Oops, There Goes Another Rubber Tree Plant

“Next time you're found

With your chin on the ground

There’s a lot to be learned

So look around

Just what makes that little old ant

Think he'll move that rubber tree plant

Anyone knows an ant can't

Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes

He's got high hopes

He's got high apple pie

In the sky hopes”

--Frank Sinatra

“When the sheep had all gone, the dragon had demanded that the people sacrifice a young maiden to him each day. Saint George found that all the young girls had now been killed and only the King of Egypt’s daughter was left. Unless a knight could be found to slay the dragon, the princess would be sacrificed the next day. The King of Egypt had promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to the knight who could overcome the terrible dragon.”

--Myth of St. George and the Dragon

* * *

If one was ‘moved to rise’ or ‘forced to one’s feet,’ they could speak. 

But no one ever did. 

Except me. 

The quiet prayer meeting at the Quaker Church at Friend’s School was one hour every school day, and the idea was to sit and reflect without saying anything. You are supposed to just sit in your pew in that musty room, with the cold air, and wait for the chimes and the grandfather clock to go off when the hour was up. I’d just watch the hands of the clock ticking and look around the room and everyone’s heads were lowered.

I was supposed to just pray silently.

I had a different idea. 

Where everyone else saw this as nap time, I saw a captive audience. 

I was ‘forced to my feet’ pretty much every day, and I had a lot to share.

Let’s just say I wasn’t making any friends this way.

I had two problems. First, I was last in my class in the mile run. This was embarrassing. Second, I needed a pen pal for our writing assignment. 

Problem was, I only had one friend. Danny Vecchione. Two if you count Wendy. Well, three if you count Mrs. Anderson. Danny didn’t go to our school though. And Wendy already had a pen pal. And Mrs. Anderson was giving the assignment. A pickle. I know.

* * *

I told my mom about the assignment Mrs. Anderson gave us.

“Oh, that’s nice honey. So, who is your pen pal?”

“The ant,” I told her.

“The ant?” she said.

This was the thing about my mom. She had a lot of questions. 

“Yes, the ant,” I said.

“But Johnny, ants can’t write back. You know that right?” she continued.

“Ants can so,” I said.

“Uhh, ok, but what ant are you writing to—I’m not aware of any ants that write letters,” she said.

“The ant that topples the rubber tree plants,” I said, “obviously.”

“But, honey, that’s just a line in a song, it isn’t a real ant,” she said.

My mom could be really dense sometimes.

“He is so real,” I told her. “His name is Anthony—Anthony the Ant.”

“This isn’t like your imaginary friend Rupert or like that time you told us you could talk to Pop-Pop’s ghost, right? You’re not saying you really are friends with… Anthony the Ant?”

“No, of course not. I haven’t written to him yet. We aren’t acquainted. But I know he will write back.  I asked God and he told me Anthony would help me with my assignment,” I told her.

“God told you?” my mom said.  She gave me the look with the crinkled brow she always gave me when she wasn’t getting it. 

This was the thing about moms. And my mom especially. They didn’t believe in God like they should. I talked to God all the time. God did what I needed.  I gave him tasks. And he always completed them. It was kind of like how mom gave dad a list on the weekends. 

It wasn’t like I was asking God for things. I just told him what to do and he did it, because I couldn’t do it if he didn’t do his part. It really wasn’t that complicated. 

At real church, mom and dad were always telling me after about how you ‘have to believe.’ But it was funny because they didn’t seem to. Believe that is. But I believed. Father Carmine always had me go up front and sit with him and he told me every week, “your faith is rewarded because you believe, son.” 

Made perfect sense to me.

Anyway, my mom was confused. But she’d see. Anthony would so write back.

* * *

Anthony:

Hi. I’m John. Mrs. Anderson gave us an assignment to write to a pen pal. I picked you to be my pen pal! Aren’t you lucky.

Let me tell you some things that are happening, catch you up to speed.

So, I got over eleven minutes on the mile run. Last in my class. This can’t happen again. So, every day, after swim practice, while I’m waiting for the bus, I do laps around the parking lot, and I time myself. I don’t know how many laps in a mile. So, I just try to beat my time each lap. I am down to one minute thirty-eight seconds per lap. I am getting faster. I know it.

We had to write a short story the other day. My story was good, I thought. It had pictures and everything. My story was about a knight that had to save a princess who was being held captive by a dragon. When I read the story, the other kids laughed at me. They were saying that the knight was just going to get roasted alive by the dragon. That never occurred to me. I mean, if the princess is locked away with a dragon—someone has to save her. Saving princesses is pretty much a knight’s job—so—failure really isn’t an option.  The princess can’t save herself. No one else is coming to the rescue. So, it is up to the knight. And he’ll slay the dragon if it comes down to it. I know what you are thinking and you’re right. These kids are not that smart. Obviously, the knight is going to get that dragon.

Anyway, that wasn’t the only time I got laughed at today.

Mrs. Anderson went around the room and asked what everyone wanted to be when they grew up. I said a fireman (I was also considering an astronaut for a second choice, if you were curious). Billy laughed at that and said, “you, your too scrawny to be a fireman,” and Jen said, “you are too short—firemen are really tall.”

I thought the whole point of a fireman is it is someone that is willing to go into the fire. I didn’t know there was a height or weight requirement. And I’m really starting to get upset with Mrs. Anderson. Like, is she trying to set me up or what? She asked what we wanted to be. No one specified requirements.

I’m really proud of you by the way. Those rubber tree plants are pretty big. We have a rubber plant in the living room. You must be very strong to topple one of those. Let me tell you. You must be like the Mighty Mouse of ants.

Really pleased to make your acquaintance Anthony. I hope you have some good stories to tell me when you write back, some better stories than mine anyway.

But don’t worry. I will not come last place in gym in the mile at the end of term. I can tell you that much. And if there is a fire—I’m telling you right now—I’ll be the first one in and any cats or anything that are left behind, I’ll be sure to get them out first.

Your friend,

Johnny

* * *

I finished up my letter before bed and left it out on my desk in my playroom and then my Dad came up and tucked me in and sang the song again, about the ant and the rubber tree plant. I stayed up a while thinking of what Anthony would write back.

* * *

Johnny,

This is Anthony, the Ant.

I got your letter.

I wouldn’t pay much mind to what those kids at school are saying. What do they know anyway?

You know, when I told the other ants about the rubber tree plant, they had themselves a good chuckle.

Do you think that stopped me?

Not for a second! I was back at it the following day, knocking away at that rubber tree plant.

At first, I nudged it a few inches. That was all that happened at first.

But, eventually, after a lot of trial and error, I got better. And before long, I was toppling those suckers for sport.

That’ll show them, I thought. And it did!

Keep believing and I know everything will come out alright.

Your friend,

--Anthony the Ant

* * *

Anthony,

I’ve been working on my short story.

Our other assignment.

I’m kind of stuck though and could really use some help.

I prayed about it and God told me you would have the answers I needed.

My knight has to rescue the princess from this fire breathing dragon or the dragon is gonna eat the princess. But if the knight rescues her, the king will let him marry her.

Problem is, how can the knight go into the dragon’s lair and survive when it breathes fire on him?

With all that metal armor, he’s going to get burned up like toast.

A pickle, I know.

Anyway, if you can topple all those rubber tree plants, I’m sure you’ve got some ideas to solve this one too.

Really appreciate your help!

Your friend,

--Johnny

* * *

Johnny,

I think I know what you could do with your story.

Maybe your knight could get some fireproof armor! 

That would solve the whole problem of the fire breathing dragon.

They usually have fairies in the forest, and fairies have magical powers.

Maybe the knight could go to a lake where a fairy lives and dip the armor and the shield in the lake, and the fairy could bless the armor and make it fireproof. That would be a cool way to make the knight immune to the dragon’s fire, don’t you think?

I got the idea from my trial and error with the rubber tree plant.

I kept ramming that thing--like the dickens--but I was squashing my head. I just couldn’t get up enough force without crushing my noggin. Then I found a helmet that I made out of the tab of a coca cola can, and once I put it on my head, I could ram that rubber tree plant as hard as I wanted, and I was no worse for the wear.

Kind of the same idea with the armor, you know.

Anyway, I hope that helps!

Your friend,

Anthony the Ant

* * *

Mrs. Anderson said, “it is time for everyone to read their final stories today.”

I ran to my cubby hole and got out my notebook. I waited my turn.

Jen told a story about how the men installed a carpet in her room.

Billy told a story about how he won the big baseball game by hitting a home run.

Then it was my turn.

“St. George, the gallant knight, dismounted from his trusty steed, Persevere, and entered the dark and shadowy cave. He took his lance and his shield. The green dragon stalked the corners of his lair and shot little wisps of flame from his nostrils. St. George was not afraid. The other knights had told St. George that he would be roasted alive. But St. George had gone to a magical lake where a fairy lived. And he had asked the fairy to make his armor and his shield fireproof. St. George dipped his armor and his shield in the lake and the fairy cast a spell. So, St. George knew the flames could not touch him.

The princess shrieked in terror as the green dragon breathed fire, blanketing St. George in a halo of flames. But St. George held up his shield and the flames parted. St. George’s armor steamed but did not burn red hot. St. George thrust his lance into the dragon’s heart, and it screamed in pain and fright. The dragon was not dead right away, because dragons have two hearts, but it was badly injured and scurried back into the corner of its lair where it laid down to die. It’s days of terrorizing the village were at an end.

The Princess, Sapphire, ran to St. George and embraced him. They left the cave and travelled back to the castle on Persevere, where they were married, and lived happily ever after. All thanks to St. George’s courage and cunning, and the fireproof armor. The end.”

I looked up and everyone was speechless. 

Mrs. Anderson said, “Bravo, Johnny, that was a great story! Well done!.”

I clapped for myself and said, “Grrrreeeatttttt,” like Tony the Tiger.

Jen sighed and rolled her eyes at me. But I didn’t care. Her stupid story was about a carpet. A literal carpet. Boring. And Billy’s story was about winning a game. Predictable. I was the only one with some imagination. They were never going to be real deal writers at this rate, unless they got some imagination.

To my surprise, Billy looked over and said, “that was actually really good, really, really good.”

I smiled and said, “Anthony the Ant gave me the idea for the fireproof armor. I really can’t take credit.”

Billy said, “Anthony the Ant?”

“Yeah, my pen pal.”

This was too much for Billy, who let out a peel of laughter, and then shook his head. “Whatever you say, weirdo. Still a good story though.”

The kids didn’t laugh at me as much after that. All thanks to Anthony.

And I was kind of a hit at story time.

Billy even started asking me for help with some of his assignments.

And Jen seemed really jealous. But she invited me to her birthday party, so she must not think I’m a total dweeb.

They even listened sometimes when I told stories at the Quaker meetings.

And they all said I’d never be a firefighter.

THE END