Treehouses and Chickens

Roger found himself trapped in the embrace of the tree emerging from the center of the treehouse. He didn’t know how it happened. Being deathly afraid of heights since he fell from the top of the slide in fourth grade, he needed to get down. His heart raced with every creak and sway of the structure. The rustling wind and blowing leaves only added to his anxiety.

Once he oriented himself, he looked down and saw his blue checkered pajamas with rolled-up cuffs and mismatched buttons. The last thing he remembered was laying down on the couch to take a quick nap before the night shift at the mill. By the position of the sun filtering through the trees, it was about five in the afternoon. Why hadn’t Joan stopped him from sleepwalking out of the house? She must have seen him.

The second-story window opened and Joan’s face appeared. She was very careful not to have any part of her body outside the window.

“How come you didn’t stop me?” Roger screamed.

Joan grimaced. “I’m sorry! I tried to wake you but you know what Dr. Laver said. You shouldn’t disturb a sleepwalker.”

“Then why do I have a huge bruise on my thigh?”

"If you'd woken up properly the first time I kicked you, I wouldn't have had to do it four more times. I tried!” She cried in exasperation.

“Okay. That’s all well and good, but you could’ve stopped me from climbing into the treehouse. You know I have Acrophobia.”

The wind howled like an injured animal. Roger grabbed onto the side of the tree house tighter, being careful not to look down. His knuckles were white and his palms moist. “Never mind. Just come out here and help me get down.”

Joan scoffed sarcastically. “Sure. I’ll get right on that. You know I can’t. I work from the house. We never go out. What makes you think I can just waltz out now and help you down?”

Roger steadied his breathing, being careful not to loosen his grip. He had to keep his cool or he risked falling. “I know you’re afraid of the outdoors, honey,” he said in a calm voice masking his fear. “If this wasn’t an emergency I wouldn’t ask, but I’m stuck in this God damn tree house and I need to get down!” Roger’s voice rose. “Maybe you can call someone?”

He was grasping at straws. He knew it. With his crippling fear of heights and OCD, and Joan’s debilitating fear of the outdoors, they didn’t have any friends. Their families lived hours away. When they moved it sounded like a good idea. In retrospect, maybe not.

“Look, Joan, you are just going to have to conquer your fear like I’m conquering mine. This could be what helps us conquer our fears; confront our deepest fears head-on. Just think how happy Dr. Laver will be when you tell him next week during your session.”

Something or someone shrieked. Joan inched farther into the room, away from the window. Roger hugged the tree tighter.

“Maybe if you try to go back to sleep, you’ll sleepwalk yourself back down and into the house.” Joan’s faint voice was tinged with panic.

“Hello,” a voice cautiously called out.

Roger looked toward the towering trees that bordered the woods behind the house. A man stood there, the sun casting shadows on his messy brown hair, partially obscured by a worn-out olive-green baseball cap. He wore a faded denim jacket over a green plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A backpack hung from his shoulder. Dusty hiking boots adorned his feet, and around his neck hung a pendant on a simple leather cord. Roger recognized it as a compass. A few strands of his hair stuck to his forehead, damp with perspiration. His eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. He exuded confidence and an active and physical lifestyle. The opposite of Roger and Joan.

“Who on God’s green earth are YOU?!” Roger screamed. Joan stepped further into the house, startled by this stranger.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Why don’t I help you down and we can talk about who I am afterward?” the man suggested. “I’ll climb up and you grab my waist. We’ll slowly walk back down. I’ll face backward and you face forward so you can keep your eyes closed if that makes it easier. Do you trust me?”

Roger wasn’t sure it would work, but the man looked more than capable. “No. But I guess I have no choice. I have to trust you seeing as I really have no other options.”

“Nope. You don’t. All right. Here I go.” The stranger approached the tree house with an easy stride and gave off an aura of warmth and approachability.

He offered words of encouragement to Roger, soothing his anxiety, and assuring him he would soon be free from his arboreal prison. As he climbed, his movements steady and calculated, he maintained eye contact with Roger, fostering a bond of trust, and started to weave a fantastical story about a dead girl in the woods. Roger tried to follow, but he was paralyzed with fear the closer the man approached.

“Did you know that a girl’s body was found here about 20 years ago? A few hundred yards behind this tree house. She was murdered. I just wanted to pay my respects. I didn’t have anything to do with her death. Well, not directly. It turns out the man who is my father was responsible. Not sure you’ve ever heard of him. John Dean Pickett. The girl’s name was Leanne Morgan. I think her family is still in the area, but I’m not sure.”

Finally, the man reached the treehouse platform keeping Roger captive. Fluidly, he extended his hand. Roger tentatively grabbed it, and together, they navigated the way down. Roger’s trembling body slowly regained composure as they descended. His first step onto solid ground felt like nirvana.

“Thank you,” he said simply, gratitude filling his eyes. “Did you just tell me that story so I wouldn’t pay attention to what was happening?” he asked skeptically.

“I wish that was the case. Unfortunately, that girl was really murdered back there and the man responsible for the crime is my father. I’m Jamie, by the way.” His voice carried a hint of excitement and curiosity.

“Roger. Nice to officially meet you. This isn’t how I usually go about it. Why don’t you come into the house and get something to drink and eat as a thank you for your help? Then you can tell me more about your journey.”

Jamie thanked Roger and followed him up the back porch into a quaint, homey kitchen decorated with chicken wallpaper, chicken dishes, chicken salt and pepper shakers, and chicken mugs.

“What’s with all the chickens? Someone got a thing for poultry?” Jamie blurted out. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s cute.”

“No worries,” said Roger. “The house was decorated like this when we bought it six years ago. As you can probably figure from hearing our conversation, we don’t get out much. So, we left it. The chickens have grown on me. When I was a child, we had chickens. They were fearless and outgoing; very human-like. I thought maybe their personalities would rub off on us.”

The men laughed easily.

In the dusk-painted kitchen, Roger gathered the necessary ingredients to make sandwiches. As he sliced the bread, he thought of Jamie and the closeness he felt to this virtual stranger. He didn’t have any problem with people knowing his phobias. He had lived with them for years. While some people looked at him like a freak, most just took it as a quirk in his personality. He knew intrinsically that Jamie wouldn’t hold it against him. His fear of heights posed significant challenges in everyday situations. Simple tasks like climbing stairs, crossing bridges, or even looking out of a window triggered intense anxiety and panic. Over the years, however, he had developed coping strategies, such as avoiding tall buildings or relying on Joan when dealing with height-related situations. The sleepwalking was admittedly a snag in his coping mechanisms.

But this was inexplicable. He had spent at the most 20 minutes with this man. After their joint experience of rescuer and rescued, an invisible thread was stitched between them, forming an intangible bond. There was an unspoken trust, an unexplainable comfort that enveloped him in the presence of his newfound companion. Jamie had provided Roger with a haven, where he could be vulnerable.

“Okay. Here is a chicken sandwich. Sorry, that’s all I can offer you. We haven’t gotten to the store in a while.”

“I would expect nothing else in this kitchen,” joked Jamie.

Roger set glasses of water on the table and then joined him at the table.

Taking a bite of the delicious-looking sandwich, Jamie moaned appreciatively. “This is delicious. Thanks.”

The two men ate in companionable silence, each enjoying their food. Jamie finished one half of his sandwich, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and looked at Roger expectantly. “So, you slept walked into the treehouse? Have you ever done that before?”

Roger sighed. He knew it was coming. “I’ve been sleepwalking since I was a teenager. When I was 13, I watched my father shoot my mother and then himself. That event triggered nightmares and sleepwalking and a stint in a psychiatric facility. I’ve always been afraid of heights, so I’m very surprised that I went up into the treehouse. I haven’t been able to figure out any pattern for when it is going to happen. Could be in the middle of the night. Could be the middle of the day, as you see. Nothing specific happens before that sets it off. I’m just glad you were here. Joan wasn’t going to be able to do anything for me.”

“Yeah, about that. If it wouldn’t be intrusive, what are her issues?”

“Joan is deathly afraid of the outside world. Agoraphobia is the official diagnosis. It’s so much more.” Roger felt the moisture form in the corner of his right eye and tried to discretely wipe it away.

 “She’s also afraid of people. It stems from the abuse she suffered at the hands of her parents when she was a child. They used to chain her in the backyard for days with just a dog bowl of water. In all kinds of weather. Brutal heat, rain, snow, bitter cold. She was attacked by a neighbor’s dog when she was five and almost died because she was chained up and couldn’t get away. One day she was let inside. She took a kitchen knife and stabbed her father to death.”

There was silence in the room, except for the ticking of the clock. The men sat quietly digesting food and information.

Jamie pressed on. “How did you two meet?”

“We met in the psychiatric facility.”

Jamie didn’t look surprised at this. Most people were taken aback when Roger revealed this.

“With her issues, I’m surprised she was receptive to a relationship with you. How did that come about?”

Roger chuckled. “You would think it would be difficult, but Joan is whip-smart. She realized there weren’t too many men out there that would give her the time of day. I also realized my limitations as a life partner. We were friends and enjoyed spending our free time together when we weren’t in group sessions or with our therapists. After we both left Glen Haven, we continued to see each other at outpatient group sessions. It started with coffee in her apartment after the meetings. Eventually, we realized that neither of us was a prize. We just fell into it.”

“He’s great. I’m the one that’s no prize.” Jamie startled and looked towards the hallway. Joan was standing in the shadows. She took one step forward but didn’t enter the room. The dim lighting hid the scars on her face.

"But how could I resist when he said to me ‘Life's too short, babe. Add your baggage to mine and we’ll travel the world.’ Sadly, we don’t even travel down the block most days.”

A baby’s cry came from somewhere in the house. Joan moved quickly back into the shadows towards the noise.

“That’s Hannah. She’s our pride and joy.” Roger beamed. “It’s fine right now. She’s little and doesn’t really need to go anywhere. I take her to her pediatrician’s appointments. Once she is school-age, there will certainly be challenges. But we’ll face them as we’ve faced everything else. Together.”

“What about you?” Roger asked. “Were you serious when you said your father killed someone?”

               Jamie exhaled and looked out the kitchen window toward the forest he had emerged from as if he would find the answer to the question in there.

               His face hardened before relaxing into the Zen-like expression Roger first encountered on him. “I found out a few months ago my father is the Cross Out Killer, a notorious serial killer who left a trail of dead women up and down the East Coast. I never knew him and had nothing to do with the murders. But I feel some sense of responsibility to the victims. I’m going to the sites where the women were found and paying my respects. I think that’s what they deserve.”

               Roger hesitated before placing his hand on top of Jamie’s and squeezing. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do that. But he felt a connection with Jamie he didn’t feel with many people, Joan being the exception. He saw a kindred spirit in Jamie. While Jamie didn’t have any visible phobias, life had thrown him a curveball. Roger could only hope to deal with his curveballs as gracefully and graciously as Jamie.

               “I admire your attitude. Not many would be as kind and forgiving of circumstances.”

               “My mother raised me with an appreciation for the things I have. I’ve always tried to be conscious that not all are in the same position. Whether it be physically or spiritually.”

               Noticing the darkness creeping in, Roger stood up. “Well, it’s getting late. You should probably get going to find your way back through the woods.”

Jamie followed suit and brought his empty plate to the sink.

“Thank you, Roger. You were so kind to feed me. I appreciate it more than you know. I’m traveling light and don’t carry much food with me. And thank you for sharing your story with me.”

“I should be thanking you,” said Roger. I’d still be up in the treehouse if it wasn’t for you. Thanks for all your help.”

Roger hesitated before continuing. “And thank you for showing me a new way to look at things. I can’t explain it, but I feel very close to you. Every conversation, laugh, shared nod, and moment of silence has given me a newfound appreciation for the serendipity of life and unexpected connections.” He stopped rambling and looked away sheepishly, feeling his skin heat in embarrassment.

“Please don’t be embarrassed. I feel it too. Not sure why, but we were meant to meet. Look at it as destiny.” Jamie raised his hands in the air in a flourish. Roger thought it was uncharacteristic of his laid-back attitude, but he liked it.

They walked out of the house the way they came and through the backyard to the edge of the woods. Roger stopped and inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp evening air. He wished he could bottle it up and give it to Joan.

Turning toward Jamie to say goodbye, he saw Jamie open his mouth. He expected something profound to come tumbling out.

“I have to ask. I don’t get it. Why would you have a treehouse? One parent can’t go outside and the one that can go outside can’t go up the ladder.”

“Ha!” Roger doubled over in laughter. Jamie was right. It didn’t make sense. “It came with the house,” Roger gasped in between fits of laughter. “Like the chickens.”

               Jamie smiled serenely and slung his backpack onto his shoulder and turned toward the forest. “Roger I’m glad I came across you when I did. You needed my help and I gave it. And you gave me something in return. Thank you.”

               Without waiting for a response, he turned to the woods and disappeared amidst the branches.