The Boy in the Wood

Don't look too closely.

Things fit together too well when you
correlate so closely.
 "Coincidences" will tend to
pop up and
events that seemed completely
disparate
 begin to make so much
horrifying linking sense.

The Veil is lifting.
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I remember when I told mama and papa about the boy in the wood.

They really didn't want to hear, so I tried to speak louder.

He always sat on the stump right by my trail,
 I whined.
He just stares at me and doesn't move and
doesn't say a word.
He makes me feel funny.




It's a free wood, they replied, smiling behind their faces.

I know, said mama, make friends with him!
What?
He's a lonely little boy.
I've seen him, papa added.




But he's got a knife.
So? they replied. Try harder.
He looks at me strange.
Don't be conceited.
He looks at me mean.

What would Jesus do? Go watch t.v.

I spent the rest of the summer, afraid to go out, afraid I'd see him, over there with his knife and I'd have to walk right across the grass and go right up to him and stick my hand out and say:

 Hello, will you be my friend?

Finally I just had to use my wood path to visit those faerie friends who lived deep in the forest.

I wondered if he would be there.

I thought about him as I peed.

To get to the trail, I had to pass that sour smelling, flowering bush-tree.  It hid the trail from our house.

 I saw the stump.

He was there!

 I spied him carving foreign designs into the stump between his legs.  

He hadn't yet seen me, so intent on his work;  head bowed, dirty clothes.

I approached with stealth.

Finally I was close enough to smell him.                                                     Oranges.  Sweet.

I very very carefully sat back in the weeds on my heels and watched him work.

It was peaceful and violent and I wondered if he would carve the wood down into the ground.

A breeze came up and I saw him sit up straighter.

He turned.

He saw me.

For years we stared into each other's eyes.

And then he was gone, into the woods, away away.

But I want to be your friend! I screamed after him.

The stump.  The stump.

I ran to look at his carving, his hacking, it will tell me All!

I saw a heart.  His heart,

my heart gashed and gouged there, in that wood.

He had made this for me to find.

A message, a token of his friendship!

After I got the bright idea of getting the burlap bag to pull it on, the stump became much easier to move.

I keep it with me even now.

No, no,  I never saw him again.

See, the stump, it's right behind that table.

You can look at it if you want.

I don't have to see it all the time,

but I like to know that it's there.

Things fit together too well when you

correlate too closely.

 "Coincidences" will tend to

pop up and 

events that seemed completely

disparate

 begin to make so much

sense.

Don't look too close.



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