Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Trees of Destiny

Bobby, a six year old with ketchup on his face and holes in his jeans jumped the school yard fence. Across Rio Grande, a row of baby trees was being suspended by strings attached to metal rods for support. Bobby raced across the street, narrowly dodging a black Honda, and jumped passed a man in a brown coat to finally reach the beckoning trees. He had been eyeing the neat little row all day from his class room counting down the minutes until recess. No one could have known that there really weren’t four little trees at all, but an entire jungle filled with jaguars, booby traps, and more-at least in the six-year-old imagination of Bobby. To get there, he had to escape from a high-security prison, outrun a black FBI car in a high speed chase, and slip passed security to hijack a plane. He then ditched the plane and parachuted into the jungle where he swung around on vines dodging booby traps and jaguars.
Jeff Black finally reached his hidden parking spot about a block away from the ACC campus. “Late again, and I can’t believe that little twerp who jumped out in front of my car,” he thought. His mind was racing through possible excuses for being late this time and he tried to remember which ones he hadn’t already used. He finally decided he would declare that he almost ran into a little kid and was grilled for about ten minutes by an angry mom who just wouldn’t take an apology. “Whack!” Jeff was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had walked right into one of four new little trees that were imposing on his accustomed path. The stress build up was too great, Jeff did his best to mutilate the trees to let off his steam. After a while he noticed a little boy had joined in copying his move for move. In fact, he noticed it was the same little boy he had nearly run over a couple of minutes ago. Anyways, Jeff decided to jet when he overheard an angry man shouting into a phone and frantically pacing around in a nearby office.
Mr. Edwards has been wearing the same brown coat to the same little office on West 12th Street for eleven years now. He thought surely the new little trees he had planted would keep those punk kids off his tiny lawn in front of his little passport making shop. Eventually, he thought, they would give him privacy and shade as they grew tall. Suddenly, he noticed a young man with huge pit stains doing an outrageously awkward style of Kung Fu right on his precious new trees. Like punching bags, the trees swung back into place after each blow because of the white strings holding them in place. Mr. Edwards reached for his phone and yelled in rage as he slammed his free hand on his desk and kicked over the trash can. “Those kids have vandalized my property for the last time…” After Mr. Edwards hung up the phone, he thought about his son, Bobby, sitting safe and sound in a classroom right across the street.

1 comment:

Christian Leigh said...

There weren't any tree people in bobby's imagination?