Girl in the Dark

Girl in the Dark

This story is based on my experiences with my beloved pug Tres.  

I think I've captured the essence of pugs in this story.  Enjoy!

 

          I remember the last time I saw her.  I had carried my last bag to the car, and Dad was waiting in the driver’s seat.  I could see by his stare and the deep wrinkles on his forehead that he was getting impatient.  Zoe came running up to me and smacked her butt down on my shoe.  I attempted to lift my foot, but she held her legs protectively over it.  I kneeled in front of her.

            “I’ll be back to visit on Thanksgiving, Zoe,” I told her, “And I’ll bring you something nice.  I promise.”

            Zoe looked up at me with sad eyes.  I felt my throat tightening and tried to swallow.  Zoe might not have minded my being an emotional wreck, but it would annoy Dad.  He was not the type to tolerate anything getting in the way of his routine.

            I lifted Zoe off my shoe and scratched her favorite spot on her belly, between her fifth and sixth teats, kissing her head.  “I know you’ve never been apart for me for more than four days,” I whispered.  She cocked her head and made a whining sound.  I stood up and edged backward towards the front door.  Zoe flopped on her back and shone her wide brown eyes in my direction.  Fighting all my instincts, I slammed the front door and turned away, hurrying to the garage to join Dad.

            “Great, let’s go,” he grunted, turning on the ignition.

            I sat beside him and began lecturing him as he backed out of the driveway.  “…Remember that she really needs eye drops once a day; otherwise she gets all this goop under her eyes.  And since you hate vacuuming, you should try to comb her daily too… her hairs attach to everything if you don’t…”

            “I can handle a dog.  I had three before you were born,” Dad snapped.  I thought he would cry as we left the house, but his eyes were dry.  He knew that my toughest goodbye had already occurred.

            I fell silent, and neither of us spoke the rest of the way to college.

            I called home twice during orientation week, and everything was fine.  Zoe was perturbed, of course.  Each time my name was mentioned, she began crying, running in circles, and standing watch at the doorway.  Dad said she refused to eat for a day, but she gave in when he offered her a piece of cheese.  She curled up on my bed every night and could not be pulled out.  Dad asked me questions, like how was my roommate, and did I think the food was as lousy as my advisor said.  I told him each superficial detail, envisioning Zoe listening, as she always did.  I knew that Dad would neglect to clean her wrinkles and walk her a quarter mile a day; I could not really blame him.  He worked nights and supported me alone. 

            Then I called Friday evening, after the first week of classes.  Dad answered the phone on the third ring, and his “Hello?” sounded a bit frazzled.

            “Hey Dad, it’s me.”

            “Oh.  I can’t talk now, I’m busy with… things.  Want to call me tomorrow?”

            “Uh… sure.”  I hung up and stared at the phone, puzzled.  Dad was always willing to talk, even if he was on his way out the door.

            He called me two hours later, at ten o’ clock.  “Hey, Lizzie.  I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier.  “I didn’t want to give you bad news before I was sure.  But now… I’m pretty sure.”  I felt a buzzing in my head.  “Honey… Zoe’s gone.”

            I did not want to hear the rest, but Dad went on, “I was watching the video of your high school graduation on my computer.  Zoe heard your voice and came running.  She was really upset when she couldn’t find you.  For the rest of the day, she lay on the carpet, looking depressed.  When I took her out that evening, she just ran off into the woods.  It was starting to get dark, so I looked for her right away instead of giving her time to play.  But she didn’t answer me.  I never saw or heard her again… she just disappeared.  I just came in from looking for her.  I just… she’s been… I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

            My voice cracked, but I ignored it.  “Are you going to leave the door open for her, in case?”

            “Sure, I’ll leave the garage open.  But Lizzie… I just don’t want you to let this distract you from your classes.  I told you because you’ve never let things affect your work before.  Like when Mom passed away…”

            “This isn’t a death, Dad!” I yelled at the phone.  “Just leave the door open for her and look more when you have time!  I trusted you!”

            Slamming the phone down, I got into bed.  The pillow muffled my sobs, but my roommate sensed the unusual silence when she came in an hour later.  “Is everything okay?” she asked, and I replied with a grunt.

            We got Zoe three years ago, when Mom was sick.  Dad intended to keep her as a companion for Mom, to keep her happy.  He wanted to pick out a flawless, well-bred French bulldog from his friend’s pug’s litter, but Mom insisted that we go to the county pound.

            We walked by an energetic beagle, who hopped several feet in the air as we passed.  The next cage was a dachshund with droopy ears and a tail that wagged pathetically.  Mom stopped to coo at him, and I kept moving forward.  After passing a woolly golden retriever mix, a ratty looking chihuahua mix, and a cocker spaniel, I stopped at the last cage in the hallway. 

            A fat pug as black as coal and plump as a ripe grape perked up when I arrived.  She gazed at me sadly, and I had the strongest urge ever to break open the cage and let her out.  As I watched her, she stood up and waddled to the cage bars, leaping up with surprising agility for her size.  I stuck a hand through the bars and she rested her chin on my fingers.  I got up close to her so I could see her face, which was shadowy in the dark.

            Her forehead had deep wrinkles that seemed to form the letter Z.  Her nose was smooshed up like someone had punched it into her eyes.  Her little red tongue poked out of her mouth, and she had a golden stripe that began between her velvet ears and extended to her curly little tail.  I knew I was in love.

            “Mom!  Dad!” I called, not moving from the spot.  “I’ve found a really nice one!”

            Dad arrived first, telling Mom how the dachshund might have been a mutt, and glared at the pug.  “I don’t think so, Lizzie.  Mom doesn’t want a pug.  Her friend told her they’re unhealthy, shed a lot, and get fat easily…”

            “Let’s see,” Mom said, walking up to the cage.  She smiled at the sight of the pug leaning against the bars, trying to poke me with her paw.  “I don’t know, Rob.  This dog seems really friendly.  She likes Lizzie, anyway.”  She put her hand in front of the pug’s face.  The pug sniffed it eagerly, but then edged towards me.

            Mom laughed.  “I don’t think we can tell Lizzie no, Rob.  She and this pug look completely fixated.  There are no French bulldogs here anyway.”

            Dad sputtered, “But my friend…”

            “Your friend doesn’t treat his dogs well, and I’m not paying him hundreds of dollars for a dog just because its parents are supposedly attractive for that breed!  No, this pug seems really nice.  Let’s take it to the playroom and make sure.”

            As if to spite Dad’s protests, the pug approached him in the playroom and sat on his lap.  Dad patted her head, which made her close her eyes and look content.  After a moment, she strolled over to Mom and flopped on her back.  Mom giggled and scratched her, and the pug’s eyes rolled back so only the whites showed.  “She looks like a zombie,” Dad commented.

            Finally, I snatched the pug and put her on my lap.  She snuggled against my belly and was snoring within fifteen seconds.  Mom gazed at her dreamily, and Dad nodded his consent.  I smiled and scratched the pug’s chin.  She was ours!  As Dad stood up to fill out the paperwork, the pug began making squeaking sounds, and her belly began literally popping like popcorn in a microwave.  Mom and I stared at each other in puzzlement, but when the noises stopped, she shrugged and got up to join Dad. 

            Because of the Z on her forehead, I announced on the car ride home that she should be called Zoe, after my favorite fat cartoon character.  My parents agreed, and Zoe stood up on my lap, digging her claws into my legs out of nervousness.  She stood on guard all the way home.

            I know I am rash.  But Dad cannot expect any other reaction from me.  Zoe is my baby.  I love her.  So of course I will search for her until I find her.

            On my way home (by taxi—another reason Dad will be more than angry), I stop at the pound we bought her from.  I slip a quick note under the door: Zoe the pug is lost.  She’s wearing identification and is micro-chipped.  If anyone brings her in, please let us know as soon as possible!  Lizzie Kalev.

            I do not bother going inside when I get home.  I brought a flashlight, and that is all I will need.  A cell phone will only enable Dad to annoy me.  I am used to walking in the woods at night; the animal cries and darkness do not bother me.  Tonight though, I feel my legs shaking.  I feel like every cry could be a predator pursuing Zoe, who can sprint but not run far.  Every movement in the dark could be Zoe, mortally wounded and searching desperately for me.

            Marching purposefully into the thick brush, I scream her name into the icy cold night.  “Zoe!  Zoe, come out!”  I hear nothing but crickets and night birds responding.  I move faster, knowing that Dad probably heard and will follow me.  I do not want him involved; he can sleep after a hard week at work.  This is my affair.

            My flashlight dimly shines on lumpy tree roots and tall grass.  Zoe could be lying anywhere, and I could miss her.  I shout again.  “Zoe!”

            I see a light flick on behind me at the edge of the woods.  Dad must be coming out.  My fingers are going numb fast; it is a frosty cold night.  I begin to run deeper into the woods, knowing that Zoe could be more than a mile deep by now.  “Zoe!  Zoe!”

            I can vaguely hear Dad’s voice hollering my name in back of me.  I charge deeper into the woods, thinking of her sweet wide eyes and rotten fish kisses.  I do not know why I left her in Dad’s care when he always detested her.  “Zoe!”

            I hear a brushing noise to my left and change direction.  My left hand holding the flashlight is growing cold, so I switch to my right, placing my left in my coat pocket.  I flick my arm around, shining the flashlight towards the noise.  I see nothing but grass and dead leaves, but make sure to light up every inch of the ground. 

            Zoe is my inspiration.  I knew that living at college was a bad idea.  It is only a half hour drive, and I told Dad I would live at home.  He told me that immersion would help me adjust to living away from home eventually.  Immersion into what?  All I could think of was home!

            I feel out of breath; the icy air feels like it is freezing my upper nose shut.  Nothing clogs the nostril openings, but I cannot breathe through them.  I think I hear footsteps tromping leaves behind me, but maybe it is in my head.

            I continue calling her name, my voice shrieking at a pitch it never has reached.  I hear a strange echo and follow the sound.  There is a small cave ahead.  Shining my flashlight in, I call, “Zoe?”  The response is abrupt: a loud groaning sound that could only come from my worst fear in these woods: a bear.

            I turn around sharply and clumsily, bashing the flashlight against a tree.  It snaps off and flies out of my hands like a grasshopper, landing with a soft crunch in some wet leaves.  The groaning sound echoes from the cave again, and I sprint away blindly.

            I can only slightly make out the silhouettes of trees as I run back the direction I came from.  Zoe is probably facing the same cold and beasts as I am, and that does not make me feel any better.  My foot suddenly sloshes through a gloppy puddle.  There was no water or mud on the way out here.  My feet splash through a few inches of liquid.

            I continue running, only slightly aware of the splashes growing increasingly loud.  My shoes suddenly soak through and become icy weights.  I feel the veins in my head throbbing; I am not used to running like this. 

            I stop to get my bearings.  I no longer hear any chirping or groaning—just the rush of water running over my feet and tickling my ankles.  I glance around.  Nothing but trees surrounds me.  Thickening clouds are blocking out any starlight, and real fear suddenly clenches my stomach and sparks a wave of nausea.  I am lost in the dark.

            I spin around wildly.  The absence of friendly sounds makes my ears ring eerily.  The cold wind swirling around me gives the sensation of being sucked into a black hole.  I decide to change my direction by ninety degrees. 

            As I wade through the water, my brain tells me I am wrong before my legs act.  Suddenly, I am waist-deep in a strong current!  I scream and grab in the air feebly, but my numb fingers feel nothing but space.  I feel myself being sucked at high speed towards deeper water, or perhaps a waterfall.  I kick out hard and try to grab lower.

            This time I snatch a thick, low-reaching tree branch.  The water angrily yanks me feet forward, but I cling on grimly.  Slowly, I pull myself upwards.  Every muscle in my body is either throbbing in pain or numb from the cold.  But I know I have to pull out of the grip of the water.  My knees are out; now my feet are out.  I feel my pants dripping water into the current, a tiny trickle.  I thrash my legs around, trying to find dry land to rest them.  When I feel none, I yank myself onto the tree limb.  I feel a jab against my eyes, and a throbbing in my head.  I tumble back and nearly fall off the tree limb.  Holding a hand to my face, I feel wetness on my cheeks.  Trying to ignore it, I stretch my feet down towards the ground.  Again I lose my balance and tumble down a couple feet, but I hit slightly damp grass.  I lie on my back and think about Zoe.  My eyes, arms, and legs’ stinging feels unimportant.

            I try to stay awake, but every muscle is weak.  I need to rest before I can venture out again.  Perhaps I should wait until morning when it is light.  I lie still for a bit, struggling to stay awake, somewhere in the state of half-consciousness.

            After what seems like an hour, I think I hear a human voice calling from a distance.  I yell feebly.  I know that Dad is the only one who could be out looking for me, but for some reason, I holler my pug’s name.  “Zoe!”

            “Lizzie!” 

I hear footsteps crunching and splashing, and shriek, “Don’t step in the water, it’s too deep!”  Only then do I allow myself to give in: the sounds of water slowly fade.

           

            Aching.  Warm fluff.  Something tight wrapped around my head.  I moan as these sensations bring me into consciousness.  I cannot see.  At least I am warm.

            “Dad?” I ask. 

            I hear his voice from just above me; the comforting ring makes the room feel warmer.  “Lizzie, can you hear me?”

            “Yeah, but I can’t see you.”

            “I know.”  Dad is silent.  I hear the heater.

            “Dad, where are we?”

            “You’re in bed in your room, honey.”

            “I couldn’t find Zoe.”

            Dad says, “That… that dog’s all you care about?”

            “Well, she’s why I came back.”

            “Your eyes, Lizzie.  Aren’t you concerned about your eyes?”

            “What about them?”

            “They’re a mess, Lizzie!  I called an ambulance.  They’re on their way.  I had to wrap a cloth around your head to keep your eyes in your head!”  He is yelling.

            “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

            “Why are you apologizing to me?  They’re your eyes!”

            “I know I shouldn’t have come.  I was just worried.”

            Dad makes a strange noise with his teeth.  “I know.”  He seems to be considering something.  “I guess I might as well make you feel better.  You can’t bring her to the hospital, though.”  I hear him open the door, and swift little footsteps patter across the floor!

            I hear the clinking of her tags and her tiny crying sounds as she leaps onto the bed.  “Zoe!”  I hug her tight and smell her rancid breath.  I can feel her smooshy mask and soft fur; she seems to be unharmed.  “Where’d you find her?”

            “She must have wandered back inside while I was looking for her.  She was under your bed,” Dad says slowly.

            “Well, that’s great!  Was there anything wrong with her?”

            “Nothing.”  I can hear the irony dripping from Dad’s tone.

            “Well, now we’re all together again.  The way it was,” I say.

            Dad mutters, “For a bit.  After they have a look at your eyes, you should head back to school.  Even if… there’s permanent damage.  There are ways to function nowadays.”

            I laugh.  “Don’t be silly, Dad.  I can’t go back to school now.”  Zoe tries to walk towards my feet, but I pull her back. 

“Lizzie…” Dad starts to say something, but then stops.  Then he stomps out of the room and slams the door behind him. 

            A few seconds later, I hear the wail of a siren approaching.  Holding Zoe in the corner of my arm, I push myself up and out of bed.  It is not difficult to find the door and open it.  As I walk down the hallway, Zoe squeaks in alarm.  I bump a small table and it tips over, slamming and shattering an object on top of it.  Zoe leaps out of my hands and skitters away.  After feeling around for a full minute, I reach the front door.  “Lizzie!” Dad calls from the kitchen.

            “I’m fine, Dad!” I call.  And I am.  I open the door and step boldly outside to meet the waiting ambulance.

Annie

 Annie

Printed originally in the Norwich Chameleon, 2012 edition

1st Place: Prose, 2012 Chameleon

 

I wrote this short story for my creative writing class last year.  Enjoy!

The sun is up, but don’t tell me to come down!  I like living on my Redwood tree branch.  I call her Annie.  She’s as thick as a full-grown man’s chest, and has lots of dark green leaves.  She’s held my weight for nine years now.  Maurika—my mom—says that I might have to move to a lower, stronger limb when I’m older.  I don’t want to move because Annie has lots of nice things.  She has a knot a few feet out that I grasp when I swing around for exercise.  She has a small hole that I sometimes store food scraps or other items inside.  Once in a while, I shave off bark and rub the smooth rust-colored wood underneath it.  Maurika hates that.  She says it hurts the Tree, but the Tree always grows it back. 

Maurika lives on a lower limb facing the other direction.  She never mistreats the Tree.  She always talks about proper care of our home.  I think she hurts it when she snaps off branches to throw at people who yell things at us.  I’m not allowed to do that.  She says that violence is only okay when defending a loved one, so she does it for me.  I don’t understand why people on The Ground get so mad at us.  All we do is sit in our Tree and relax all day. 

There are already crowds gathering under our Tree, so it must be breakfast time.  I can see Maurika’s friend Hashy tossing a package up from The Ground.  Maurika catches it.  Warm toast and an apple for both of us.  I see people below eating eggs and waffles from nearby cafes.  Maurika says I can’t have those foods—they hurt animals to make them.  Why would anyone hurt animals?  The foods smell good, though.

I tell Maurika I have to go to the bathroom.  She passes me the toilet bucket.  I pull down my pants down and use it.  People point and scream from below.  I ignore them.  Maurika tells me they forget that they’re animals themselves.  I use rope to lower the bucket to the ground.  Maurika’s friend Hashy gets it.  He is our “sanitation worker.”  He likes to look at her a lot.  He doesn’t look at me much. 

Maurika asks me if I am ready for today’s media event.  I tell her that I will do my best.  She reminds me not to mention the rules like last time.  I didn’t realize it was bad to talk about the rules.  Afterwards, the reporters wrote bad stories about us.  Maurika said it was about child abuse, and that they said I had a right to live a normal life.  The next day, I told reporters I was happy and smiled and hugged my mom.  They didn’t believe me.  Nobody ever believes me.

Maurika asks me what I think of her friend Hashy joining us for the day.  I reply that I don’t care.  Last time he climbed the Tree, he gave me really good brownies that made me feel like I was floating.  I liked the floating, but it was kind of scary too.  Maurika really likes those brownies; she and Hashy eat them together almost every day.

Hashy walks over to our Tree and props his ladder against it.  When he climbs up, he flashes me a weird grin and asks what’s up.  He calls me “Buddy.”  I don’t like that name.  I lay down on Annie, waiting for Maurika and Hashy to pay attention to me.  They talk for a while, occasionally pointing at The Ground and at me.  Finally, Maurika tells me to come down to her tree branch.  I hate leaving Annie for anything.  But I obey Maurika and climb over to them.

She tells me that later, I must tell the reporters exactly what she says now.  I ask her what that is.  She says that I must say I enjoy “school,” and have never wanted to be “socialized.”  I tell her that I hate “school” and don’t understand what “socialized” is.  She tells me to shut up and just say it.  I ask her if I can skip “school” today if I tell the reporters what she wants me to.  She tells me that she’ll think about it, which means no.  I dislike “school” because Maurika gets mean when she teaches me.  She says that the “government” makes her teach me these things, but she can do it any way she likes.  She says that the President is a tree-killing bastard and makes me say it before each lesson.  She hits me with a sharpened branch when I forget. 

I remember one time when I almost had to get down from Annie.  There were lots more people gathered around that day, and cameras.  Maurika was even stricter than usual that day.  There was lots of talk about “custody” and “abuse.”  I wasn’t allowed to say anything, but Maurika talked a lot.  She showed people papers she made me write on and talked about “home schooling.”  I don’t know what happened, but everyone left us in the end.  Maurika told me it was a shame I had to write on dead trees just so I could live on one.

            Later, the reporters arrive and Hashy makes a speech to them.  Something about the “common good” and “rights of every citizen.”  I hear a reporter say something about his hair.  Hashy laughs and does something with his hand that makes all the female reporters gasp and back away.  A few of them walk over to Annie and ask me if I am happy.

            I tell them that I love “school” and don’t need to be “socialized.”  They ask if my mom is a nice teacher, so I tell them that the president is a tree-killing bastard.  When they ask if I like “dope,” Maurika bellows out something and they turn their attention to her.  I’m relieved that the attention is gone.  I relax on Annie for the rest of the day.

            During dinner, Maurika comes over to Annie.  This doesn’t happen often, since Annie doesn’t hold heavy weight too well.  I ask what’s going on.  Maurika says that Hashy thinks living in the Tree is a waste of time now because there are less reporters coming than before.  She tells me that Hashy might have to leave soon to do “bigger” things, and asks what I think of that.  I tell her I don’t care if he leaves.  She seems happy with my answer.

Then, just after dinner, I hear a voice call out hello.  I peer down and see a girl on The Ground.  She looks nice.  She has short brown hair and a freckled nose that she wrinkles as she looks up at me.  She seems about my age, and is wearing a red shirt, jeans, and sneakers.  She asks me what I’m doing.  I tell her that I’m actually about to go to sleep.  She laughs.  It’s a cute sound—it reminds me of the squirrels that sometimes try to steal my food.  She asks how I can sleep in a tree.  I tell her that it’s pretty easy, and that my mom does it too.  She asks if I’m afraid of falling down.  I tell her that it’s never happened, and I don’t think it will.  She says that she fell out of a tree once and broke her arm.  I am about to ask her what she was doing in a tree when Maurika interrupts.  She tells the girl to go home, and not to talk to me again.  I tell Maurika that it’s okay—I like talking to new people.  Maurika tells me to shut up and not talk to strangers.  When I look back at The Ground, the girl’s gone.  I lie down on Annie and feel my heart humming faster than usual.  I am scared of how it feels.

The next day, I’m watching the usual “gawkers,” as Maurika calls them, when I see the girl again.  I glance at Maurika.  She’s talking down to Hashy on The Ground and seems very angry about something.  I whisper to the girl, asking why she’s back.  She tells me that she wanted to see if I had fallen out or not.  I tell her I’ve obviously never fallen because I’ve never been down.  She asks if I am going for a world record.  I tell her that I’ve already set one.  She looks impressed.  Then she wrinkles her nose and asks where I go to school.  I tell her my mom teaches me.  She looks angry and says that every boy and girl should go to school—that’s what her mom says.  She tells me that her mom says it’s a “real shame” what my mom is doing to me.  I tell the girl that Maurika is a great mom and I’m happy here on Annie.  She asks what Annie is, and I don’t tell her.  I lie down and try to sleep.

The girl says loudly that she’s still here and I should talk.  I yell that I have no reason to talk to her.  She yells back that I should come down and try eating meat.  I gasp.  Meat!  The number one rule—this girl wanted me to break it!  Now I understand why Maurika wants her to stay away.  I tell the girl that I will never eat meat, and she’s a terrible person for not loving animals.  She says quietly that many wild animals eat each other.  She says I should come down and join her for lunch.  Her mom cooks great spaghetti and meatballs.  I tell her that I’ve already had lunch and have no interest in coming down.  I inform her that I’m done talking and want her to go away.  I hear her stomping away and close my eyes.  I fall asleep to the sound of Hashy yelling at Maurika.  But through the noise, I’m thinking of the girl wrinkling her freckled nose.

The next morning when I wake up, Hashy is back in the tree.  He’s sitting next to me on Annie.  I hate it when other people sit on Annie.  He says that we should have a talk, man to man.  I ask him why my mom can’t have this talk with me.  Hashy tells me that he’s been planning this for a while, and he’d like to leave my mom out of it.  I tell him I’m not interested in anymore of his “special brownies.”  He says this is different.

Hashy tells me that people around us have finally decided to end our happy time in the Tree.  He says that tree-cutters will be arriving this afternoon to saw down our Tree.  He says that it will die, and we will be forced to live on The Ground like everybody else.  He gazes into my eyes and says, “Your mom is in love with this tree, Buddy.  She might jump off and kill herself.  You don’t want your mom to get hurt, do you?”  I tell him that I don’t.  He smiles at me and rubs the knot on Annie.  I feel my shoulders tighten.  “Then you have to jump first, Buddy.”

I look at his face.  Above his friendly grin, Hashy is wearing a beanie and has wild brown curls that droop out of it.  His face and neck are covered by a week-old beard, and he smells like smoke.  I feel sick suddenly.  Jump out of the Tree?  To The Ground?  I tell him that I can’t do that without Maurika’s permission.  He says the only way to help Maurika is to not tell her.  He says I should do it as soon as he leaves, and he is counting on me to save my mother’s life.  Then he calmly steps onto another branch and descends his ladder.  I sit on Annie and watch my mom.  Maurika looks happy as she peels an orange for breakfast.  For a woman about to jump from a tree, she sure looks calm.  I guess that Maurika has been preparing for this moment for a long time.  My grip tightens on Annie as Hashy walks away.  Who is he to tell me to jump from here?  He must think I’m stupid.  I’ll talk to Maurika. 

I stand up and take a wide step towards her.  Suddenly I hear the most ominous sound in the world: a cracking of wood.  I have heard it once before, when I was about seven.  Maurika had screamed and grabbed the Tree’s trunk; the branch she had been on came tumbling down to The Ground and shattered.  I remember looking down at those splintered pieces of wood, wondering what a person would look like if they fell.  I didn’t leave Annie for two days after that.  At night I sometimes have dreams of branches, cracking, snapping, and tearing off the Tree.  But Annie is strong.  She can never break.

Yet now it is Annie being ripped off the trunk.  I grab at the thin branch above, which snaps off easily.  Annie shudders under my feet.  She is bending slowly at the arch where she attaches to the Tree.  I see the problem clearly: saw marks.  Hashy had been sawing as I slept.  Suddenly I understand: Hashy wanted us to leave.  Maurika wanted to stay here with me.  So Hashy wanted me dead.  There is about an inch of wood supporting my weight in the thin air above The Ground.  I scream.  “MOM!”  Maurika’s head spins around like an owl’s; I see her stand up, but she will not get here on time.  There is a low grinding sound, and Annie hesitantly tilts her head towards the ground.  I grab her and begin pulling my body toward the trunk.  She jolts, tilting sharply at a sixty-degree angle.  There is a sharp snapping sound as Annie breaks off the trunk.  For a second, I am clinging Annie awkwardly in the air.  Then, with the sound of whistling wind drowning my mom’s screams, we tumble down together.  And I learn how it feels to fall.

I am smashed and tossed.  My body is erupting in pain.  I can’t see.

“Oh my God.”

“I can’t believe he’s alive.”

“Has someone called an ambulance?”

I feel relaxed now.  My torso is spread out over a huge space.  This surface is flat and rough and wonderful.  I feel supported much better than ever before.  I open my eyes and gaze around me.  Everyone is so tall, so close, and so loud!  The Redwood is so high above me.  In its shadow, Annie lies beside me, broken and dead.  I strain my neck to look for Maurika and groan in pain.  The gathering crowd murmurs.  Then I see Maurika’s eyes, full of tears, gazing anxiously over me.  “Baby!  I’m so sorry!  Are you okay?” she cries.  I try to nod, but my neck aches.  “Don’t move, baby.  We’ll get you help.  You’ll never have to go back in a tree again, okay?”  Over Maurika’s shoulder, I can barely see the menacing glare of Hashy.  He looks like he wants to throw me off another tree.  But then his face disappears from view as the freckled girl leans over me with a wrinkled nose. 

“Gee.  I knew you’d fall down.  Now will you come over for lunch?”

To Wear the Norwich Ring

To Wear the Norwich Ring

Winner of The Cowdrey Award, 2011

1st place for prose in the Chameleon literary anthology, 2011 

First published in the Norwich Chameleon

This short story was inspired by my years in the Corps of Cadets at Norwich University.  I do wear the ring, and in two days, so will the class of 2013.  Enjoy the story!

Cadet Private Zeke Skriminy did not realize his life was in danger when he awoke on a wintery Norwich day.  It started off like any other morning for Zeke, waking up at ten o’ clock.  No, Zeke did not attend formations: in fact, he was pretty sure the last time he saluted the American flag was two years ago, as a sophomore.  Physical training for him occurred less than once a week.  Zeke was grossly overweight.  He had bought two new pairs of ACUs recently, when his stomach began to bulge out of his old uniforms.  This year, ACUs were the most formal uniform he wore around campus.

Now Zeke groaned at the sound of cadets yelling outside his room.  He slipped into his PT gear to go down to the mess hall.  His first class of the day had already passed, but after breakfast he would go to math and sleep on his desk.  He trudged down the stairs from the fourth deck of Patterson Hall, yawning and scratching his unshaven chin.  He stepped outside the barracks and shivered as the cold hit his pudgy body.  He began walking downstairs towards the mess hall.  Cadets in ACUs with gortex jackets walked by, as well as civilians, all bundled up.

            “Hey, Skriminy!” a girl called out. 

            Zeke put a shrewd grin on his face and waved down to a pretty brunette civilian girl.  “What’s up, Marisa?”

            “Did you do the math homework?” she asked cheerfully.

            Zeke sniggered.  “Are you kidding?  I haven’tdone any homework this whole year… and I haven’t failed out yet.”

            Marisa appeared impressed.  “I’ve never seen someone do so little and do so well.”

            Zeke nodded and smoothly pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up.  “If the teacher didn’t take role, I wouldn’t even go to math.  I’m taking over my family’s business next year.”

            “Why do you even come to Norwich?” Marisa questioned.

            “My parents’ condition to get the family business.  Had to go to college,” Zeke told her.

            Marisa’s eyes widened.  “Watch out behind you… it’s your least favorite person.”

            The cadet colonel was approaching.  “Skriminy!” she barked.  Marisa hurried away.  Zeke stomped out his cigarette on the snowy ground and watched Marisa’s back as she retreated.  The colonel snapped her fingers angrily.  “Skriminy, I’ve emailed you five times in the last week.  Didn’t you get any of my emails?” the colonel demanded.

            Zeke shrugged.  “I don’t check my Norwich email account.”

            “If you had, you’d know that you have marching tours,” she snapped.  “I’m through with  yournegative attitude!  Your platoon sergeant has been complaining about you for months.  Just because I’m your rook sister doesn’t mean I won’t prevent you from getting your degree from the Military College of Vermont.  I’m telling you as your rook buddy to get your act together.”

            “Yeah, sure,” Zeke replied, looking at the cloudy sky.  “Good day… colonel.”

            The colonel glared after him as he walked down to breakfast.  She was sure that he had cheated in multiple ways to attain his junior ring, but nothing could be proven. 

            In the mess hall, Zeke slopped a large chunk of scrambled egg on a plate.  He went and sat with several other seniors.  They were talking about commissioning and graduating, but he was not really listening.  Marisa was on his mind: the way she walked in her tight-fitting pants, and how she let her straight long hair flutter free in the crisp January wind.

            In math class, Zeke took a seat and tapped his ring impatiently on his desk.  A bunch of rooks sat at their desks, talking loudly about some stunt a staff sergeant pulled involving a window and muddy boots.  Sick of listening to their chatter, Zeke thought back to his own rookdom.  It’s funny, he thought, It hasn’t been that long since I was in their position.  And boy, I had it harder than they do.  He recalled an incident in September of his freshman year when his cadre had shark-attacked him, all shouting in his face because he entered the civilian dorm.  His nonchalant attitude had enraged them and sparked a crack-down on his platoon.  This led to his rook buddies resenting him as well.  Because of this, Zeke spent the remainder of his freshman year hiding around campus to avoid the barracks.  First he tried cross country and wrestling, but each of them had workouts that were worth less than being able to hide by the lockers of Andrews Hall.  So he moved on to a new strategy: showing off his manliness to prospects.  He signed up to give at least three group tours a week.  He had a prospect in his room more often than not, which kept his cadre at bay.  When groups of high school students came to the Norwich, Zeke told countless horror stories of “puke-inducing PT” and “cadre with no hearts who crush the dreams of all rooks.”  He convinced himself that he had been through the Sahara Desert in the summertime and Antarctica in the winter.  As soon as he realized that he could avoid the corps, he gave up on it.  Free hours were spent sleeping in the chapel, sitting in the Wise Campus Center on Facebook, and eating ice cream when the mess hall was nearly empty.

            “Skirminy?”  Zeke snapped out of his memories and grinned at the sight of Marisa.  She sat at the desk beside him and brushed her hair from her face.  “Did you catch a lot of flak from the colonel?” she asked.

            “Oh, no.  She was just being an ass about missing formations—that sort of thing,” he said smoothly.  “Nobody gives me flak.  I just act like I’m doing the right thing, and I blend in.”

            “You’re so smart.” Marisa beamed.  Zeke noticed that she wore a ring like his, except three times smaller: a high school ring.  This girl was barely eighteen, just out of twelfth grade.

            Suddenly inspired, he piped up, “Do you want to watch a movie tonight?  In my room?  I’ve got a single!  My roommate dropped out in November.” He emphasized the word “single.”

            She looked slightly surprised.  “A movie?  Um… okay!  What DVDs do you have?”

            Zeke smirked.  “All the best ones.  Why don’t you help me pick one when you arrive?”

            “Sure,” she said.  They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rooks bantering.  “I sure get sick of the rook talk,” she mumbled.

            “Me too.There’s no rook talk in my room,” he told her.

            “Aw, but you were a rook once too, weren’t you?” she teased.

            “Yeah, but I was never that annoying,” he laughed.  “My dad had to tell me dozens of times to shut up about rookdom.”

            Marisa’s smile suddenly dropped.  In a tone of austerity, she told Zeke, “My father forbade me to date rooks.  He always said they’re way too antsy and will take advantage of me.”

            “Your father’s a smart man.  Is he a Norwich graduate?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Marisa replied, “Thirty-four years ago, he graduated.  I always planned to come here as well.”  Suddenly she became very focused on her math homework, so Zeke fell silent.

            “Class, pass in your homework,” the math teacher called out, and Zeke turned to the front reluctantly.  Throughout class, he did not sleep; instead he glanced often at Marisa, who returned his gaze with a friendly smile.  Zeke sniggered inwardly at his swift progress.

            Marisa left before Zeke could arrange a time for their date.  He walked outside and glared at the snow.  The sun was barely peering through the clouds, causing a glint in the eyes of the statue of Captain Partridge.  He had a weird feeling as he passed it.  His heart rate increased, and his ring suddenly burned on his finger.  He walked back to his room for an early afternoon nap.  Locking his door, Zeke slipped out of his uniform and lay down.  The window was open a crack.  A hissing wind blew through it.  Zeke was thinking of Marisa as he drifted off to sleep.

            Across campus, Marisa sat on her bed, venting to her roommate.  “This guy is lazy, fat, rude, irritating, and stuck-up.  I can already tell what he thinks he’s getting tonight!”

“Why’d you agree to a date at all?” her roommate asked.

“Well, I’ve been studying the corps, and he’s definitely the worst cadet.  I’ve had a whole semester to figure that out.  And you remember what I said about my daddy.  And why he’s gone,” Marisa stated.

“So you’re going to take it out on this one guy?  That seems kind of crazy.  No offense.”

“It’s not crazy,” Marisa said hotly.  “My father died in Afghanistan because his platoon commander was too occupied with his own precious female conquests to take charge.”

“I know, honey.  I’m really sorry.”

Marisa spat, “Skriminy may not be commissioning, but he’s setting an example for hundreds of kids who are on track to become officers in the military.  I won’t let this happen.  There are thousands of brave people in the Middle East who need good leaders, and Skriminy is a clone of that man who let my father die.”

“So what are you going to do?” her roommate questioned.

“I’ll have a talk with him tonight.  And convince him that no girl wants to be with a lazy slob who only cares about video games and hooking up with girls.  If he doesn’t change his ways, I’ll have to resort to drastic measures to get him to remove his Norwich ring.”

            Zeke sat up in bed.  He felt stiff and lazy, but knew that after a quick evening meal he would be energized for an encounter with the freshman girl.  He reached over to his desk to grab his class ring… and it was not there.  His heart skipped a beat.  Zeke stood up and paced the room, looking up and down for the ring.  It was nowhere in sight.  He closed his eyes and thought back.  “I’m sure I put it on my desk,” he muttered.  He thought back to when he lay down and suddenly felt a chill.  It was like remembering a dream.  He recalled a sudden chill in the room right after he lying down.  But he would have noticed if someone came in.

            Zeke tested the door.  It was still locked.  Nobody had come in that way.  He lived too high up to climb through the window.  He decided that he must have dropped it outside.So he put on a Norwich Corps sweatshirt and walked down towards the mess hall, skimming the ground with his eyes.  It was already getting dark out, and every little pebble looked like his ring.  The dark was so overpowering that he missed Marisa as she walked by him.  “Skriminy!”

            He looked up.  “Oh, hey, Marisa.”

            “Lost something?”

            “Yeah, my ring has gone missing.  Do you recall if I had it on when we talked in math?”

            “Yeah, you definitely did.  You were tapping it on your desk like you always do.”

            “Then I must have dropped it in the science building.”  He swore.  “I can’t rest till I find it.  I spent a good two thousand bucks on that ring.”

            “Oh, have faith in the Norwich honor code, Skriminy.  Someone will find and return it.”

            “Honor code, my ass!  I bet someone will grab it and sell it online!” Zeke stormed.

            Marisa looked surprised.  “I don’t think a Norwich cadet would do that.”

            “I’d sell it.  So I know that others would,” Zeke snarled.

            Marisa narrowed her eyes.  “Well, anyway…  I’m glad I ran into you.  In my last class, I agreed to work on a project with some friends until late.”

            “Aw, come on!  You said you’d chill with me first,” Zeke groaned.

            “Don’t worry, babe, I won’t abandon you.  It’s just going to delay our little date,” she told him lightly.  She smiled sweetly up at him with doe eyes.

            Zeke leaned forward, frowning.  He saw a glint in Marisa’s eyes that reminded him of something he had seen earlier that day.  Was she smiling or glaring at him?

            “How about we meet at ten-thirty tonight?” she suggested.

            He continued gazing into her eyes.  Then the weird look was gone.  It must have been the darkness that caused the odd sight.  “Uh, yeah.  That works.  Whatever,” he grumbled.

            “Okay.  Meet me by the Captain Partridge statue.  I have something special in mind.  See you tonight!” she chirped, and hurried away.

            Zeke shivered.  At least it’s not snowing, he thought.  If it was,my ring would be buried till springtime.  He went down to eat dinner.

            Then he returned to the science building to look for his ring.  With six hours to kill, he devoted two of them to skimming the floor with his eyes, getting weird looks from freshmen in their ACUs, who were sitting on the floor studying for biology exams.  Just for the hell of it, he interrogated a scrawny blond kid.  “You!  Have you seen a ring lying around here?”

            “No…” The boy noticed the Corps sweatshirt.  “…Cadet.  I haven’t seen anything, cadet,” he said solemnly.

            Zeke snorted.  “You can relax.  I don’t care about sandwiching or any rook stuff.”

            “Then why are you in the corps, cadet?” a dark-haired freshman asked him.  This boy had scratches on his face.  His ACUs were faded from mud, almost to a yellow hue.

            “You’re obviously a future model cadet,” Zeke said mockingly.  “But some of us don’t care about this system.  We’re just finishing what we started.  I’m over this school.”

            “You shouldn’t be in the corps if you don’t like the rules and regulations,” the dark-haired rook told him.  “I love this school.  My cadre are great.  I can tell they love Norwich, too.  I’m going to do Seal platoon here and commission to serve my country in three years.”

            “Well, aren’t you just wonderful!” Zeke scoffed.  “Don’t talk to me ever again, rook.  Or I’ll have a talk with your cadre about disrespect.”  He stalked off to the Partridge Pub.

            Deciding to go to the pub for a drink, Zeke headed back to the Wise Campus Center.  Once he had a beer in his hand, he leaned over a table depressingly.  Why had Marisa stalled if she liked him?  Why would she want to meet outside in the cold in the night when he had offered her his warm room?  The pub suddenly felt swelteringly hot.  He decided to prepare for his date.

            The wind was blowing outside, causing trees to bend over dramatically.  Zeke felt like the moving shadows around him were dozens of people.  He unconsciously rubbed the empty place on his ring finger as he walked towards his room.  A fallen tree branch suddenly blew by his head, narrowly missing his ear.  “What the hell!” he burst out. 

The wind almost seemed to be talking.  “Un-weeerrrr-theeeee.  Un-weeeerrr-theee,” it howled.  Zeke glared around, detesting his environment.  Then he rushed into Patterson.

Zeke showered and ruffled gel into his longer-than-regulation hair.  He changed into khakis and a jacket with a beanie.  Next he sprayed four sprays of forty dollar cologne and brushed his teeth twice.  Then he turned on his computer to play video games.

Marisa was heading back to her room from her project, shivering slightly.  Was it from the cold or nervousness?  She was not sure.  In her room, she applied some eye makeup and slipped her hand into her pants pocket.  Good, the Norwich ring was still there.Glancing at the time, she muttered to herself, “Ten-twenty-five?  Okay, here goes.”  She walked briskly outside towards the statue.

Zeke was running late.  He shut his computer and hurriedly wrapped a scarf around his neck.  Then he rushed out and skipped down steps towards the statue.  The wind was still howling.  He approached the statue.  It was nearly pitch black outside, except for a couple lights from the nearby buildings.  Nobody was in sight.  His watch said the time was ten-forty.  He thought he saw a figure moving by the statue.  “Marisa?” he said softly.  Nothing responded.  “Marisa, I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late.  I was on my computer.  You know how we cadets are with Starcraft…” His voice trailed off.  The wind seemed to be talking again. 

“Un-weeerrr-theeee.Zeeeeeke.”  It sounded like his name.  Zeke shivered, more than a bit creeped out.  I’ll give her five minutes; then I’ll leave, he thought to himself.  He nervously pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.  His hands trembled as he replaced the lighter in his pocket.

Suddenly, a glow caught his eye.  He gazed up at the statue and staggered back.  Its eyes were truly glowing in the dark!  Then he realized where he had seen glowing eyes that day.  Marisa’s eyes earlier looked just like the statue’s stony gaze.  “Zeeeeke,” a voice rumbled.

Zeke dropped his lit cigarette in the snow and stared at the statue’s piercing face.  “What?  Who’s there?” he cried.

“Zeeeeke.  I have been watching youuuu.  You are unwooorthy to wear the riiiing.  The riiiing symbolizes four years of pain and triumphs at this institutioooon.  You are a slackeeeeer!”

Was the voice a female’s?“Colonel?  You don’t fool me!  Cut this crap out!” Zekeshrieked, his voice cracking.

“You are unworthyyyy, and you will not graduate as a cadeeeet!” the voice boomed.

“I will graduate as a cadet!  With or without my ring!  Was it you who stole my ring?” Zeke shouted angrily.

“Zeeeeke.  If you do not cooperate, your career as a cadet will end heeere, nowwww!”

Zeke, now shaking visibly, took several steps backwards and slipped.  He nearly tumbled over.  “Marisa!  Are you there?  I’m leaving!” he screamed.  He turned and began sprinting full out towards the UP, and then he stepped on a thick patch of black ice.

His feet swooped out from under him like a cartoon.  As he dropped backwards, he thought to himself, “The statue’s going to get me.”  Then his head hit the stony ground hard.

He regained consciousness a few minutes later.  The wind howled harder than before, and there was still nobody in sight.  Zeke rolled over, groaning.  He felt dizzy, and his tongue hurt from biting it hard.  He could feel blood trickling down his chin.  He looked up at the statue again.  Its eyes were dim.  It was not talking.  Someone had to have been playing a joke on him.  Spitting blood, he pushed himself up.  The library’s lights were still on.  Should he walk there? 

No, he thought, I’m going back to my room.  He began walking unsteadily towards the stairs that led to the UP when he heard Marisa’s sweet voice behind him. 

“Skriminy!”  He turned around.  The voice came from the statue.  “Skriminy, why are you leaving me in the cold?”

“I’m going to my room, Marisa!” he yelled.  “I don’t know why you wanted to meet me here and ruin my night, but I’m through with your games!”  He began walking up the stairs.  Suddenly, there was a breath of air on his neck, and he felt cold arms wrap around his chest.

“I’m cold, Skriminy.  Give me your scarf,” the girl’s voice pleaded.

He tried to turn around, but the arms held him stiffly.  “Please, Zeke?” she whispered.

“Okay, okay!  Take my scarf and let me go!” he shouted.

The scarf was unwound from his neck.  Then he felt a hand on his tug on his shoulder.  It felt cold and hard as stone.  “Your jacket too,” the voice insisted.

“Marisa, what the hell!  I’m not giving you anymore clothes!” he screeched, and tried to run.  A hard stony grip held him in place. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Zeke.  I won’t let you graduate from the corps,” a voice hissed in his ear, suddenly turning menacing.  “Leave Norwich, or face the consequences!”

“I’m not leaving!” Zeke hollered, and jerked around to face his adversary.  He stared at it, wide-eyed for a minute.  Then he screamed, but the sound was drowned by the howling wind.

In her room on the UP, the colonel paused from her paperwork at her desk.  Was that a human yell or the wind?  She shook her head and shut her window.  Haunted campus, indeed.

Marisa returned to her room at ten-fifty-five and jumped ontoher bed, serene and smiling.  Her roommate sat at her desk doing homework.  “You’re back early.  What did you say to the boy?” she asked Marisa eagerly.

“I decided it was futile,” Marisa responded wearily.  “Convincing a senior to drop out of the corps?  Nobody could convince him to do that.  He’s been in it for three and a half years already.  Hopefully he’ll drive himself out of the corps by not completing his marching tours.”

“He could still graduate.  And continue to show underclassmen that being a slacker in the corps pays off,” the roommate put in. 

“I think I hurt him tonight.  I only waited for him a few minutes because of the cold.  Then I left,” Marisa said in a satisfied tone.  “Now I’ll be on the lookout for anyone else who might hurt our military with laziness.  Norwich will only graduate the best of the best, and nobody else will end up like my daddy.”  She punched the bedpost.

Her roommate smiled at her enthusiasm.  “But you said you found his ring in the science building during your project.  Are you going to return it to him in class tomorrow?”

“No,” Marisa told her roommate.  “I left it by the statue of Captain Partridge.  If he came tonight, he found it.”

The next morning, the dark-haired enthusiastic rook walked outside, bound for the science building.  The weather was much calmer than the night before.  The rook walked by the library towards the science building.  Then he stopped and gazed at the stone figure, spellbound.  The sight before him had to be a lame joke.

Captain Alden Partridge’s statue had a jacket draped over its shoulders and a scarf around its neck.  A beanie hat perched on its head like a crow.  The rook ventured closer.  What was lying at the statue’s feet?  He covered his mouth as he approached.  It was a body.

Zeke Skriminy lay frozen and dead at the statue’s feet.  His mouth was open, frozen in a horrified scream.  Trickles of blood were frozen on his face, separating it into four grotesque sections, and the skin was pasty white and hard with frostbite.  The only clothes remaining on Zeke’s body were an undershirt and boxers. His obese stomach hung out, forever frozen fat.

But the most startling sight of all was the statue’s pose.  No longer were the arms in a calm position.  The left hand of Captain Alden Partridge pointed accusingly at the cadaver below.  The other fist was clenched tight, and on its index finger was Zeke’s Norwich ring.