Crane

“Oh, to be young again.”

This usually nostalgic and longing phrase was instead uttered grumpily by Hal Karlson as he tried to reach the jar of jam at the top of the cupboard.

Unfortunately, his constantly stooping back and short stature, which he claimed came with age, was always in the way.

He finally reached the jar, edging it forward with his fingertips, and sat down to huff about his victory on the chair he was standing on.

Interesting thing is though, Hal Karlson really wasn’t that old.

Not young, certainly- his days of fun and recklessness were far in the peripheral, so much so he could barely imagine them, even with his thick tortoise glasses. (Which he insisted for months he did not need).

No one could deny that Hal certainly had the attitude of an old man. He even had the physical symptoms- what with the back pain, headaches, trouble sleeping, and memory lapses that he refused to admit to anyone. But Hal was only about 40 or 50. Some may say his life had just begun.

Hal scooted off the chair and made his way to the kitchen table. Ignoring the fact that the plate he put down was adorned by a layer of dust, he slathered his jam onto some untoasted bread and scarfed it down hungrily.

           After this unceremonious breakfast, Hal made his way down the narrow hallway of his apartment. On his way he passed a fading yellow lightbulb, an old-fashioned beige telephone hanging by its cord off the wall, and some dust brushes and brooms in his “cleaning corner”, which didn’t really seem well put to use.

           After donning his tie and placing a hat on his head of black curls that were slowly losing their spiral, Hal opened his door and left- it was time for work once again.

           He pivoted the sleek elevator that stood outside his door, and painstakingly lowered himself down the stairs. Exiting the building, he cringed at the all-too familiar smell of metal and gasoline.

           At least the weather was nice today- the sky was clear and blue, though, as Hal pointed out in his mind, it was mostly blocked by skyscrapers towering all around the premise. They all stood perfectly straight, glass panels shining, reflecting sun rays, and winking in different shades of silver. To a visitor, this may be the subject of awe, causing mouths to drop open and cameras to start flashing.  To Hal, it looked like the buildings were shiny cereal boxes that looked right about ready to collapse.

           For heavens sake, who builds buildings out of glass?

           One of the ways Hal justified his aging was by blaming his faulty hearing on all this noise. As he shuffled on his five-minute walk to work, glossy cars with alien eye-like headlights buzzed past him, seeming to leer at him. He noticed a teenager on the other side of the street controlling some flying contraption with a controller, which emitted high pitched beeps every couple seconds. Huge billboards showed people with unnaturally bright smiles promoting everything from toothpaste, to face creams, to granola bars, and would let out repetitive slogan with each one. Hal could also hear the noise of construction on the next street, the sound of which made him shudder the most.

           And among all the towering buildings, so small that you wouldn’t notice it upon first glance, stood a little shop that Hal worked at. It was comically tiny and shabby compared to everything around it, but builders gave up trying to replace it after many fits from Hal, and it was barely noticeable anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

           This was the writing shop that Hal spent his workdays at. Specializing in every graphite pencil, black and blue pens that came in fountain variety, feathers, and even the rare ballpoint, this shop was about the most least logical thing on this street.

           But Hal quite enjoyed it- he enjoyed that the walls didn’t tower into the sky, that the lighting was dim and the air moist. It was the environment that everyone he turned his nose up at seemed to hate, but Hal liked it. Or at least, as much as he could like it anywhere.

           When he entered, triggering the brass bell on top of the door to ding, he was met with the familiar scent of ink and paper, and had to squint his eyes to adjust to the light. Behind piles of dusty paper and cardboard boxes, he saw Tommy, a young man who helped at the shop. Hal immediately noticed that the shy boy looked even more jittery than he usually did, which was saying a lot.

           “What’s up, boy?” Hal barked exasperatedly.

           Tommy rubbed his knuckles, adjusted his messy hair, and answered, “Well, I just received a call from the library, Mr. Karlson. They said they won’t be buying from us anymore.”

           Hal paused. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the library was one of the only reasons the shop was still running- despite the technology that seemed to be growing around him like a fungus, the library next door found use for pens and pencils.

           “What?” He barked.

           Tommy jumped a little, continuing to rub his knuckles. “Yes, they um, I suppose they said they don’t need the pens anymore- going to be switching to all computers at front desk and more e-books, er, those are books online, sir- no need to really write anywhere.”

           Hal grunted in frustration. “I’ll go talk to them- no need to write anywhere- ludicrous.”

           Tommy shrugged nervously, but Hal already wasn’t looking. He shuffled out quickly and made his way to the next building, which was more modernized, though it was smaller than the others. He took the stairs once again to the second floor, entering a small library.

           This was probably the place Hal would have liked second best besides his apartment, but he was appalled this time. He hadn’t been here in a while, and though books remained on the shelves, he noticed huge new computers lining desks, with some kids sitting and scrolling through them.

           From behind one of the shelves emerged Rosalie, a young woman who worked at the library. She gave Hal a small, unsurprised smile, though something in her eyes resembled pity.

           “I thought I may see you today, Mr. Karlson.” She said calmly, walking over to greet him.

           “Now what’s all this about you no longer buying from my business?” Hal demanded.

           Rosalie sighed. “I really do regret it, sir- I think your shop is lovely. But it just really isn’t in the budget anymore. And-” She added quickly before Hal could interject, “I know what you’re going to say, I know you’re not a fan of the new equipment but,” she motioned to the kids, “they can do all kinds of research on there, you know? And e-books tend to be cheaper, and they can keep them. Those are books online.”

           “I know what they are.” Hal said grumpily.

           There it was again- the pity in Rosalie’s eyes. She shrugged it off quickly. “Well, I actually have to get going early today- I have an event at a restaurant I’ve never been to, I want to make sure I can find it.”

           “Where is it?” Hal grunted, running out of things to say.

           She smiled. “Not sure, actually, but my phone will help me find it.” She held up her cellphone. Hal saw an icon with a long-necked bird appear on it, spread its wings, and dissolve into a map of the city. “GPS navigation- can bring you anywhere.”

           Hal stared at the bird with a strange look on his face and rolled his eyes. “Why is it a bird?”

           She shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s just what the logo is. Maybe because you can go anywhere- free as a bird, you know?” She smiled meekly.

           Hal furrowed his brows. “Hate those birds.” He mumbled.

           Rosalie looked confused for a second, and then said, “You know what? You could really find some use for this. It’s hard to navigate the city sometimes.”

           “I navigate the city just fine!” Hal retorted, though his stomach clenched with the recall of barely making it back to his home before nightfall yesterday. Sometimes the streets seem to blend together and the names are hard to remember, they all look so similar…

           Rosalie held out her hand. “Here, I’ll install it.”

           Hal was lost in thought, but he reluctantly pulled out a cracked, almost dead cellphone out of his pocket. “I don’t use that… thing- just Tommy needs to contact me sometimes for whatever reason.”

           Rosalie nodded. “It’s okay- just in case.” Rosalie clicked around with her nimble fingers and gave the phone back. “Alright, have a good day! Oh, and” She paused. “Take a book. Not much consolation, but you can have any one.”

           “Whatever,” Hal mumbled.

           She left and Hal quickly stuffed the phone back into his pocket, as if embarrassed to be seen with it. He wandered over to the books section, scoffing at the kids on the computers. He went to the nonfiction section, and noticed a book sprawled on the floor, spine bending. He heard a scurry and saw a glimpse of a child running to another aisle, perhaps intimidated by the grumpy man. Hal rolled his eyes and picked up the book. His heart thumped.

           It sure wasn’t nonfiction- the book was red, adorned with illustrations of dragons and flaming sparks, embossed in gold lettering. It looked worn, as if many curious kids have gotten to turn its pages.

           No one was sure, especially the kids that peered out nervously from behind shelves, why Hal stared at that book for so long. All they knew was that he tucked it into his pocket and took it with him.

           After coming home from another mundane and quiet day of work, Hal came back to his apartment, book and phone untouched in his pockets.

           Something seemed to be bothering him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it, and didn’t want to bother anyways. So, he made himself a watery cup of Earl Grey and decided that would be the cure. Soon, he was tucked up in his bed.

           He decided to pull out the book at this point. He realized he hadn’t read in a while, so it felt strangely nostalgic to stretch the spine of the book and turn the creamy pages.

           The critic inside Hal scoffed a little, forgetting that he was holding a book meant for children. This isn’t very well written, he thought, but nonetheless continued reading.

           He read about a knight in shining armor, castles in lush, tree filled kingdoms, dragons, and other strange creatures in nature. Soon the words he was reading began to stretch and drip like honey, consciousness overlapping with dreaming. Hal dozed off.

           Psychologists say that dreams can mean all types of things. Sometimes, they are drawn directly from the memory, hanging past events in front of the dreamer like a tapestry.

           As the book dragon flapped its wings, it began looking more and more like a flying fairy soaring out and sprinkling green pixie dust onto a wooden floor. From behind the floor’s cracks emerged nymphs and trolls that were at war, but eventually found peace. A patterned oriental carpet also adorned the floor, and from its curling patterns raised the silky mane of perhaps a unicorn, or a pegasus, galloping through a big glass window, which spilled natural light into the wooden house. Outside, it nipped on the soft grass as rainbows flickered between dew drops. Across a shimmering pond, where rainbow fish were always abundant, a long-necked bird stood, its eyes flickering and red forehead reflecting the warm summer light. It looked just as fantastical as the other creatures.

           “What are you thinking about?” A woman with curly black hair asked.

           A child’s voice responded, “Nymphs, and unicorns, and woodland fairies… They have to be real, right, mama? How could they want to live anywhere but here?”

           A man sitting next to the woman laughed. “Son, you have the wildest imagination.”

           The woman nudged him and smiled warmly. “Of course, they’re real, Hal.”

           The scene flickered. Suddenly the sky, which was usually clear except for the foliage of trees, was dominated by a huge metal machine that Hal has never seen.

           The man and women were arguing with someone else.

           “I’m very sorry, but this part of East Creek has to be used for wood harvesting- there’s nothing I can do about it.”

           “Sir, this is our home…”

           But the machine didn’t listen. Hal watched as first a metal ball was swung into the house, and then the machine picked up huge pieces, raised them into the sky, and loaded them into a vehicle. As large wheels rolled over the grass, the unicorn got crushed beneath them. The fairies tried to fly out of the way of grinding metal, but they couldn’t live without the cracks in the shiny floor. The trolls and orcs ran for cover, disintegrating into the misty air.

           “Papa, what is that?” Hal asked in a shaking whisper, motioning to the towering machine.

           The man had never looked so still before. “That’s a crane.”

           “Isn’t a crane a bird? The one that visits the pond?”

           Hal has never seen his parents so close to tears before.

           “Yes, son. It’s a bird.”

           As one often is by dreams that are too close to the heart, Hal was jolted out of his slumber. It was too early- the sun was only just thinking about rising. A cool breeze was gently moving his curtains, chilling the sweat on his arms and creating goosebumps. The book lay spread out on his rapidly rising chest.

           Beyond his eerily swinging curtain, Hal peered out to the twinkling sky, where the stars were slowly disappearing as the fabric of sunrise peeked through the dark night.

           He sat there for a while, until all the stars had faded away.

           Finally, Hal got up slowly. He shuffled over to his jacket and pulled out the cracked cellphone. His hands had begun to shake, and he wasn’t sure why. He tapped on the icon with the bird. His blurry eyes searched the screen for what to do. Fingers fumbling, he typed in “East Creek”.

           Perhaps neighbors getting ready for school or work would wonder if they were seeing things when they saw a man walking down the street in just his blue pajamas, hunched over a cracked cellphone.

           But for once, Hal didn’t really care about anything around him- about the buzz as the billboards woke up again, or about the movement of cars. He held the phone closer and closer to his ear to hear the directions of a cold-voiced woman. Is this the Siri woman everyone talks about?

           He had never wandered this far from his home. He knew in his heart that he couldn’t trust himself to. He barely remembered the place anyway- haven’t been there since. Didn’t want to, didn’t bring himself to.

           It was late morning by the time Hal reached the place that was his childhood home. His body faintly tried to tell him that this was crazy- he was weak and old, he was hungry and uncomfortable, that no one walks this kind of distance, but that voice was meek compared to the beating of his heart, which thudded more insistently as he drew closer.

           And there it was. Hal could recognize the place anywhere, even though it looked… so different.

           The huge oak tree he remembered trying to climb, wrapping his entire body around it and still not being able to clasp his hands together, was now a hole in the ground. The dirt had markings as if the roots were trying to hold on and claw into the dirt as much as they could, though all in vain. The smaller trees that used to surround their house were gone too. And of course, the empty space where his house once stood.

           Hal Karlson had never let himself get this close to tears.

           And yet it seemed that the workers had stripped this section and then never touched it again, because lush green vines had wrapped themselves around the little stumps of trunks that were left, and the area was overgrown with long grass. Dandelions and little yellow flowers Hal probably used to know the name of reflected the early sunlight. Hal noticed a large green area around him on his phone map, looked up and saw uncut trees in the distance.

           I suppose they didn’t take everything.

           Maybe he was imagining it, but Hal could have sworn he heard the cry of a familiar bird somewhere across the pond. Familiar scents of wood and dirt rose from the ground.

           It’s not easy to bring up repressed habits of childhood. But just for a second, Hal saw nymphs emerge from the holes in the soil, racing down the curling vines as if they were fireman poles and slides. For a bit, he heard hooves racing across the soil- the sound that was never reality, but that was nonetheless stamped in his memory forever, archived in the childhood imagination. For a moment, Hal had that wild look in his eyes again, the one his mother always noticed, that told her that Hal was off in his own world again.

           It felt a little easier for Hal’s tired legs to keep walking forward towards the untouched trees.

           And though some may not consider Hal that old, all he could think about in this moment was that he had never felt so young.