Through The Little Forest

Every day, twice a day, I walked through the little forest.

To be fair, it wasn’t actually that much of a forest. There were about five trees, if we’re being generous. It was more of an inner-city green space, a little shortcut between two properties that allowed people to cut quickly through. It shortened my walk to and from school immensely, so I used it every day, twice a day.

Every morning, I devoured my breakfast, got dressed, and left home. My father was always long gone by the time I was ready to leave for school, so I blew a kiss to my mother, who was usually up to her elbows in soil as she slaved over her garden at the side of the house – weeding, watering, and showering those plants with love. It certainly paid off; my mother’s garden was the best in the neighbourhood, with vibrantly-coloured flowers so full of life as they bloomed that some of the neighbours were certain my mother must be a witch. Her roses always opened fully, her sunflowers always gazed adoringly towards the sky, and her hydrangeas always looked full and dense.

The entrance to the little forest was about three blocks from my house. Each morning, I walked through the neighbourhood, and after years of following that same path twice a day, I had memorized every step. I knew how many squares of sidewalk there were, how many steps it would take, and how many houses I would pass.

I always looked for the things that changed from day to day, trying to appreciate how active and alive my neighbourhood was. I admired the chalk drawings that the Espinosa kids drew on the sidewalk in front of their house. I paused to gaze at the wisteria that grew bountifully on the fence lining Mrs. Hanako’s property, like a bustling hedge of vibrant purple. I dutifully bounced on one foot when I reached the hopscotch court that Mr. and Mrs. Desrosiers had painted permanently on their sidewalk – probably illegal, but nobody in the neighbourhood was going to complain to the city, so there was no issue. I paused to admire the growth of Madam Von Hoot’s lilac tree, caressing the blossoms of soft indigo that hung low enough from over the fence for me to touch.

When the rain fell, I wore my boots and I carried a clear umbrella. I splashed in the puddles, doing a little dance along the way. The rain wouldn’t get me down. If anything, I had a healthy appreciation for the rain. It kept my mother’s garden watered. It hydrated Mrs. Hanako’s wisteria and Madam Von Hoot’s lilac tree. It washed away the chalk drawings, giving the Espinosa kids a fresh and blank canvas so they could start again the next day. The rain was a friend. It nurtured and blessed us with all the beauty of the neighbourhood.

Every day, I made that walk. Every day, my walk took me to the little forest.

I never thought much of the walk through the forest. I suppose that I became accustomed to its presence after many years of walking through. My mother used to take me for walks through the little forest when I was just a baby, rolling the stroller along the dirt path and talking to me about the trees and the squirrels and the birds. The forest was almost like a part of me after all these years. It was a safe place. If I was cutting through the little forest on the way to school, I always knew that nothing could hurt me.

I would gently touch the largest of the trees as I passed it by. I used to climb that tree as a young child, but somebody from the city came and cut it when I was nine and a half. They cut away the branches that I used to climb, and it made it difficult to climb. Difficult… but not impossible. Even after I stopped climbing it, though, I kept on pausing to give it a little pat when I walked by, like greeting an old friend.

I went to school. I focused on my studies, I learned, and I chatted with my friends. The early morning wonders of my neighbourhood faded from my mind, not to return again until the afternoon when I did it all again – but, this time, in reverse. I left school and I passed through the forest. I patted the big tree, caressed the lilac blossoms, switched feet to bounce my way across the hopscotch court, gazed upon the wisteria, and paused to see if the Espinosa kids had added to their chalk masterpieces. I got home, blew a kiss towards the thriving flowers, and went inside to see what snacks my mother had prepared.

Such was my daily routine. My elementary school and high school were but a few blocks away from one another, so I followed this routine from the tender age of five right up until I was ready to go away for college. It never got boring, but it got somewhat monotonous and repetitive. I craved changes in my cycle. I all but leapt for joy when new neighbours came to town, because what would it mean for my routine? Often, though, it meant very little. Many of the newcomers kept to themselves. Disappointing, but understandable. The days of tight-knit communities are becoming a thing of the past.

And then, one day, life threw me an unexpected curveball that knocked my entire cycle out of array.

Everything started out as it should. I had a productive day at school, I said goodbye to my friends, and then I left. When I was only a block or so from the forest, a sudden and unexpected breeze ruffled my hair. It was a warm breeze, and rather strong. It was out of place, given the weather, and after a moment, I realized that this breeze carried upon it a number of tiny white petals. I paused, momentarily awestruck, and my gaze followed the fluttering motion of the petals. It followed them until they faded from sight, at which point I realized that my gaze had landed upon a vehicle parked opposite me on the road.

It was a grey van, and for every second that my gaze rested on it, an unsettling feeling began to build in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong, very wrong. When the engine of the van suddenly roared to life, I had only one thought on my mind:

RUN.

I bolted. The van pulled a U-turn so that it was moving in the same direction as me, and on the same side of the road. My feet felt heavy against the pavement. How could I outrun a van? I just had to make it to my neighbourhood and all it would take was one scream to summon the neighbours, right? I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, not daring to look back.

My brain and my heart were speaking to me in very different languages. My heart screamed that I would be safe in the forest. It had always been a safe place to me, something familiar and secure, a place I could run to get away from whoever was in the van, but my brain disagreed. Logically speaking, running to the forest would put me in more danger. I would be less visible right away. I wouldn’t be in front of the houses, where my neighbours could look out their window and see what was happening. Logic lost out, though, as my feet dragged me to the forest.

Another warm breeze rustled my hair. More white petals fluttered through the air. I let my gaze follow them, and when they disappeared from my sight, I was face to face with the big tree that I used to climb. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the message was: if I climbed the tree, I would be safe.

I wasn’t expecting it to be so easy. It had been difficult ever since the branches were cut, but I knew how to do it. I leapt upwards and grasped the sturdiest of the low branches, hoisting myself upwards as quickly as I could manage. I scraped my hands and elbows against the branches, but I ignored the stinging pain. I kept on climbing, up, until I felt I was adequately hidden within the leaves. If I stayed still, nobody would ever know I was here.

Mere moments later, I heard footsteps below. Two sets of footsteps were sprinting into the little forest. I tried to peer through the foliage, tried to make out any details I could, and after a moment, I recognized one of the men below: It was Mr. Espinosa.

I almost fell out of the tree, but managed to stay put. I heard him speaking with the other man, but I was far enough from them that I couldn’t quite make out their words. After a minute or so, they left, but I wasn’t fully convinced. I stayed up in the tree, even after I heard the engine of their van sputtering to life in the distance. I wasn’t ready to come down.

A warm breeze caressed my hair. Tiny white petals fluttered in front of my face. They hovered there for only a moment before the breeze faded, and they began to descend, delicately dancing towards the ground below. It was safe to leave the tree.

I climbed down, and I hurried home. I didn’t stop to bounce on the hopscotch court. I didn’t stop to admire the wisteria, or caress the lilac blossoms, or greet the Espinosa kids as they embellished their chalky masterpieces. I went straight home, and I told my mother what had happened.

There was nothing the police could do. “You can’t press charges based on a gut feeling, kid. Sorry.” For all we knew, Mr. Espinosa and his accomplice hadn’t even been aware of me. Maybe they’d just been heading in that same direction. The same pit formed in my stomach as before. Suddenly, my daily routine felt less safe.

I started asking my mother to drive me to school in the mornings and to pick me up in the afternoons. I felt guilty, but she never once complained. She told me that she believed me, and she just wanted me to be safe. I caught her glaring once as we drove past the Espinosa house.

For about two weeks, she drove me to and from school every day. Gone were the morning kisses blown towards her and her garden. Gone was the caress of the lilac blossoms, the admiration of the wisteria. Gone was the laughter as I bounced across the hopscotch court, and gone was the enjoyment of the chalk drawings on the sidewalk. I sat in the passenger seat of my mother’s car, staring blankly out the window at nothing in particular until we got to school.

It was a Saturday afternoon when things changed once again. I had no school, so I’d planned on spending the day tucked away in my room, but it was a beautiful afternoon and my mother was having none of it. “At least come and help me in the garden for an hour or so?” I relented, changing into clothes I didn’t mind dirtying and heading out to the side yard with her. I didn’t quite have the green thumb that she had, but she had a particularly annoying thistle that needed to be removed, and I could definitely do that.

I was carefully digging up the earth around her thistle when I felt it. A warm breeze caressing the back of my neck, as my hair was tied back in a ponytail. I looked up, and I saw them. White petals.

I didn’t say anything, but I stood up. My mother was just returning from stepping away to turn off the hose, and she looked at me quizzically. I grabbed her by the hand, and I took her with me.

Instead of redirecting my gaze, the petals fluttered on for a couple of blocks. It was like a breadcrumb trail left just for me, except the breadcrumbs were flower petals fluttering on the warm breeze. There was something I needed to see, and I needed only to follow the breeze. Follow the petals.

I rounded a corner, and the petals didn’t need to disappear from sight for me to figure out where I was meant to be looking. The flash of red and blue was shocking enough to draw my attention all on its own, and my gaze landed on a pair of police cars situated outside the Espinosa house. A bucket of chalk was sitting on the sidewalk, abandoned, and I could see two policemen standing at the door. Mr. and Mrs. Espinosa were just inside, barely visible as they spoke with the police.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked me, her voice hushed and her hand still in mine. I had no answers for her, though. I could only see what she was seeing.

The other neighbours began to accumulate. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Desrosiers on their porch, murmuring soundlessly between themselves. I saw Madam Von Hoot peering over the top of her fence, presumably perched atop a footstool or something of the sort. Even the elusive Mrs. Hanako had emerged from the confines of her home to see what was happening. She looked much older than I remembered.

Then, movement. The policemen both took a step back. Mr. Espinosa stepped out of the house. He turned so his back was to the police, and they clasped cuffs on his wrists. Beside me, my mother audibly gasped. Mr. Espinosa was being arrested. My heart wanted to leap for joy. Maybe he’d been caught on camera chasing me, or maybe he’d gone after someone else. I couldn’t be sure what the details were, and I might never be sure. All I knew was that he was being taken away. I was safe.

I felt that familiar warm breeze once more, and though I saw petals fluttering in the air, they didn’t have far to guide me. I turned my head to follow their gaze, and they pointed me in the direction of my own mother, standing at my side and smiling down at me. She was as happy as I was. She knew the same thing that I knew in my heart. My safety was secured, and that was the only thing that really mattered to her.

I never did find out what Mr. Espinosa did, but we never saw him again. The Espinosa family ended up moving away. I was a bit sad to see the children go, but when a new family moved into the house, they brought with them a trio of children that were every bit as active as the Espinosa kids had been. They certainly managed to liven up the neighbourhood a bit.

As for me? With Mr. Espinosa gone, I felt like I could breathe again. I was eager to get back to my daily routine, eager to abandon those dull daily car rides so I could once again walk through the little forest that might have saved my life.

On Monday, I walked to school.