do for a girl alone in the woods whether she was remarkably young and beautiful or not? Either way, it needed to look like the latter, although the truth was probably the former.

“I’d feel better if I came with you, just to see you back to your family safely.”

There was a pause. Maybe I had convinced her. Eventually, she revealed to me this new piece of information:

“My family is not here with me.” she despondently admitted.

Oh, that’s what she’s been hiding, and that's why this conversation is weird. That’s why she wanted to go when she thought I looked interested in her. She really is vulnerable and at a disadvantage – up here all alone, as beautiful as she is, with nobody in earshot. But, didn’t my obviously pleasantly mannered daughter allay any fears that I could have bad intentions?

I knew that, with that idea, I was using my own daughter to help me pursue this beautiful young girl--whom I should be completely avoiding for the legal dangers alone. If not for that, then somehow I would have to never mind the fact that I was married to my daughter's mother, regardless!

But I didn’t distrust this strange girl. I couldn’t imagine her doing anything cruel or mean spirited, like inventing a story to get me into legal trouble. She was just too delightfully pretty. Although perhaps if I allowed my instinct to prevail, it wouldn't require any inventing on her part to get me into serious trouble anyway--I'd get there just fine myself.

“Oh.” I said, because some time had gone by, and I was supposed to have answered her by now.

At this point, driven completely by fear of her leaving me, and fear of what she might face up here alone by somebody other than me (mostly I feared another person just like me, but the problem being that he would not actually be me), I just started blurting out things that were closer to the truth than I had intended.

“Please don’t leave me. I am interested…in...”,

I can’t finish that sentence. 'you? because you're so attractively beautiful?' D****t! Start another one quick before it’s obvious what I almost said.

“Well because I’m alone out here too, just enjoying the outside. Would you talk with me for a while?”

That sounds so cheesy. The outside – that’s like the weather. My ploy is obvious. Now I really look like a child molester, out here camping with my supposed daughter, and putting lines on this complete stranger who could barely be old enough to have driven out here in the first place. She had better be older than sixteen. But who knows, girls got hips and curves pretty young these days.

I asked “How old are you?” even though I didn't want to know the answer.

No answer from her though. That was rude: even if she is young, nobody likes to tell their age. If they’re too young, they wish to be older, and as soon as they are, they wish to be younger. No girl ever reveals that most carefully guarded secret. A girl alters it to fit whatever situation she wants to be in. With an older rich guy; when wanting to buy booze and cigarettes, she is older. When getting into a tough spot with the law, she is younger. Although I didn’t think this girl ever smoked or drank – she looked to perfect for anything damaging to have ever entered her body.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t nice of me. I just meant, how did you get up here if you are alone? Did you drive? Can I take you back to your car?”

Yes, that was a good cover up, and it might still reveal her age to me.

“No, I didn’t drive either."

I didn't say anything in return. She's up here alone, without a car? There aren't houses anywhere for miles. Eventually she acquiesced.

"You may speak to me if you like." she agreed slowly. Then added, "but I’m not a good conversationalist. You will take the lead."

I thought I might accidentally say 'you shouldn’t ever talk to strangers like me anyway!' But instead, what came out was:

“Then I’ll do the talking, that’s fine with me. Come on back over here.”

She came back and kneeled down again, in nearly the same position as before when I had first opened my eyes, and she looked up at me resolutely, waiting for me to begin.

Wow, this is working. She's really here. She’s going to stay with me. Does she think she has to? Does she think I’m threatening or forcing her, and she’s trying to appease me to avoid angering me? I hope not.

I took Theresa off of my shoulders.

“Let me get you a chair”, I said excitedly, and unfolded a cloth camping chair for her. She sat on it easily. I hurriedly got one for me, and another for Theresa. Then I set them both next to her, quite close in fact, arranging them in a semi circle.

Maybe I put them too close, I thought. I invited Theresa to sit in the chair closer to the girl, putting her between us. But Theresa was already climbing into the farther chair. That’s ok, I thought, now I’ll take the one that’s left, and maybe it won’t look like I was trying to get too close on purpose.

What was I doing anyway? This was dangerous and stupid. Why was I out here alone with a beautiful girl tempting me, allowing myself to linger this close to the borderline of infidelity, even only in my heart if not in deed? Why was I making stupid excuses to be closer to her? What if somebody saw me?

I have been attracted to girls younger than I should me before, and I knew it. But wasn’t everybody, even though they didn't admit it? This pretty girl was something different though. I’d never been so determined to see something through as this. What had happened to perfectly orchestrate this situation to tempt me into inappropriate behavior?

The girl sat, looking at me with those beautiful steel blue eyes, expectantly. My body wanted to kiss her more than anything. But that was simply out of the question, off the wall absurdity, and I was in control of myself well enough to not make a mistake that lewd. She seemed at ease, or if nothing else, consigned to staying with me for a while, and she wasn’t too fussed up about it. Just rolling with it.

“Go ahead.” She bade me to begin speaking. She sat perfectly upright in the chair, hands neatly folded in her lap, her ankles folded one over the other in polite posture. It was an odd combination. Her perfect equanimity, aplomb, and proper style of speech, and her hands and feet folded like a high-bred lady attending a night at the Opera, and her small frame and darling facial features surrounded by healthy and full flowing hair--offset with her messy and ripped up clothing, the extra layer of dust colored dirt that coated her body, and her exposed body hair, was so self-contradictory that I almost laughed. It was funny to see such a rough-and-tumble-dressed girl sit up so straight and proper, and speak so assuredly.

I had to be the one to say something or she would leave. She expects me to. She told me that I would take the lead, so I must start somewhere…

“I come up here on weekends. Well, Fridays mostly. Just to, you know, get out of the house a bit. Theresa and I usually bring a movie and some food, and this is our father/daughter time.”

Yes, that’s good. Father/daughter time. That sounds like you’re not married, and you’re just a good dad. Go with that.

Why am I trying to lie to this girl? Okay, just don’t flirt with her. That’s crossing the line. But it’s okay to keep talking so you can look at her. It’s okay to look at a Ferrari, as long as one remembers that the price is way too steep to consider its purchase.

“Today we brought Swan Lake. You watch movies much?" I asked, but I continued without waiting for an answer. "This is one I particularly like. Mattel has done a good job with these Barbie movies, or with most of them anyway. I think this is my favorite.”

Pause… think of something more. Keep going.

“Today it’s just such a nice day that after putting up the tent, I figured maybe we’d just sleep out here. I mean, sure keep the tent in case it rains, but we just pulled out the bags and laid here on the ground to watch our movie and get ready for the night. I like sleeping under the stars. It makes me feel at peace with the world.”

That was good: sound like you love the stars and the world. Teenagers are idealistic. She would really relate to you on those points. Was I really flirting? No, this wasn’t flirting, yet.

Yet? Does that mean I plan to later? Argh! Just don’t let this frustration show on your face, and keep talking!

“I like waking up with the dew on the grass, and on my sleeping bag, and all around me. I like to feel the biting cold air on my face, but feel warm and cozy inside my bag. I like to curl up in it and get nice and warm before I jump out and put some warmer clothes on.

“Of course, if I wait too long, I get too hot, and then it’s miserable. Once the sun comes out and starts to cook off the dew, well, then I’ve missed the sweet spot. Right when the sun comes up, that’s when I like to get up. While it’s still cold, then feel everything warming up around me while I’m waking up and getting breakfast. Like the earth and nature is waking up with me, and we’re going through the same routine together.”

Careful, you’re almost a tree hugger with that thought.

“What is your name? I’d like to call you by something.”

“Leila.”

She pronounced it LYE-lah.

“Leila. Very good. Okay.”

I continued the conversation, obviously desperate for anything to talk about, just so long as she didn’t leave. Theresa fell asleep in her chair. She looked horribly uncomfortable with her neck flopped to the side, but I didn’t get up to put her into bed. I didn’t want to alert Leila to the time or anything else. I wanted her to stay with me forever. So I kept talking about camping, and my progression from burning man to hiking to camping further and further out.

“...so after my wife put a stop to taking Theresa to burning man, I really had to do something else. And this is what we do now, to have our time together.”

Now I’ve talked about my wife. D****t! That cat is out of the bag.

“…and it’s just so hard to be at home on the weekends, feeling like I’m not doing anything, or accomplishing anything at home. I feel kind of, stagnant. Like I’m not getting anywhere. I just want to feel like I’m doing something in the world, and Theresa is the most important duty I have. And she likes it out here. It’s good for both of us.”

Boy you’re sure telling Leila a lot. She’s going to think you’re crazy.

“So we’re up here most weekends, and I find I’m getting more and more comfortable coming out in the woods. It’s practically the routine now. Theresa expects it, and, well, until it gets too cold to keep coming up here, I figure we’ll keep doing it.”

“Do you ever bring your wife up here?” she inquired.

That was the first thing she'd said to participate in the conversation since I began it. What does that mean though? Say the right thing now… don’t make up any lies about not being attached here…

“Well, she’s not much of an outdoors type person. She has allergies, and doesn’t really enjoy camping anyway. She has other things she'd rather do herself, or with her friends."

“That must be hard for you both.” She said matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you enjoy this so much, I'm sure you wish you could bring her up here. And I’m sure she is at home wishing you could enjoy something that she could participate in too.”

Is this suddenly marriage counseling? Well, maybe it was bound to come to this, because I’ve excluded my wife from our conversation so far, but she obviously is part of my life. She’s bound to be curious about me being up here without her. And maybe she's making a point of telling me that she knows I'm married, and thereby creating a boundary around what I'm allowed to discuss, think, or do, with her.

“Ya, I do wish that I guess." (Although the opposite is true: I came out here where I was safe, because I knew she wouldn't follow.) "Well I mean, it’s more complicated than that. More than just, well, always having the same interests. Sometimes people don’t, and that’s okay to some extent. No two people will agree on everything. You can’t change who you are.”

Don’t go justifying your behavior toward your wife to this little girl – she doesn’t need to hear that stuff.

“To me it isn't complicated. I really don’t think it’s much more complicated than that at all.”

It was the most judgmental, disagreeable thing she’d said all evening, although it wasn’t particularly too much of either to be offensive, and she wasn’t challenging me on it. Just participating in the conversation in her remarkably disturbing and honest way.

But that was good, right? Either she was quite enlightened, and could see right through my façade about this excuse I gave for my distance from my wife, or she was quite naïve, and really didn't think that relationships were complicated. But the way she looked at me, with what seemed to be complete understanding and empathy for my feelings, had me believing the former.

I then told her stories about camping with Theresa. I told her that I thought Theresa enjoyed being with me and having daddy time. But of course she enjoyed it. We were going out and having fun. I did all of the work, and she got to do all the playing, and get all of my attention, and have me waiting on her, for the entire trip. We had been camping further and further away from the main trails, actually getting quite accustomed to the terrain out here in the ever deepening and thicker woods.

We talked about how easily children can acquire talents and become comfortable with new, and sometimes extreme situations. Theresa would often urge us down deeper and deeper trails, picking out the best sites for pitching a tent, building a campfire, and watching the stars. When I finally revealed to her my purpose for leaving the food out of site from the campsite and hung from a rope on a tree, she was not deterred.

"Oh, I see. Yeah, we don't want bears to come into our camp. That makes sense." Theresa had said. And she happily helped pick out sites with trails to other trees where we could hang our food as well.

The first time Theresa had to pee in the woods without the porta-potty was a significant achievement too. I always brought a bucket with a seat for latrine needs. When we were caught too far away from camp without the bucket, and Theresa suddenly exclaimed that she had to pee 'right now!', she was inconsolable. We both knew she would not make it back to camp. I tried to give her a quick lesson on peeing in the woods, but I had no idea how a female body urinated. She was mortified at peeing in front of me, but just as terrified to try it alone. After several minutes of sobbing, the urgency overrode her fear. She told me to turn around and don't look. Through her sobbing I heard the splatter, and I inferred that she must have hit the dirt and not her clothes. Thank goodness! Then she giggled and said "I'm done", and we continued where we left off like nothing had happened. Ever since then, Theresa has taken a pocket size wad of toilet paper with her on these deep forest excursions and took care of business by herself without any intervention.

We talked for hours. I talked until my eyes started drooping for needing sleep. I had her amused, sometimes laughing, and sometimes contributing. At one point my head fell while I was talking, and I couldn’t have been much company. But she didn't take the opportunity to sneak away. I continued being overly verbose, and she continued contributing as she saw fit, which kept the conversation going, but I still felt like I had to say a thousand words to describe something, which she could interpret and reply to with simple enlightened and intelligent answers. At least it kept her with me. At one point, she got up and picked up Theresa to put her in her sleeping bag. Theresa did not wake. Leila was quite sturdy, to be so small and still lift this full grown sleeping child up and place her down so gently without waking her. How odd that she felt it would be appropriate to touch my daughter like that, as a stranger to me. How odd that it didn't even spark a tremor in me: I was entirely comfortable with it. I couldn't find it in myself to distrust anything about Leila.

I also laid down on my sleeping bag, and Leila had to start carrying more of the conversation. She came closer and sat next to me, right on the ground indian style, completely disregarding that it would get her dirty jeans dirtier still. I considered this a commitment to hang out for a while longer, but even with this encouragement and all of my will power to stay awake in her company, I eventually fell asleep. I have no idea what time it was when this happened, or even what the last thing she or I said might have been, but I'm sure she left after I was completely asleep.

I woke to the cold air and the sunrise of the next morning. My first instinct was to check Theresa: I had fallen asleep with a stranger close to me, and hadn’t even thought to keep Theresa under closer watch when it happened. But Theresa was still asleep right next to me, and the stranger was gone. I followed her footprints out to the paved road, only about a quarter of a mile down my trail. There they disappeared, and I believed she had either hitchhiked, or followed the road to her own vehicle. I wouldn’t likely ever see her again.

I ran back to camp, I had left my daughter there. I didn’t want her to see that I was so interested in this strange girl's encounter that I had followed her footsteps to find her.

We ate cereal with milk from the ice filled cooler. We listened to the birds begin their day. Eventually we began to hear people drive by on the paved road. I packed up our camp, but I was very loathe to leave. This may be the only place I’ll ever see her. If I leave here now, I am missing every chance I will ever have to find Leila again. I stalled as long as I could, but it really was time to get home.

So eventually, we packed up our gear to leave, just like we had at the end of every weekend this summer. Theresa didn't need any instruction. When she saw me packing, she pitched in and started helping. She was good at camping now, since starting the custom a couple of years ago. Prior to the camping, Burning Man was our time together: an annual trek into the deserts of northern Nevada for an art festival that often turned quite debaucherous.

Eventually my wife had put her foot down on that though. "Ian, you may not take my daughter to that event!"

I had known when my wife, Sarah, used that language 'my daughter', the argument was lost. She referred to Theresa possessively as "my daughter" to indicate that Theresa was her very own child, and as a mother, she had the right to make this decision, and was preemptively overruling any argument that I might have on the matter.

I could hardly have argued anyway. It was an immoral event, and although I liked some limited exposure for Theresa, Burning Man was likely too much. The opposite of everything we taught her every other day of the year in our Mormon community. I was already the outcast there for a hundred reasons: that annual trek, my goatee, my punk rock music... the list went on. I always wondered if living on the fringe of my religion caused me to be outcast with disapproval, or with jealousy among my brothers-in-the-gospel for my daring.

I had the rest of the day to myself. I'd make it back home by noon, perform the rest of my weekend duties, and go to church on Sunday, then back to work on Monday. But I'll be thinking about Leila all weekend.