Wooded Memory

The sun warms my body as I listen to the shrill cries of the cicadas. Their songs are metallic, reminding me of a powerline that groans when high voltage courses through it. I am still not used to these alien sounds. I grew up listening to the harmonious chorus of crickets in the evenings, frogs and toads that bellowed their tunes in the sleepless nights. The marshy area I live in now provides some of these sounds, but also noises that I never thought were possible, like something out of a film or storybook.

I sit in the water. It cools my hot skin as its chlorine smell fills up my nose. This, too, is an unfamiliar sensation. The waters I’m familiar with had the distinct smell of salmon in their currents. The rushing creeks crashed and tumbled as we released baby fish back to their home. A lone woodpecker nearby hammered loudly as if celebrating the event, the sounds echoing throughout the woods.

The area here is not very wooded but is still very different from the familiar woods I miss. Further away, cars and trucks rush along the highway. The roars of the vehicles disrupt what little peace and quiet remains in this residential area. At night, I can hear them more clearly, along with the outside air conditioner units that stammer every few minutes. I stand up and walk out of the water. My bare feet touch the rough stone pathway, warm from the sun’s rays since the early morning. I shiver as the breeze brushes against me before I dry myself with a towel. I sit in my chair for a few minutes, listening to a few birds I do not recognize sing their mating calls. I hear people chattering in the distance and it gets louder as they come closer. I get up and leave the place.

The cicadas’ cries intensify. It will be another hot day, perhaps with a chance of rain. As I walk home, I go past a tree. I exhale and breathe in its scent. Something clicks in me. The smell is like an old friend, one that I haven’t spoken to in decades. I am instantly teleported to a vivid memory of my childhood.

I walked out of my house with my dog in tow. We had no backyard like the other kids had; the large forest was our backyard. We followed the little paths as we trekked deeper into our natural playground. My dog had his duty to inspect everything and mark his territory. A squirrel high up in a tree screamed at him and launched a pinecone at his head. He barked wildly before I called him over and we continued walking.

There, covered in trees, was a large pond that ducks often swam in. There were no ducks in it that day, but a small wind brushed against the leaves and caused the water to ripple. We stopped by it. My dog was thirsty and gulped down the cold pristine water. We stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the soft chirps of the birds, and the shaking of the trees as the wind carried on. When we ready to leave, however, something rustled in the bushes behind me.

I froze. The forest had all sorts of wild animals inhabiting it. Most of the time, I saw raccoons and mice scurrying about. Occasionally I would see a deer. But dangerous animals live here, too. Though not as common, there have been sightings of cougars in forests like this one. My dog also stood still as we stared at the source of the sound, until something finally emerged from the shrubbery.

It was a possum.

This was the first time I had seen a possum in real life. They were usually nocturnal animals and were quite shy around humans. I figured this one had woken up from hunger and had been scavenging for food. Without a sound, my dog started running towards it.

“Jingle, stay!”

He stopped and stared at the possum. The possum stared back at him. I rushed over and picked up my dog. The possum now stared at me. It didn’t seem to have any fear in its eyes, as if it was used to this sort of interaction.

“Go away!” I shouted at it. I wasn’t scared of possums, but I didn’t want it getting into a fight with my dog. Jingle was a hunting dog. He loved chasing smaller animals and would happily tear them apart if he caught them. The possum was larger than the animals he usually went after, so I was scared that it would put up a fight and injure my dog. The possum continued to stare at me, not seeming to mind that I yelled at it. Then, it scurried over to the pond and drank the water.

I imagined that it was probably thinking, “Whatever. I don’t care about you or your dumb dog. I just want some water.” After it finished its drink, it finally turned around and walked back into the bushes. I put Jingle down once I was certain the possum was gone for good, and we walked away. The sun was high in the sky at this time. Almost lunchtime. We headed back to the house. Our adventure for today was over.

I snap out of my memory when my neighbor’s large dog started barking. There are so many dogs here, both big and small, but none like Jingle, my faithful companion who unfortunately has not been of this earth for over a decade. There are possums here, too, but most of them run away if I get too close to them. None are as brave as the little fellow I had come across all those years ago. I continue my walk to my apartment. The sun is high in the sky now, its blazing light heating up the pavement and causing the cicadas to shriek ever more loudly. It is almost lunchtime.