The Oak’s Interaction

Warning: this story involves domestic violence. 

The Oak’s Interaction with Steph

I really, really, have to go. My sweatpants are already damp from the little bit of pee that I was unable to control leaving my bladder, and I just hope that the seat of the camry isn’t going to smell like piss for the next month. Daryl, my husband of almost three years, would have a fit if he found out. I can’t believe he even let me go to visit my mom without him; I know how mad he gets when I go out on my own. And now I’m going to upset him more with my car smelling so bad. Why do I do this to him? I need to find a bathroom - if I pee any more he’ll notice for sure, and I can’t let that lead to marks on my face again. Not when I’m about to go back to work next week where people would question a black eye.

I pull off on the side of the country highway, making sure that no other headlights are visible for as far as I can see behind me. The brambles are out this spring and I know that I gotta watch out for poison ivy, so I do a running-tiptoe dance to get some cover in case anyone drives by. 

“Crap!” 

Something sharp protrudes into the bottom of my foot, which is insane since I’m wearing sneakers. Shining the light from my phone down to the ground, I see some old barbed wire sticking into my worn-out shoe. I tenderly grab the smooth part of the wire and rip it out; I’ll check for blood later - right now I GOTTA GO. 

I flat out run to the nearest tree, a nice strong Oak that will cover my nakedness from a passerby. As I lower myself to the ground, I pull down my sweats and tug them away from my body so I don’t get them any wetter than they already are. 

“Ahhh.”

Release. Pure, simple release. Steam rises from the crisp ground that has suddenly been made warm by my pee. It’s kind of crazy that something that I do every day of my life can make me feel so relaxed, especially after hours of holding it in. My stream continues for what seems like a solid 60 seconds, every single one of which I enjoy. Smiling, I look up and see a couple stars through the patterned leaves above. I have always admired Oaks. They seem regal yet playful, as if they’re a stern parent who loves to hug you tight at the end of each day while they tell you they love you. One of these days, I’ll get back into hiking so I can enjoy being around these trees again. I haven’t gone on a walk in the woods since Daryl took away my allowance after I didn’t check in with him while I was hiking on Mount Cam without cell signal.

I sink lower, my hind feeling some grass tickle my skin.

Just a second ago, the world was excellent. Then I thought of my husband, and suddenly I’m afraid to be back in nature, a place that was once my home. Why does he do this? Why can’t Daryl see that I’m not cheating on him when I don’t answer the phone, but I’m just trying to enjoy my life? 

Usually at times like this, my heart would race and my breath would speed to a panic. But right now, the rustling of leaves in the wind is too calming to give in to that chaos. At this moment, I know I’m in the right. I know I need to leave him. I will leave Daryl. My life needs to return to this calm and it needs to become my own again. 

I smile a little to myself as I rise, unsure of the next step but ready to *literally* pull up my pants and step into a new life. I gaze up at the stars for a moment before walking back to my car. 

There are a few blissful strides before I hear a crunch and feel pain again.

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

Did I really step on that stupid wire again!? Daryl was right, I am a klutz. Oh god, I need to go before he gets insanely angry at me for being late. I’ll send him a text from the car. I can’t believe I was thinking about leaving him - like he said before, I couldn’t make it on my own. And I know he loves me - he has screamed so many times that he’ll kill himself if I leave his life. I need to be strong for him. For us. We can’t live without each other. 

Before Steph leaves, however, she glances back at where she had squat just a minute before. Where she felt in charge of her life for a mere second. Where she leaned against an Oak tree and had an idea planted in her mind like a seed.

The Oak’s Interaction with Jay

I’ve always liked the look of kudzu. I know I’m supposed to hate it; I’ve heard many complaints about how the plant can double in size at night and how it outcompetes plants that are actually native to the South. But I can’t help it. I look at the leafy vine and am reminded of how I felt when I first stepped off the train to Western North Carolina when I was 21: I’m reminded of the feeling of home. 

For the last few years, I’ve written quite a few poems about the vine, my favorite titled A Foot a Night, A Reach for Light. I was planning on submitting it to a poetry magazine until my younger brother found it on my nightstand and immediately called it cheesy. The sound of his scoff won’t stop replaying itself in my mind. It makes me not want to go back and visit the family in New York. God I hate them sometimes.

I’m back in the South now at least. The people aren’t always the nicest in this state, but the humid, lush, green world grabs my arms and yells that I belong here.

I meander in the forests on my off time from school, hoping to spot a Red-bellied Woodpecker, or at least hear it going to work. Currently, I’m walking down this forgotten, forsaken highway named after some Confederate war hero, trying to ignore the looks I get from drivers passing by. It’s easy enough to do when I’m surrounded by a mixture of forest and pasture on my right-hand side, screaming for my attention. After just about half an hour of walking, the barbed wire that was blocking me from accessing the handsome greenery begins to falter, winding lower and lower to the ground. It didn’t take long for it to crumble completely, sinking into the kudzu ocean down below. 

I step over the spiky ground and into a half-covered forest before deciding to take a left and walk perpendicular to the road, this time under the shade of the welcoming woods. Winter has been tame this year, so even in the early spring the poison ivy has named itself God. Good thing I’m wearing long pants. 

Even though I adore this stroll, I sometimes feel the need to turn around before I’m ready. I get the feeling that the world is calling me back, shouting YOU HAVEN’T FULFILLED YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES, JAY! 

I try to ignore it. Sometimes all it takes is a bit of time studying the leaves to make myself remember why I love how this forest floor creates everything I see overhead. But sometimes the world calls me back too early, and I arrive at home angry and sullen. If I can’t peacefully enjoy the natural world, the human world becomes my enemy. I don’t mean to let it get to me, but I can’t help but feel like even the closest people in my life have taken the control away from me when they call me back to the concrete jungle. Everything starts to annoy me, and my anger can get the best of me at those times. 

Today I think I’ll stay here in the green though. The pollen is starting to light up the world with a glow that I’ve never seen replicated elsewhere. I’ll complain about it when my eyes have an unscratchable itch in a month, but for now I’m in awe. Not much is blooming yet, but it’s just so refreshing to be in this sea of green. 

Something that I do appreciate about this place is how even though I’m just a day’s drive away from where I grew up, trees’ leaves begin to grow so much sooner here than up north. I’m thinking about this as I pass under a sturdy Oak, already top heavy with some glorious leaves. It hasn’t made any new acorns yet this year, but that’s okay since the forest floor is littered with the fruit from the past. Delight fills my mind while circling this tree; this Oak is a testament of what this world can create when it’s just left the hell alone. I feel giddy all of a sudden.

The leaves on the ground are suddenly kicked up by my feet. My body has a mind of its own: it isn’t listening to my brain and has decided to react only to the handsomeness of the forest. I scoop some acorns in my hands and toss them high up into the warm air, allowing me to watch while they crash back to the earth. I do it again and again, as if my body is on repeat. I do it once more, catching one of the acorns in my mouth as if I was trying to catch a piece of popcorn. 

The acorn that I decided to catch in my mouth was thrown at just the slightest arch, causing it to fall at a delicate angle back down. Some may call it a perfect angle, since it easily bypassed my tongue and swiftly lodged itself in the back of my throat. Suddenly I am without air, and my only prerogative is to get some precious oxygen back into my trachea. 

It isn’t long before the tears that have welled up in my eyes begin streaming down my face. I am taking my fists and punching myself right below the ribs, but to no avail - whatever Heimlich maneuver I'm trying to do to myself isn’t working, causing me to frantically look to my surroundings for a stick or a rock that I can hit myself with in order to clear my airway. 

I don’t realize it, but as soon as I take my hands off my stomach, they go straight to clutching my throat. I am in intense, indescribable pain at this point, so much so that I’m pulled to the ground just to try to get some stability. Suddenly, when I reach the ground, a blanket of calm crawls across my body, making me wonder if I dislodged the acorn. I did not.

Jay took in the world for a couple more seconds before darkness swooped in. He noticed the wind pushing the Oak tree’s branches down a few feet before calmly returning to their chosen place in the sky. As his lips transformed into a bluish hue, Jay wondered why the acorn that was lodged in his throat gave off the slight taste of piss.

The Oak’s Interaction with Mark

“Bar oil covers half of my shirts and I can’t hear quite as well as I used to. But I sure can’t resist volunteering to chainsaw whenever my company is hired to clear land. You know, no matter how old I get, I can still make a tree hit my exact target on the ground when I saw it down. You could come watch sometime.”

“Mhm,” replied the young lady at the checkout line while she handed me my receipt. “Have a good day.” 

Well, I guess I can’t win them all! Some women don’t find talking about sawing to be good flirting, but those women aren’t for me anyhow. 

Not a person in the world can understand how the whirring of the chain feels until they’ve sawed something down themselves. My boss Stanley shows the newcomers on our team pictures of people’s faces half cut out to emphasize the seriousness of holding a chainsaw, and I don’t blame him for doing that. If someone can’t mitigate the risk of a power tool, they should leave it to the professionals. Like me!

Most of the time, I don’t have to deal with political bullshit on the job. But some time a few months back, some fella died out in the woods around here. It was really a sad tale - this guy was taking a walk in the woods and somehow ended up choking on an acorn. I don’t know what kind of hippie would be trying to eat acorns, but he didn’t deserve to die alone.

Hell, I even saw the obituary: Jay Daryl Marcovski dead at age 29, survived by his wife Stephanie and their 2 children. Pretty sad.

So anyway, I guess this guy’s wife has connections to some government people and wants this tree that her now-dead husband passed out under to be chopped down. Don’t really get why, but you know how women can get, and chopping anything down is fine by me! My company got hired for the tree clearing and we were on our way without issue. 

My team drove up, all hyped up to cut this beaut down, but our excitement was cut short by this small group that was surrounding the tree. There were a few signs that they were holding. I glanced at a few of the messages:

Don’t Take Your Anger Out on Mother Nature

Leave the Trees Alone

Preserve our Historic Oaks

Now, I love trees. Truly. Sure, I cut them down, but remember that I choose to be around them in my everyday life. But I don’t get this crowd. There are plenty of other trees in the forest, and cutting down this one will give a lady some peace. Plus, I’m just trying to earn some money here - I’ve got rent to pay you know.

My crew gets in touch with the non-emergency police line. After about 30 minutes, a couple cops show up and they coax the protesters to leave, threatening arrest if anyone stays on this property for much longer. 

My crew has been hanging back in our pickup truck, so the cops walk towards us to say that the group is concerned about this tree in particular because it is one of the oldest in this part of the foothills. Not the oldest, but definitely up there in years. My eyes shift to the tree and follow the base of the trunk up to the tallest section of the branches. Like I said, it is a beaut. The protesters say that it’s a few hundred years old, and I believe them. Suddenly I feel some discomfort crawling up my stomach.

The cops say that the protesters’ leader is currently headed to a judge to try and preserve this tree, so my crew can either quickly cut it down before they come back (which seems pretty darn shady), or wait until we get the official go-ahead after the legal stuff happens. Stanley, my boss, thinks for a moment before making a gruff noise when exiting the truck. He motions for me to follow as he walks toward the tree. 

“You know, I grew up with the lady, Steph, who wants this tree cut down,” Stanley begins to tell me. “We weren’t close, and when she married that out-of-stater - the guy who died here - it was rumored that he beat her, but she still stayed with him anyhow. She didn’t deserve that. She’s a good Southern woman.”

I nod, unsure of what Stanley’s point is. I’m only half listening anyway, since my focus is now on the branches of this tree that can grow for an entire millennium. Like hot damn! That’s a long time. 

“If Steph wants this tree gone, then we should do our duty and cut it down. She’s gone through enough. We just gotta do it quickly,” Stanley declares.  

Now, by this time I am stoutly against the idea that we should get rid of this magnificent tree. But I don’t say a thing - I don’t want to be that guy. I look up one more time at the leaves dancing overhead before Stanley gives me the signal to turn the saw on. In a matter of minutes, the tree is laying on the ground. We clean up the branches and head back to the truck. I try not to think about it too much. It’s almost 5pm now, so I’m attempting to shift focus on wondering what my wife will make for dinner tonight.

After Mark left the now-dead Oak, he couldn’t get rid of the pit that had formed in his stomach. He knew the tree’s existence had brought a lady pain, but he also knew it should still have been standing. When he went back to work the next morning, operating a chainsaw brought him less joy than usual. When he quit his job 4 months later, he couldn’t stop thinking about how humans were messing up the world. Without his consent, a seed had been planted in his mind.