As we squeezed into the warm, confined space, I did my best to give Yojoti plenty of room.

It really is too small in here for two people. I’ll fold down the work table for the time being.

I tossed the handful of items on the table over to a not-quite-full shelf, then folded the legs up under the work surface, before lowering the whole thing against the wall of the shed on its hinges.

There! Now we actually have room to look around. Now where is that mess kit that might be in here?

Casting a glance around at the open surfaces I could see, the aluminum relic of my scouting days was nowhere to be found.

Makes sense that it wouldn’t be out where I can see it, I mostly use this space for yard tools. If it’s anywhere, it’s up on the loft, probably in one of those totes.

About a foot overhead, extending half the length of the shed from the back wall, was a loft holding a few lengths of different types of rolled fencing, some longer lumber, a few twenty-gallon totes, and other things I didn’t get to very often. Pulling the ladder off its hook on the wall, I leaned it against the edge of the loft and stepped up onto it in a crouch.

Yeah, not laying out here anywhere. What’s in this first tote? Agh, geez, I should have done this outside. That’s a lot of dust off that lid. But hey! That’s where those fire handling gloves went! Picture hanging wire, twine, a few tubes of caulking, and where did this yoga mat come from?…eh, no mess kit. But man, some of this stuff could be really useful. I’ll hand it down to Yojoti.

I called out to Yojoti, stifling a cough. He looked up from his inspection of a sprinkler head–the kind that goes “ts ts ts ts ts ts ts chchchchchcchchchch”. I pointed at the tote and then to him, and he nodded. He lifted his arms to receive the plastic bin, and if he had any qualms or wonder about the plastic, he didn’t seem to show it. As he began his inspection of its contents, I turned back to the second tote.

Alright, what’s behind door number two? Aha, the mess kit! On top of…what the hell? I had one of these? No way. I always wanted one, but we got out of Scouts before I could talk mom into getting one for me.

My puzzlement all over my face, I lifted the object of consternation out of the tote; It was an external aluminum frame hiking backpack. Out in the more direct light coming in from the shed door, semi-rigid rectangles on the back surface reflected my face back at me.

Freaking solar panels? No way this is from when I was a Scout twenty years ago. Where the hell did it come from? I’ll look at it more out in the sun. For now let’s get this tote down to Yojoti to see if there’s anything else useful in it.

I placed the backpack back into the tote and handed it down to Yojoti, then climbed down the ladder and retrieved the backpack, carrying it outside to sit on one of the buckets by the lightly smoking fire.

Opening every zipper and hook-and-loop section, I found a tiny first aid kit, one of those gold foil emergency blankets, a hand-crank flashlight, a flint-and-steel fire starting kit, a folding shovel and pick tool, iodine tablets, a heavy vinyl poncho, a collapsible pot and folding grill rack to go with it, quart-size freezer bags, and a length of silicone tubing with something attached to one end.

This is all amazing and super timely, but what’s this tube? Oh! It’s one of those “bite to drink” things for the hydration packs. Does this thing have a water bladder? Holy shit it does!

“How in the actual FUCK did this thing get into that tote?” I surprised myself and Yojoti with my exclamation of incredulity. He stepped through the door in a cloud of dust motes, but I raised my hands to let him know nothing bad had happened, then dropped everything on the ground. I covered my face with my hands and tried to think through the possibilities.

Unless someone else was using our shed for storage, the only people who had access to it were Patricia and myself. And she hardly ever went out there! In fact, I can’t remember if she EVER did. We lived in that house for a couple of years before she–before she died–and if she ever DID go into the shed, it was once or twice at most. But I know for a fact I never bought anything like this. Did she? When would she have? And why?

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I have to admit I jumped a little when Yojoti interrupted my frantic analysis with a tap on the shoulder. Turning to face him, he had his “not sure what this means” face on, and held what turned out to be an envelope out to me.

An envelope with my name on it.

In Patricia’s handwriting.

In a daze I reached into my pocket for my knife, flipped it open, and slid the blade under the flap to cut it open along the top crease. Inside was a folded card. A birthday card. It showed a mountain scene with a lone figure standing on a peak. Inside it said “Hoping your next year is full of adventure!” Below that, in her neat script, Patricia had written “Happy birthday my love! This is for that ‘bucket list’ item of ours to hike the Appalachian Trail. I can’t wait to experience this adventure with you! Love, always, Patricia”

My vision swam and blurred, and I pressed my hands to my eyes, careful to preserve the cardstock in my hand. Tears fell, but I had grieved enough already that I wasn’t incapacitated by sobs. I let myself cry and shudder for a few minutes, thanking my lucky stars for my wife and her unknowingly life-saving gift.

This must have been for my 31st birthday. We had talked about doing that hike a few times over the years, but I didn’t realize she was this serious about doing it sooner than later. I’m sorry, sweetheart, that we were never able to. But I’m so thankful for this, because it is going to make things so much easier.

Drying my eyes on my sleeves, I opened them to find Yojoti had returned to inspecting the contents of the shed, kneeling on the floor and dropping some items into one tote, and tossing others to the floor.

Make yourself at home, I guess. Though he can probably tell better than I can what’ll be useful out here and what won’t. But I need to try to explain things to him. Though getting the words may be a little awkward. Here goes nothing.

I spoke Yojoti’s name and he smiled up at me before levering himself up. Once he was vertical, I asked him to “watch”.

Alright, I guess genders would be helpful here. I put my hands on top of my head and mimed hair coming down the sides. Then, with a little embarrassment, I used my hands to make the shape of breasts over my chest.

Yojoti nodded right away and shared a word with me, for “woman.”

Next, I pointed at him, then myself, and said “Woman, no”. I got his “puzzled” expression once again.

I guess that could be taken as “we’re not women,” or “we don’t have women”. Fine.

I made the breast gesture again, saying “woman,” then with even more embarrassment, pointed a finger outward from my groin and looked at Yojoti with raised eyebrows.

“Ah! Yes, ‘man’!” Followed by a few more words and a laugh.

I then drew the card out of my pocket and imitated writing on it. Yojoti responded with a new word, and I repeated it as “write”.

Alright, these next few words could be pretty difficult.

Sweeping my arms around the shed, making circles over the contents, I then brought my hands in toward my chest and said “Trevor”, then pointed toward Yojoti’s pack and said “Yojoti”.

Yojoti didn’t respond immediately, insead reaching for his belt knife and touching the handle to his chest, spoke a word. Then he pointed at my gnoll knife and then at me, and spoke a new word.

“Yes!” I said, pointing at Yojoti’s knife and saying “Yours,” followed by pointing at my own knife and saying “Mine”.

He nodded back, and I launched into my next charade. I glanced around for an item of no consequence in case my meaning was misunderstood, and landed on a roll of plumber’s tape. I held it in both of my hands, and made a big show of handing it over to Yojoti, raising my eyebrows at him.

“Yes, Trevor ‘give’, Yojoti ‘take’,” he explained as he caught my meaning, and I came away with two new words.

Next, I made a cup shape with one hand, then gestured like I was putting my finger into the cup. Yojoti pointed at my hands and spoke, and I figured that was “inside”.

Lastly, I put both my hands up, palms facing toward me, and ducked my face behind them. I had to repeat the action a couple of times before Yojoti said “Ah!” and shared the word for “hide”.

Alright, I think that should be everything I need to communicate this. Here goes.

“My woman dead, two long,” I said, pointing behind myself. Yojoti assumed his “pensive” stance with his hand on his chin and nodded as I continued.

“My woman no dead, give pack. Hide.” I pointed to the tote the pack had come out of as I haltingly tried to explain the surprise gift from Patricia.

Yojoti nodded and then clapped a hand on my shoulder in what seemed to be empathy. I nodded back at him, and then stood awkwardly, wondering how to proceed.

Yojoti answered the question for me by settling back down next to the totes and continuing to sort through the shed’s contents.