Therapeutic Stories

Orchids

Bam. Shoom. Boom.

They were playing hockey in the rink across the street again. Hockey's a skilled sport, what with the ability to hit that tiny puck and stay up on the ice. Ice. The ice and biting winds were the only symptoms of winter right now. Snow is not fun, especially when it comes to shoveling, but it's not winter without it.

Sheek. Bam. "SCORE!" Clatter.

No. It was not winter. It was almost five and it was still light out. There was ice, and it was January, but it was not winter. That's just wrong.

Boom. Bam. Splish.

Still, it's silly to waste the light. So I slipped on a jacket, grabbed my camera, and quick scribbled a note that I was going out on a walk. Not sure who the note was for. Maybe me. I didn't spend too much time on the subject and different thoughts were going through my mind after I went outside. The wind seemed to be watching for my entrance to the outside, for it immediately went and started to nibble on my cheeks. I pondered over getting a scarf, but I was already out here. Didn't want to go back inside.

There's a path that goes through a small woodland area in the suburb I live in. This was one of the best places for pictures. That will be nice. Hmm. They stopped playing hockey. Must have lost the puck. That's the only reason they ever stop playing, that and when the lights are shut off at ten. I look ahead and realize that I've walked quite a bit off of the beaten down forest path. Strange. My feet normally walk automatically down this path while I think; I've walked here so many times.

A sparrow flies ahead of me, perching onto a branch. I turn on my camera and focus, but right when I am about to press the shutter the bird flies off. Taunting birds. I turn the camera off and let it hang from my wrist once again. The sparrow doesn't come back.

Bam. Whip. Shuck.

Hmm. They must have found the puck again. Not exactly worth it, as it's finally starting to get dark. They have lights though, I suppose. There's a winter orchid blooming along the side of the makeshift path I'm creating. Actually, as I bend down to take a picture, there's quite a few of them. Perhaps I'll follow the orchids.

Bam. Bam. Bam!

They're getting quite forceful with their hits. Maybe it's a different group of people. I find myself following the orchids, though I told myself to check the rink again. The line of orchids I follow lead to a clearing. I've never seen this clearing before. There's a boy in the clearing. He's sitting in front of a tree trunk. I sit down where I am.

Bam. Boom. Bim.

He's the one with the puck, hitting it against the trunk. After a few minutes, he gets bored with the puck and throws it towards where I assume the rink must be. I myself am lost at this point. The boy sits down again, and looks glumly at this pile of equipment used for winter sports. Melted snow is biting through my jeans, snow that did not exist before. And there are icicles hanging down from naked branches, icicles that did not exist before. And the boy is looking at me, standing on top of the stump.

"And what do you want?" says the boy. For some reason, I did not expect him to speak. Certainly not to me at least.

"And what do you want?" he repeats. The boy gives a look as if he was a business man who had a meeting in five minutes, and every second he spent standing he wasted.

"Nothing, I guess." What a silly question. Everybody wants something, even if they say no. There's no reason to question.

"Nonsense. Everybody is in want of something. To say there is nothing is a lie." Does the boy think I am an idiot? Of course I want something. I want several things.

"Indeed. Even so, I have learned to bite my tongue and not ask for the impossible." I say, perhaps with too much bitterness in those words.

He stands silent. The icicles seem to tremble from his might, though he is just a child and certainly no one of high power. As he continues to stand there, silent and motionless, I wonder if he has no response to what I have said. This silence of his settles in the air, thick and choking, and instead of the crisp winter air that I was once breathing there is this thick silence. I look around, the trees shaking, the ground vibrating. Was there always a path behind me?

I go to leave, when the silence breaks. "You cannot see the orchids if you do not have a plausible wish. What do you want?"

It is now I who creates the thick silence that settles in the air. Not everyone can see the orchids that I find in the forest, the orchids that bring exotic color? What is it that I wish? "Many people admire those orchids every day." I say quickly, in a way that I cannot tell if I am lying.

"Ah, so they must have plausible wants then. It's not that hard to have a wish." Says the boy calmly, yet with a smirk.

Time passes by with me contemplating this. I feel ready to say something random, just to get this kid to stop talking. But that is not what comes out of my mouth. "I want someone to talk to." I say, "I want someone to listen."

"And so, let's talk."

My mind did not think about it. Everything I've been thinking, everything I know spills out of my mouth. I tell the unknown boy about what I've learned at school, about my pictures, my stories. I tell him about my opinions on the events in the news, my opinions on politics. I tell him everything. And he listens. I empty myself of all these thoughts in my head. And he listens

I once again get ready to leave, I'm sure over two hours has gone by and my clothes are soaked from the snow. I stop suddenly after my first step onto the path, and turn back. "And what do you want?" I ask.

He looks startled, as if no one has ever had the thought to ask him the question back. "I want to travel. I want to leave this forest, to explore areas never explored. I want to be my normal self, and not have to grant these wants of people. I want to be free."

"So why do you not grant yourself this wish? Why do you not give yourself a gift as well? If you are able to give to everyone who finds this clearing, you should be able to give to yourself if it is a plausible wish! So, why don't you?" I question, inflection in my voice for the first time in forever.

The boy sighs. "I cannot see the orchids."

It is snowing wet snow, the kind that rests heavily on the sidewalk but you still cannot make good snowballs with it. The sky has grown dark, and even the woodland creatures are silent as they go to sleep.

"I see them."

That is the last thing I say before I walk down the path that did not exist before. And as look back, I watch as he stares, the path so new to him. He can see the path. As I can see the orchids.