Family tree has got its roots in the sky,
And a broken bird can fly
~Trevor Hall
When he was 7 his cat Hunter killed a baby bird. His scream pierced the spring morning air and he ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. He didn't make it in time. For weeks he refused to even look at hunter He wouldn't step foot outside. The world became an evil place; dark and cruel and chaotic. His world stood atop its own head.
The Enchanted Forest. You took me there every time I came to see you. It was one of my favorite places on Earth. A forest full of fairy tales. Maybe it was because my inner world read like a scene from Alice in Wonderland; full of wondrous sights and terrifying sounds, an air of adventure set to a mood of ominousness. A winding path that lead through slanted houses and rainbow waterfalls.
When I wasn't in awe then I was most likely to be found cowering in fear. Fireworks, motorcycles, sirens, bright lights, anything in motion that I was asked to get into. The thought that my toys might be in a different order in which I had carefully placed them. I was scared of being with mom. I was scared of grandma when she drank. I was scared that you were going to leave me again.
I lived in a reality that was beyond my understanding. It was loud and bright and it could change in the blink of an eye.
I kissed Danny on the cheek and wished him good dreams. The next morning everyone told me that he went to live in the sky. I sent him balloons with letters tied to their strings.
We were all at the park. I finally gained the courage to scoot on my bottom across the wobbly wooden bridge. It was cloudy and drizzly and I was happy. In the following memory mom is telling me that we have to live here now, with these strangers. That she didn't know where my velveteen bear was.
I had hair like a moth ball and wore Strawberry Shortcake glasses over my lazy eye. They called me a porcupine and pretended to be pricked by my quills. I ran away during recess with a backpack full of library books and a burning desire to never return.
I curled up behind the couch; my eyes squeezed shut, holding pillows to my ears, rocking back and forth. I could still see the lights flash and hear the thunderous booms as the fireworks exploded and I wondered why I had been born on the wrong planet. I wasn't created to withstand these noises. To endure this disorder. To untangle these emotions.
You were my escape, my way out. A magic trick. You were pancakes and agates; colored pencils and quiet places. You were my best friend.
You were just as scared as I was. I didn't know.
When you left, I hid. I have spent much of my life curled up in a ball hiding behind a couch. It got too bright, too loud, too confusing. I want to tell you the story of my life in hiding. But I also want to tell you the story of my emerging. You helped me uncurl, to take a peek. I held pictures of us in my mind. Images of us running on the sand with our heads looking back to the kite we held in our clasped hands. Skipping through the mall making bird noises while drinking Orange Juliuses. Sitting next to you, watching you draw and willing myself to make time stand still. I studied physics and embraced the idea that space and time are curved and that time and events do not exist in the way that we think they do. Physics told me that I could go back and sit by the sea with my you.
My little olive tree also ran and hid from the world. It, and his best friend, had betrayed him. He learned the lesson that, in the end, he had no control of the world. He cried for days. I was scared that he wouldn't stop, that it was too much. But it wasn't. He stood up and wiped his tears.. He cuddled Hunter and told him that he forgave him. He forgave the world its transgressions. He couldn't save that bird but I believe that that bird gave him a gift that day, he learned something at 7 that it took me close to 30 years to learn, he learned to fly.
