Vintage Memories

Chapter Seven "Beneath the Cypress Tree/Help Me To Help You"

Anthony nearly slipped on a patch of fallen leaves, but with a shriek of surprise, and the flailing of his arms, he regained his balance and continued. At ten years old, his agility was enviable. Back home, even his older brother, Arsenio, failed to catch him, despite the anger, often triggered by Anthony's prankish antics, that propelled him like a steam locomotive.

This was not one of those chases, but he sped through the woods as if it were, feeling the ghostly air of Arsenio's fingers curled and ready to snatch him by the back of his shirt.

A glance behind him revealed no pursuer, but he was certain he was just out of sight, hard on his heels. The impact of the earth beneath his fast-flying feet sent jolts up his weary legs. Tussocks brushed his pant legs, and rocks, jutting from the dirt and leaves like molars, dug into the rubber soles of his keds. His lungs burned, and to compensate, he slowed his pace, then stopped, looking around.

He recognized the oak trees. They were the same as the ones that he played amongst in Central Park, but interspersed were plants that were new to him; flowers invaginated, looking inside-out, and trunks of trees so expansive, and ancient that he was sure their lifespan dwarfed mankind's existence.

Allen had relayed to him books-full of information about the flora and fauna of his home state, but he retained little of it. Memory was a tricky little tool he fumbled with, one he swore to Allen he'd improve for the sake of his learning, but...then, in ironic fashion, he'd forget. There was one, however, that he recalled from Allen's teachings, and that familiarity pulled him to the massive trunk.

Magnolia.

He identified the tree with white blooms the size of dinner bowls. There was no way the magnolia, with its enchanting viridian leaves and cream flowers, was created for this world. He thought it belonged somewhere sublime, a place picturesque, with mages, fairies, mermaids, and dragons.

The forest was deathly quiet. For a moment, he felt as though his surroundings were nothing more than an elaborately designed painting, beautiful, but ultimately sterile and insensate when compared to the real thing.

Shouldn't Allen have caught up by now?

"Allen?" He shouted into the air, hearing no human response. However, a bird fled at his outburst, and the departure of his unknown company made him feel even more isolated.

I didn't think I'd actually lose 'im, I wasn't even goin' that fast.

"Allen?!"

The looming trees felt unwelcoming, as if suspicious of this stranger in their forest. Every direction he turned to looked identical. He was lost, just like the out-of-towners he and his siblings would laugh at back home as those 'poor suckahs' meandered aimlessly up and down the pavements, grappling with their oversized maps being jerked around by gusts of city winds. Now, the shoe didn't feel so good on the other foot.

Panic set in; his chest rose and fell quickly, his pulse raced, and tears built on top of each other, ready to break and fall.

Stupid Tony! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Ya' ran off and got ya'self lost! Tag was yer' idea!

What if no one came looking for him? Allen very well could have given up on their game and gone home. He rubbed his sleeve against his face to collect the tears before they broke, and took up post at the base of the magnolia's behemoth trunk, amongst the mounds of serpentine roots that protruded from the earth. Better to stay put than to get himself more lost.

Don't cry! This is all yer' fault! Don't fuckin' cry! The voice in his mind was mutating, becoming deeper and graveled, sounding less like himself.