The boy who met himself

The first day of summer vacation was bright ,very warm and typical for the southeast .Tom walked down the dirt road, barefoot , enjoying the feel of sand and dirt between his toes. Puffs of dust sprang up with every track he made. This particular road led deep into a dark , cool forest. Morning dew hung heavy on the leaves and grass, dripping and sliding down the veins and stalks .Tom wore faded blue jeans and a green t-shirt , had long straight black hair and a baseball cap. He was slender and tall, close to six feet, and his long stride soon brought him to the end of the road and the beginning of the river. Broad, lazy and sometimes shallow , the river was ideal for Tom’s purpose; to paddle a canoe. He plopped down on the warm grassy bank, lay back and gazed into the vast blue sky. Dandelions, red ripe strawberries and white daffodils dotted the lush grass .
Two days ago he was sitting on a hard wooden chair reciting multiplication tables and conjugating verbs for old Mr. Peters. They had nicknamed him Peter cottontail because he had long white snowy hair , like a winter hare has. Thinking of Mr. Peters instantly reminded Tom of the fight he had been in , but he really didn’t want to think about that right now. Instead he thought about his current hobby: nature and tracking . He loved being out in nature and had a passion for reading the ground and solving the mystery of the tracks left by animals or humans. Mr. Peters told Tom about this unused dirt road dotted with tracks of rabbits , deer, possum, birds and well just about everything that lived in these parts. Occasionally when he would spot a human track in the wilds it would be an adult because for the most part kids didn’t play around here anymore, preferring computer games to the wonders and realities of the natural world.
He stayed for the better part of an hour , resting and eating cold fried chicken, coke and wild strawberries. He watched the weird shaped clouds go serenely sailing by. It looked breezy up there, but here it was warm , quiet , and peaceful . Bees droned , birds called, crickets chirped and numerous butterflies flitted here and there touching each little flower, all creating their own unique symphony. The morning passed by slowly.
In front of him, the old swimming hole and to the right a huge oak tree. Tom could envision endless possibilities from that huge tree. A rope swing from that branch or a perch over there, big enough to stretch out and watch the river and its inhabitants flow by or do a belly flop from ten feet up. On the other side was an old wooden fishing pier. It was here that Mr. Peters had his canoe tied up. It would require a swim thru clear cold water . With out hesitation Tom shed his clothes and with one long running jump he dove into the water . After the initial shock, he was soon lazily paddling along. He stopped in midstream and looked down . He could see a small school of brim idly swimming among swaying green ferns on a brown sandy bottom. He dove straight down, touched the bottom , pushed off and rose like a surfacing submarine. Laying on his back he gazed up into the cloudless sky and felt content to feel the sun . He spotted a jet leaving long white contrails It looked strange and out of place. He thought ,” it doesn’t really belong here, not in this world.” It was a strange thought. Where had it come from? Certainly cars, trains , or planes were all real things , all part of his real world . Near the bank, sitting on his log, a frog croaked and seemed to answer him but Tom couldn’t understand. Then he heard bees ,the river , birds and the wind and once more was relaxed . Wild nature didn’t seem so wild to him.
He kicked his legs and reached the other side . Snaking his way through reeds and cattails he climbed out near the wooden pier . He slipped and slid as he climbed the bank . The pier creaked and swayed but held firm till he reached the canoe, almost hidden amongst reeds , cattails , and grassy ferns. It was sturdy and well made , almost seven feet long , and made small waves as he sat down on the shiny wooden seats . Stowed underneath were two wood paddles that soon returned him with brisk opposite strokes to the other side . The canoe made a crunching hissing sound as he beached it on the sandy shore. He stowed his lunch under the seat , pushed off with his right foot, caught his balance and quickly sat down. The sun felt good .

At midstream he let the river carry him. Huge oaks and pines crowded both sides , sometimes close together at the top. A squirrel could jump from one tree to the other side. These trees made dark cool tunnels for the river to flow. Sun spots dotted the brown sand, and the dark green algae and ferns seemed to glow in the light . Attracted by the floating object , a school of trout swayed and turned as a complete unit. He wondered how they stayed in such perfect rhythm . Its like they were one fish instead of many.
Far off a dog howled and he felt a shiver run up his spine . Then he was back in school again, the last day . On his way to homeroom , he felt someone shove him hard against the lockers: the metal hurt and bruised him.. He felt fear and his face turned red . He turned to the bully but didn’t know what to do , he didn’t react or do anything . The bully laughed. The next thing he knew a teacher had stepped in and separated them . The bully was hauled away to the principle s office and he was guided to Mr. Peters homeroom. Mr. peter asked him what had started the fight ? He didn’t know what to say . He thought to himself , “ Some fight , I didn’t even stand up for myself”. Mr. Peters, Tom noted, showed concern and was in the process of calming him down. Tom was confused and shaken up but not hurt physically. After some length of time , Mr. Peters suggested this little canoe and camping trip. Tom was all for it , he also knew Mr. peters to be a nature lover , and Mr. Peters knew of toms reputation for being an outdoors man. It was considered a little strange nowadays because most kids spent their time playing on computers and being in their real world of mechanical marvels and modern technology. But there’s nothing wrong with that . Tom knew it was a choice that people make. Not many could make fire without matches or track an animal to its den , but this is what Tom liked to do and had a passion for it. His own particular brand of truth. He thought of his confrontation for a little while , then he began to lose himself in his journey again.
Two box turtles sat on a log sunning themselves , watching curiously as this new log came floating downstream . As he drew near, they plopped softly into the water. He watched as they pawed their way to the bottom to hide among the ferns and grasses, stirring up puffs of dirt as they settled in the sand. The river pushed him further , opening its secrets and delights to the young explorer. Moss hung from the branches and scraped the water , he parted the curtain and went through .

A field opened on his right and he paddled towards shore. He walked up the grassy bank, spotted a deer trail and immediately followed the narrow trail into the field . The field was mostly grass and small pines with blueberry bushes dotted here and there. The trail meandered thru the field pausing at shrubs or a succulent blueberry bush ; passed a spot where the grass was beaten down into the shape of a lay. It eventually disappeared into the woods. Tom went down on hands and knees and studied the trail. Doubled heart shaped tracks showed clearly in the dirt, pointing the way , and Tom followed . The deer was walking , the gait showed evenly spaced double prints and no plums of dirt showed in the back or front. The deer was a male, for the front prints were slightly wider than the rear, although that was not one hundred percent foolproof. The males shoulder were larger to carry the rack and the female’s hips were wider to bear the young. He noticed that when near grass or bushes the front of the tracks were slightly deeper as they bent their head to graze. He spent the next hour on hand s and knees studying each track. Each track a sentence and the sequence, a book to be read.
When he reached the trees he turned and trotted back to the river ,and jumped in. Underwater he opened his eyes , tried to catch a trout , instead caught some mud and weeds . He tried again , missed again and went back to his canoe. He lay back and sipped his coke letting the current carry him on. He wished he didn’t have to depend on the food or water he brought . It’s my lifeline to the outer world and for now I need it to survive .
Drifting around the bend , the river opened to a vast plain of duckweed, cattails , and reeds. Little pathways of open water crisscrossed endlessly through this swampy area. The river flooded this area, habitat for many plants and animals. Momentarily startled , a flock of ducks flew up noisily , circled around and landed back in the swamp , like a squadron of planes all landing one after another , skidding across the water on the runways of the swamp. Tom watched a pair of bluebirds flying to a better perch to observe this parade of disturbances . Quacks and other birds echoed back and forth across the water.
A beaver slapped his tail in warning and dove underwater . He couldn’t see the lodge yet but he knew it was nearby. The swamp was loaded with wildlife. Tom tried counting as many as he could , but soon gave up. Steering down the nearest trail, Tom disappeared into the maize. The reeds and cattails were four or five feet above the water line , but if he stood up he could just see over the top. “ I could simply disappear, if I wanted to “, he said aloud. Then to himself , “ my own private sanctuary”. The pathways closed , making the going tough . Just when he figured it would be too hard to go on , the path opened into a small pond , and there in the middle stood his beaver lodge. “ So this is where he went “, he said aloud again.

A voice echoed across the water , “ That’s exactly where he went “. Tom looked quickly all around him, but could see nothing . The voice spoke again . “ Over here, by the log.” A head popped out of some floating reeds , a white head covered with mud and weeds. “I knew you couldn’t resist coming in here to explore,” it said. The voice sounded familiar . “Come on in the waters fine “, it said again , as Mr. Peters stood up in the waist deep water. Without hesitation Tom jumped in and swam over to him . “ What are you doing here?” Tom asked in great delight . “ I followed you here all the way from my farm, it adjoins the river where the canoe is tied up.” “ You swam the whole way?” , Tom asked. “Well more like I floated ; I kind of hitched a ride on this log” , Mr. Peters replied. “But I thought you were going to meet me later at the campsite ?” “And so I will , Tom , so I will. I enjoyed taking the journey down here. First class accommodations. By the way the campsite is just a little further downstream , and I ‘m going on to set up camp. I promised Mrs. Peters I would be waiting there for her when she arrives with the gear and food. So you go ahead and explore some more and come on when you’re ready.” “Ok, Tom said .”
Tom began to explore again as he watched Mr. Peters swim towards the river . “Looks like it’ s more fun to do it that way instead of this canoe,” Tom thought . The water was shallow at the edge and Tom sat half in and half out , looking towards the beaver lodge. He didn’t know about going inside but he was itching to go on top, dry out a bit , sit in the sun , and take in the surrounding area. It seemed to be the highest point around. “ Must have taken a lot of time and patience to build this ,” he thought. Every bird in the place seems to want to sit there and check out the view of the swamp.” He swam to the lodge. Putting his weight on the logs he carefully climbed to the top. The lodge didn’t budge , sway or fall in . The top rose two feet above the cattails and reeds and afforded a magnificent view. He sat and watched the wildlife.
The sun edged across the sky . Time didn’t seem to matter here. Time was the birds doing aerial acrobats over the skies of the swamp: time was the beaver building his lodge or the bees looking for the next flower or even the fox hunting for his supper, with the background hum of crickets and cicadas. Nothing seemed to matter except what was happening right now . He didn’t worry whether it would rain or when he was going to eat . He was content right now in this moment and so, it seemed, was everything else. Natures pulse beat slowly. He sat for what seemed hours, it didn’t matter, and when did glance up, the sun had somehow shifted position and was moving towards the horizon. The water shimmered in the sunlight and reflected back a mirror image of the sky. He moved to his canoe.
Ahead , a fish jumped and caught a fly in mid flight. Together the crickets and cicadas filled the air with vibrations loud enough to be felt . His muscles felt strong with each stroke of the paddle. A breeze picked up and helped him along. He moved around the bend and immediately spotted smoke from a campfire. Nestled in a little open area of the woods a cheerful fire was crackling and he smelled bacon. Mr. Peters was sitting cross legged on a grass mat in front of the fire, cooking .

Mr. Peters sang out , “pull up a mat , we are almost ready to eat.” Tom suddenly realized he was hungry. What tom thought to be bread at first, turned out to be dandelion fritters. Dandelion heads soaked in batter and fried to a toasty golden brown. “Not bad , huh?”, Mr. Peters said. “ That was delicious,” Tom replied. After dinner, Mr. Peters smoked a pipe and Tom tended to the fire . Shimmering and pulsing, the coals glowed a deep red. The flames danced and darted between the wood, taking on a life of its own . Completely absorbed , Tom sat transfixed in contentment and deep thought.
With a start he looked up and realized he was alone. On the grass mat lay a note . “ I need to do a few things at home but will be back in the a.m., you need some time to yourself . Have a nice night. “ Tom glanced around. He went back to his seat by the fire, whittled a stick , and toasted marshmallows . Somewhere off to his right a dog howled. “Closer than before,” he thought. For some reason his fight immediately came to mind, and a little shiver ran up his spine. Out in the dark a twig snapped and Tom sat up straight , straining his ears and eyes for something . He waited a while , didn’t hear or see anything, but goose bumps suddenly appeared on his bare arms. He rose and put another piece of wood on the fire, this time sending weird moving shapes and shadows on the surrounding trees. He spoke out loud, “ I wish Mr. Peters hadn’t gone home, this is getting a little spooky.” An owl hooted nearby ,the wind sighed in the pines and something rustled close by in the brush. And abruptly the noises stopped. It was very quiet. He instinctively drew nearer to the fire. He watched the fire for a long while hearing or seeing nothing. His eyelids grew heavy and his head nodded a few times. The grass mat and backrest were very comfortable.
A growl awoke him. He jumped up and looked wildly around him, listening intently. Sweat broke on his forehead and his legs felt weak. His mind raced. He turned in a complete circle several times watching and waiting. “Is that a pair of red eyes ?“ he thought wildly. He grabbed a stick from the fire . He heard nothing . He tried to shake off his panic. He started to give in to his fear as something seemed to shrink inside of him. Instantly it was replaced by a white hot spark . It surged through his body, activating him to action. He grabbed his flashlight and stick and strode deliberately out of camp, breaking branches and shoving brush out of the way, towards the sound he had heard. He braced himself. Nothing moved , nor did he hear anything ; nothing. He moved the light from one spot to another. He started looking for tracks. He looked for the glimpse of red eyes, or any kind of movement . He kept very still , and heard his heartbeat. Nothing . Nothing at all. “Where was it ? “, he wondered. “I didn’t imagine it. There’s no tracks here, but there has to be some track. It’s impossible not to leave a track, or a broken branch or something.” His heartbeat slowed and he took in a long breathe. He stood and just listened to the night . The owl hooted and the crickets and cicadas were still in rhythm, the night breeze carried the rush of the river and the faint sounds of ducks. And suddenly he smiled . He realized there truly was nothing out here.” It was my imagination gone wild,” he thought. “I feel like I’ve just fought a battle with myself . And won, if that makes any sense . I fought my fear” , he suddenly realized. “I faced it , fought it and won,” he exclaimed out loud.” Quietly he moved thru the woods back to his fire. He broke out the sleeping bag , lay down and gazed at the stars . A meteor flashed overhead and the stars twinkled back at him. He felt much better about himself . His eyelids drooped thru warm hazy thoughts , then the sun and a hundred different birds , already busy at their workday, woke him. His first thought , “ I can never give in, or run away from my fears . I have to face them .” A cheerful voice called out to him, “Well , how did you sleep, young man?” And Tom answered with a secret knowing smile ,” Very well , old man . Very well.”

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