Back story. Rich, Kristin, and I have been friends ever since we can remember, which is only a few years. Our parents thought, unanimously, "You need to socialize more. You can't always hover in your tree houses with all those books and nature guides. But you need friends."
Crazy thing. We didn't know each other, but all three of us loved to geek-out in tree-houses built in separate forests unbeknownst that other kids like us existed. Our parents made that connection. Our moms attended a Tupperware party where the grumbling of eccentric kids turned into epiphanies that eventually sparked our fathers to start golfing together. In other words, we tree-huggers suddenly found ourselves on playdates.
"Where the heck are they?" I wondered. "It doesn't ever matter to them weir were supposed to be. They never are on time," I thought to myself, making sure my Kermit-the-Frog stuffed animal was safe inside my backpack. "And they'd better be wearing their socks, too," I thought, looking down at my green kicks with the yellow squirrel socks that came with the package. That's what the the note instructed. 4:35:35 a.m. and "WEAR THE SOCKS." In my package were the squirrel socks, the squids for Kristin, and the pink flamingos for Rich.
Why? We didn't know, but that is the way the Greening worked. Once upon a time, we lived in our apartments and homes, adhering to the safety and guidance of parental units that doted and worried about us. Then came the GLOW, the rain, and the growth.
Adults gone. Kids behind. The Greening everywhere. And, of course, the stuffed animals. You had to have your stuffed animals, except for Rich - he had his blankie.
"Do you think they're on their way?" I asked Kermit, looking through the pine trees that used to be a patio, a shed, swings, and my father's weird, naked concrete Goddess statue of Artemis. She was still there, but covered in ivy that offered her a bra and underpants she never had before.
The Greening greened everything. Adults gone. Kids behind. Stuffed animals (a blankie). Socks. And growth. We returned to the Garden of Eden, a paradise of sorts.
It would be perfect, too, except Kristin and Rich were late.
Before every thing changed to leaves, bugs, vines, and flowers, life was more commercial: computers, Amazon deliveries, paved roads and sidewalks, nail salons, billboards, and strip malls. Oh, their were phones, too, but they were the first to go. One minute, my parents were upstairs and the next second they weren't. Dad was trimming a beard - he always wanted to look like some guy named Ranger Scott - and mom was in the bathtub shaving her leg (she only had one. That's a different story, however, for another National Park Service prompt).
"Crandall," I heard Kristin's voice suddenly call. "Sorry we're late. Rich was lecturing pre-schoolers about eco-critical perspectives of The Lorax and how Dr. Seuss missed the real point about Truffula trees."
White socks for Rich with giant pink flamingos all the way to his knee cap and blue socks for Kristin with elongated, purple squids.
"4:34:35," I said. "You are exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds late. But it's okay. I knew you would be, and planned ahead. I gave you a different time...one much earlier. You two are as predictable as always. We don't actually have to move until 5 a.m."
Rich wasn't listening, though, and Kristin said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't get Rich away from the Rachel Carson books he was preaching to the lil' ones. I lured him away saying John Muir and Wendell Berry were waiting for us in the woods."
A few woodpeckers flew down to investigate the three of us. We weren't wood, but they've become more curious since the Greening. Adults gone. Man-made (and women-made) structures covered in ivies, kudzu, Virginia creeper, morning glories, and poison ivy. Trees everywhere as if the botanical world were fed Arnold Swarzenegger steroids.
Squirrels. Squids. Flamingos.
That was the call. 5 a.m. in the woods. But where were the adults? That's what we had to find out.
~thanks for today's prompt, Ranger Scott!
No comments:
Post a Comment