In the first days of summer at the end of June is the highest point during the whole annum, similar to the highest pod of a Ferris wheel that stops to admire the view, the beginning of an optimistic period. Prior to that are a few pleasant weeks of spring, and afterwards comes the settling in of the cold in fall, while at the end of June settles the heat that is only a preview of what’s to come in July and August. During this time you can hear the rustle of optimism in the air, as the day gets longer, a whole array of scents sprout together with their flowers, and the mornings become misty and spectacular while the afternoons intense and flagrant, while the dusk presents gorgeous sunsets that always draw the attention of those who know how to admire their beauty. The summertime rains bring with it violent thunder, but often without the rain that would usually follow in the other seasons. Weird days indeed, a period so embracing it’s as if it would bring the dead to life.
Some time ago, one of those days a series of situations transpired three times throughout that day that initially and seemingly were unrelated. At sunrise, Moe Brahman began to ride his mule to the forest that enveloped the small hamlet of Woodwidth. He was going to there, as he did every five years, to meet his daughter and son, Melissa and Jordan. At midday, when the sun was highest in the sky, Kenny Shyster, whose family owned the Woodwidth Forest, had it up to here with everyone’s nonsense and was seriously contemplating running away from home. At dusk a mysterious stranger came to the front gate of the Shyster family. When asked, he said he was looking for somebody but wouldn’t reveal who that was.
The dirt path that pointed the way to Woodwidth was carved out by a herd of cattle who would trample it into existence in a polite yet serendipitous fashion. It flowed and swayed in a relaxed way, natural and tranquil, continuing up into a quaint hill, slurping down between bushes of overgrown clover fields, and then cut sharply sideways into an open pasture. It was here that the dirt had started to be overcome by the vegetation. It would become wider and then hit a dead end, it was here that the beef came to chow on it’s vegetarian diet, the crisping of grass was peaceful and intoxicating. It would then continue and finally arrived at the beginning of the forest. Where it met the tree canopy, it suddenly swerved heavily and came back towards the light, away from the dark forest as the cows could sense instead of just see the darkness.
Inside the forest, it was suddenly dark, cool and this idyllic landscape became slightly dystopian. A part of the path branched off the main path like a vein, and protruded into the forest. One could feel the difference between each, as if one belonged to nature and the other was a manmade creation. There was a wear and tear on the grass overhanging the edges of the path and there was a moisture in the air that felt like a combination of moss, mud, mist, heat and cold simultaneously, exhibiting a moldy, musky smell. To the left of the path the first abode was a rigid cube-like cottage, well kept with grass mowed down to the centimeter and surrounded by a creepy iron fence that suggested evil. The dirt path continued like it obliged to avoid it out of instinct, attached to houses not as damning and more welcoming, into the hamlet. The hamlet itself is not important in this story, except for the prison and the gallows. The first house, the path and the forest are central to our story.
There was a weird and eerie feeling to the forest. If the look of the first house seemed to be one that suggested you shouldn’t get too close, the forest exhibited the same type of atmosphere, except in a somewhat different way. The house had a steadfast feeling to it, the way it designed denoted some sort of pride in it’s creation and it’s existence. You couldn’t help be tempted to either hit it with a stone you found on the ground, or to start screaming at it in order to disturb it’s inhabitants because it seemed a bit hostile in it’s pride. Yet the forest itself had some sort of otherworldy appearance as if it were alive and judging the people inside it, in such a way that made those who passed through it talk quietly. This is what we assume to be the cow’s way of thinking: “We should leave it alone and let it be peaceful and quiet as it is.”
Whether or not the people felt the same way about the forest is hard to determine. There might’ve been some who thought about it this way. The vast majority of people, however, followed the road around the forest because that was how it led around it. There was no beaten path going through the forest itself. And even then, there was a good reason to stay outside of the forest, as it was considered private property, under the ownership of the Shysters, who owned the high and mighty cottage itself, despite the fact that it was outside the fence and could be accessed.
The idea of land ownership seems to be sort of a strange one if you were to delve in deep thought regarding it. For example, what about the depth of the land? Does a person own the property all the way down in continously narrowing measurements until it meets everyone else’s land at the core of the Earth? Or is ownership legally meant to denote the thin surface layer of dirt and soil under which worms have no knowledge of the concept of trespassing?
Whatever the case might be in regards to the philosophy of land ownership, the forest itself, which meant the trees and possibly not the roots, was owned by the Shyster family residing in the arrogant cottage, and if someone happened to stumble into the forest and close to it, it was up to them to sort it out. Vinnie, who was the only child living inside the house, never wandered off into the forest, but she would sometimes stand inside the fence and look out at the trees, as she tapped with a wooden stick against the iron bars of the fence. Even then, she had never really wondered to venture off into the forest, and was always content with what she had inside the confines of the smug cottage. It might as well be true that things that belong to you are never as interesting as that of things that belong to someone else.
What could possibly be so interesting as to arouse curiosity about a dull old forest? Some trees and shrubbery and whatnot? During the day there will be a shroud of darkness under the canopy with rays of light penetrating the broccoli spire of the trees, an abundance of chirping birds and sneaking squirrels, a thick, soggy overcoat of leaves covering the dirt and grass, as well as other things that are in abundance but as not as pleasant to encounter, such as spiders, thorns and grubs.
Ultimately, it can be said that the cattle not straying into the wood probably did not realize their wisdom for doing so, as they had unknowingly yet favorably carved the path that avoided it. If they had stumbled into the forest, people would most likely take the beaten path the cows have created walking in a single file line. The people would’ve eventually stumbled the enormous ash tree smack middle in the forest, and eventually uncovered the tiny spring bubbling from it’s roots despite the rocks, pebbles and leaves that were vicariously placed to hide it in plain sight. And this could’ve possibly led to a catastrophe so epic, that this old planet of ours would’ve flipped on it’s axis like a praying mantis impaled on a sharp, long nail.
And thus did Moe Brahman wake up one morning on that day at the end of June, staring into the spider webs that hung from the ceiling of his bedroom. He then exclaimed out loud the first announcement of the day, “The children will be home at least come morrow.”
Moe’s wife, laying there beside him like a corpse, did not make a peep and continued into her deep, toasty slumber. The usual grumpy and worrisome face she typically had during the day was now a calm sort of neutral flat, no wrinkles or signs of the nagging grumpiness she was known for. Her snore was like a gentle purr, and every now and then you can see her stretch the corners of how mouth in an upward direction, exhibiting a smile. Brahman never smiled except when she was sleeping.
Moe sat upright, looked at his wife somewhat impatiently, cleared his throat and said even loudly “The children should be coming home morrow.”
Brahman’s smile was wiped off her face as she jerked into a state of being awake. She slowly opened her bloodshot eyes. “Why did you get the impression it was a good idea to wake me up”, she sighed. “I was having such a nice dream, where we’re all dead, living in heaven in the afterlife, and had never known of Woodwidth.”
Moe made a grumpy look on his own face, a great tomato of a man, a round, red, blushing face, the blue eyes of an angel and the nose of a small child. “It’s pointless having dreams like that that’ll get your hopes up for nothing”, he pointed out, “It’s not like it’s going to change reality.”
“Yeah you say that every time we wake up”, replied Brahman, as she turned her body and face away from her husband. “It’s not my fault I get these dreams.”
“Well, even if that’s right”, said Moe, “You should know better with the way things are and not changing, why would you even give it a thought.”
Brahman rolled her eyes and let out a psh, “I’m gonna try and fall asleep again, don’t bother me,” she said.
“Well I’m not going back to bed,” said Moe. “I’m gonna go hop on the mule and make my way down to the wood to see em.”
“See who?”
“The children, Brahman! Our son and daughter. I’m gonna go meet up with them there.”
“Yeah, that’s not a good idea. Don’t do that,” said Brahman.
“I know but,” replied Moe, “I’m just so anxious to see them. Besides that, it’s been about five years since I’ve stepped foot into Woodwidth. No one is going to have any recollection of me. I’ll take the mule up yonder at dusk, just to the forest. I’m not going into the hamlet. But even if they did see me, I don’t think they’ll remember. They didn’t before, why would they now?”
“If you say so”, replied his grumpy wife, as she borrowed her head into the pillow. “I need to get some more shut eye.”
Moe Brahman proceeded to scuddle out of the bed and started putting on more appropriate clothing: A t-shirt, socks, wool sweater, suspenders, pants and hide leather shoes. He put on his circular glasses after polishing them with cloth, and the sound of everything he put on was so familiar to his wife Brahman that she could easily turn around and say “You don’t need that wool sweater at the end of spring, it’s so warm out.”
Moe didn’t care much for what his wife thought of his wool sweater. Instead, he patiently turned towards her and asked “Are you sure you’ll be okay without me here? Because we won’t get back until morrow evening.”
His wife turned and her naturally ugly facial features were exaggerated by her annoyed frown. “What the hell are you going on about, Moe? What do you possibly think will happen to me while you’re away?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” replied Moe. “I forget nothing in their right mind would come here to you, neither for good or for bad reasons.”
“Well, you have the memory of an idiot, so I’m not surprised.” ballyhooed Brahman. “Enjoy your walk and try not to get eaten by wolves.” As soon as she mumbled the last word, she was lightly snoring again like a buzzing fly.
Moe finally put together the last items he needed for the trip, and tied them up in a burlap sack, which with rope and string, he hung around his torso, and then took his big wooden cane stick thing that was mahogany color and polished with a sort of varnish, so it was shiny. He proceeded to put his leather coin purse in his pocket, as it had a lucky coin inside he never left anywhere without. He proceeded to give his socially and physically hidious wife a kiss, to which she slightly growled, and continued out the door of their bedroom. Before he passed the doorframe, he turned to the hat rack on the right, exchanged his nightcap with his tweed cap and finally proceeded out the door.
As he put his tweed cap on, he rubbed his bald head, acknowledging the little spurts of hair that were growing out, it was time for a good shaving again, they felt like the first stages of beard slowly creeping in, except on his head. He slowly went down the stairs, holding onto the wooden railing for balance. He was careful not to fall as the last time he curled up into a ball falling down and had injured his right foot. That was a close call, he thought to himself. Ironic, because for 93 years, nothing had changed for this man.
Around midday on that same day in the last week of June, Kenny Shyster sat on the damp grassy floor of his front yard, right by the fence, and told the big lizard staring at him from across the pathway, “You’ll see, you think I’m joking? When everyone is sleeping, that’s when I’ll do it.”
There was no way to really tell whether or not the lizard was listening to Kenny. There was without a doubt a good reason as to why it wouldn’t. He came to the fence very angrily, was definitely not in a good mood and wanted to show it to somebody, there was hell to pay. The poor lizard was the first living thing it had run into, and it wanted to profess it’s anger to it. The only other living thing in his vicinity was a flock of bees buzzing around in the nest on the tree close to their house, and he didn’t think to show them how angry he was. Kenny had found some of the rocks circled around some of the flowers in the front yard, in the garden, and had thrown it at the lizard, which didn’t budge. He was missing the lizard on purpose, which didn’t seem amused, and it was unusual for a lizard not to scatter away, if there was any reason why a lizard would scatter, and there were many, this would’ve been as good as any. One of the rocks came a little too close to the bees nest, and Kenny almost felt regret for a second and stopped throwing rocks.
He just sat down and started talking to the lizard again.
“Listen here, mister lizard.” he said, putting his arms through the fence and tapping the dirt with his finger whilst looking down, troubled. “I’m at the end of my wits. How long I’ll last, no one knows, not me, for sure.”
At this instance a window at the front of the house swung open and a coarse yet colorful voice exclaimed – his grandfather’s – “Kenson! Don’t sit down there in the dirt, who is gonna have to clean you again? Don’t open up work for grandpa like that. You know better, come.”
Another, more rational and even voice also exclaimed – his father’s – adding, “Alright, buddy come on in now, you’ll get a heat stroke from basking out in the sun like that all day. Lunch is also served so it’s time to eat.”
“You see what I mean?” Kenny said to the lizard. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Every time I try to have a little bit of time to myself, someone has something to say about it. If I had a brother or sister, at least they might attend to them every now and then and let me be. But since I’m alone, I’m constantly being hounded. I just wanna have some time to myself.” He put his goofy little face through the bars of the fence and after a brief yet prolonged silence, continued contemplating. “Now I’m not sure what I’d do with myself, you know, but I’d sure do something fun, something all by myself that’ll be for me and me only. Something fun but also worthwhile, something that can change the world. It would be refreshing to have a new name, not something that doesn’t feel as dear to me hearing it anymore cause it keeps getting used over and over. I might even get a pet to keep, something I can snuggle. Maybe a creepy lizard such as yourself, that I can put inside a cage with lots of grass and moss and stuff, and..”
At this the lizard hissed and it began to scatter away from her for a few feet, now it’s head turned away.
“Yeah, well, I guess you’re right in a way.” said Kenny. “Then I’d bring you down with me, and not be free like I am right now. We would be sharing the same fate. I’d want to be like you, just being able to go anywhere instead of being stuck here all the time. Do you know, mister lizard, that I’ve never been outside this yard by myself? I’ll never be able to make my mark in the world if I’m stuck in here by myself. It would be best for everyone if I just ran away.” He paused for a second and looked with a face of inquiry at the lizard to see how it would process this groundbreaking idea, but the lizard could care less and didn’t move a muscle. “You think I’m not brave enough to do this, do you now?” he asked accusingly, all offended. “I am going to, I’ll show you. Probably when everyone is sleeping early in the morning, I’ll sneak out.”
“Kenny!” exclaimed the rational voice from the window.
“All right papa, I’m coming, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” he said, annoyed, but quickly remembered who he was talking to. “I mean, I’ll be there in a bit papa, I’m sorry for keeping everyone waiting.” He got up, brushed off the dirt and grass from his knees and proceeded to walk towards the front door of the house.
The lizard, as if it was relieved it stopped being hounded, proceeded to scatter away into the forest, as Kenny watched it go. “Go ahead mister lizard,” he said. “I’ll show you, I’ll show all of you. Come tomorrow morning.”