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elieves, is a pa<strong>in</strong>less way to die. “It’s <strong>the</strong> only th<strong>in</strong>g that will make me free.”<br />
He stands stiffly, hands <strong>in</strong> his jean pockets. “Someth<strong>in</strong>g’s got to give,” he says. “Or someth<strong>in</strong>g’s go<strong>in</strong>g to<br />
break.” And this is <strong>the</strong> l<strong>in</strong>e that breaks him. His voice catches and his Stoicism crumbles, and <strong>the</strong> humanity<br />
beneath pushes out, and I glance at his face and see tears slid<strong>in</strong>g down his cheeks.<br />
I can’t help it. I cry as well. Two grown men stand<strong>in</strong>g beneath a lilac tree on a gorgeous spr<strong>in</strong>g day.<br />
Knight is able, after all, to <strong>in</strong>teract with ano<strong>the</strong>r person, and do so <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> most open and vulnerable way. And<br />
right <strong>the</strong>n, I come <strong>the</strong> closest I th<strong>in</strong>k I ever will to understand<strong>in</strong>g why Knight left. He left because <strong>the</strong> world<br />
is not made to accommodate people like him. He was never happy <strong>in</strong> his youth—not <strong>in</strong> high school, not with<br />
a job, not be<strong>in</strong>g around o<strong>the</strong>r people. It made him feel constantly nervous. <strong>The</strong>re was no place for him, and<br />
<strong>in</strong>stead of suffer<strong>in</strong>g fur<strong>the</strong>r, he escaped. It wasn’t so much a protest as a quest; he was like a refugee from<br />
<strong>the</strong> human race. <strong>The</strong> forest offered him shelter.<br />
“I did it because <strong>the</strong> alternative was— I wasn’t content,” says Knight. “I did f<strong>in</strong>d a place where I was<br />
content.”<br />
I th<strong>in</strong>k that most of us feel like someth<strong>in</strong>g is miss<strong>in</strong>g from our lives, and I wondered <strong>the</strong>n if Knight’s<br />
journey was to seek it. But life isn’t about search<strong>in</strong>g endlessly to f<strong>in</strong>d what’s miss<strong>in</strong>g; it’s about learn<strong>in</strong>g to<br />
live with <strong>the</strong> miss<strong>in</strong>g parts. Knight had been away too long, and I sensed that <strong>the</strong>re was no com<strong>in</strong>g back. He<br />
had a brilliant m<strong>in</strong>d, but all his th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g had only trapped him alone <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> woods.<br />
“Yeah, <strong>the</strong> brilliant man,” says Knight, “<strong>the</strong> brilliant man went to f<strong>in</strong>d contentment, and he did. <strong>The</strong><br />
brilliant man wishes he weren’t so stupid to do illegal th<strong>in</strong>gs to f<strong>in</strong>d contentment.”<br />
Dur<strong>in</strong>g nearly every visit <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> county jail, Knight had chastised me for a few moments about abandon<strong>in</strong>g<br />
my wife and <strong>the</strong> cowboys, neglect<strong>in</strong>g my fa<strong>the</strong>rly duties to talk with him. I’d found it amus<strong>in</strong>g—he had<br />
shirked all responsibility entirely—but <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> end, he was right. I saw what happened to Knight and felt only<br />
<strong>the</strong> urge to go home.<br />
For Knight, his camp was <strong>the</strong> one spot on <strong>the</strong> planet where he knew he belonged. His existence had been<br />
extraord<strong>in</strong>arily challeng<strong>in</strong>g at times, but he’d made it work. So he had rema<strong>in</strong>ed <strong>the</strong>re as long as he could.<br />
He doesn’t want to sit <strong>in</strong> a shed tak<strong>in</strong>g apart eng<strong>in</strong>es. He has known someth<strong>in</strong>g far more profound, and<br />
that sense of loss feels unbearable. I understand all this, yet I’m powerless to change anyth<strong>in</strong>g or relieve his<br />
pa<strong>in</strong>. We stand <strong>the</strong>re, our tears stream<strong>in</strong>g. He will return to <strong>the</strong> trees, his real home, even if it is just to die.<br />
“I miss <strong>the</strong> woods,” he says.<br />
Knight fishes out his watch once more. He says he probably won’t see me ever aga<strong>in</strong>. It was risky to<br />
speak even this once, aga<strong>in</strong>st his family’s wishes. <strong>The</strong>re won’t be ano<strong>the</strong>r conversation. After he’s gone, he<br />
says, I can tell his story any way I want. “You’re my Boswell,” he declares. He no longer cares what’s<br />
written about him. “I’ll be with <strong>the</strong> Lady of <strong>the</strong> <strong>Woods</strong>, I’ll be happy,” he tells me. “You can make T-shirts<br />
with my image on <strong>the</strong>m if you wish, and have your kids sell <strong>the</strong>m on <strong>the</strong> corner.”<br />
I smile at <strong>the</strong> idea, suspend<strong>in</strong>g my tears. <strong>The</strong> world is a confus<strong>in</strong>g place, mean<strong>in</strong>gful and mean<strong>in</strong>gless at<br />
once. “It was good to see you,” he says. He walks me around <strong>the</strong> garage to my car, and leaves me <strong>the</strong>re. His<br />
mo<strong>the</strong>r will be com<strong>in</strong>g any m<strong>in</strong>ute. “Go,” he whispers. “Go.” And I do.