Survival Skills

Operation: Prep for Desert Circus Training finds me on a run through the bush near Lucas's house.
Out on these tracks, it's hard to imagine that I'm so close to Sydney. To the end of the street, up the hill, a left turn, and the suburban trappings of Beacon Hill suddenly and completely disappear.

The dusty trails crisscross through dense growth, over craggy rocks, twist, turn, and occasionally open up into fields of mud-sculpted BMX jumps. It's bright and sunny, a warm Australian end-of-winter morning. Best to head back to the house before the sun gets too high.

"I don't remember coming this way."
"Sorry, what was that?"
"I didn't come past any of this stuff when I came up. None of this is familiar."
"... I see."
"How did I miss the turn-off?! There was no off to turn onto!"

I retrace my steps back to the last spot I most definitely recognize. Then forward again along the exact same path, apparently convinced that this time, things will turn out different. They do not.
"What?! No!"

The narrator pinches the bridge of their nose, rubs thumb and forefinger in small circles, while slowly shaking their head. "Now remember: the most important thing about being lost is not to panic."
"I know that."
"Thought it was worth mentioning."
"I'm not panicking."
"Fine."
"I'm not!"

"You seem slightly... agitated, that's all."
"I am agitated! It's hot, I'm thirsty, I don't have my phone, and I have no idea how I got here."
"Um, you ran...?"
"Shut up. Shutup shutupshutupshutupshutUP."

"Have you considered trying one of those three side trails?"
"I hate you."
"You think you hate me."
"..."
"But you don't."
"I think I hate you, then. Why are we even talking?? We don't do this."

The narrator shrugs their shoulders, accenting the gesture with an eyebrow raise and slight half-grimace. I hate the half-grimace. Apathetic bastard.

"Weren't you paying attention? You're always big into describing surroundings; I take it you don't bother remembering any of the shit you go on about."
"Remember?! When there's an endless array of details, textures, sounds, emotions, reactions, and so forth, desperately calling out to be captured?"
"Clearly an essential task."
"Indeed! You were so thoroughly consumed by the sunshine and your musical selection, you can't even recall which way you came. Forget about the rabbit-warren beauty of these tracks, the pungently sweet smell of the wattle trees, the sound of the rocks crunching under your sneakers..."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
"Other people notice things without being plagued by a narrator!"
"Of course they do."
"Arghh."

By this point I have backtracked yet again, and am no closer to my destination. I stand facing the second trail off the main path. I could always get myself back to this point easy enough if it came to that.
"Yes. Because we've been doing oh so well here."
"You are not helping. I wasn't even talking to you, anyway."
"Oh, I see. So you're talking to yourself now? That certainly isn't promising."
"What the...? Who do you... where do... and honestly! How can you even? Argh buu, bah!"

The trail is the correct choice. In fact, as soon as I clear the overgrown entrance (which you would assume I'd remember from the initial time through, but then, you'd be wrong), it comes back to me and I'm home, slurping down water in no time.