February 9th, 2010
Dear Trevor,
I still feel like I am catching my breath. Your stack of letters profoundly disturbed me, as I had no idea how long I was gone. Sometimes, in the woods, I thought I had only been there a few hours. Other times, I wondered if I’d ever been anywhere else.
Be patient with me as I explain this to you, Trevor. It’s difficult for me to write. This stubby pencil keeps falling out of my shaking hand. It is strange, communicating with someone who plays basketball, who talks of other humans. It amazes me that there ever were such things. This paper of yours that you send to me. It appears real. I hope it is and I hope you are.
Forgive me, Trevor.
The woods.
The Laughing Gull.
I remember leaving the Laughing Gull a million years ago or five minutes ago to follow Martin and Julia. I had no idea what I hoped to find in the woods, but the knowledge that others were going first eased my anxiety. Just knowing Martin and Julia were in there somewhere made the experience feel less alone.
I found a trail through the brambles and pushed my way under the big trees. Once I got past the brushy edge, the rough trail gave way to mossy ground, which made every step soft and slippery. It was easy to follow Martin’s trail, though. He left size 13 scars on the moss. Next to his marks were the tiny blemishes made by Julia’s shoes.
The woods were dark all the time. Above, the huge trees disappeared up into the fog. I suppose that fog is why the trees are so big. It’s always feeding them. Always growing them to become more and more overwhelming. More imposing.
Growth only happens up above. Down on the ground, the only thing that grows is moss and mildew. The trees are draped in cobwebby moss. Moss on the tree trunks is seaweed-heavy. The ground is soggy with it. Every surface seems covered with some shade of green. It’s a kind of life, I suppose, but a choking kind.
Taken me half a day to write this, it seems.
I walked alone for some time—no idea how long. The air was so heavy in there, it seemed hard to breathe deep enough to reach that satisfying catch in the throat. If I had to do more than follow Julia and Martin’s marks, I would not have managed. Soon, all I could see were trees and moss. The only dim light came from above. The only sound was dripping water and a kind of squishing, wriggling sound that seemed to come from all around. It sounded like a million bug-sized drops of water had come to life. It seemed—
O Lord.
O O O O.
Trevor, I can’t write more today. I feel I’ve told you nothing so far. Tomorrow.
Dad
Dear Trevor,
I still feel like I am catching my breath. Your stack of letters profoundly disturbed me, as I had no idea how long I was gone. Sometimes, in the woods, I thought I had only been there a few hours. Other times, I wondered if I’d ever been anywhere else.
Be patient with me as I explain this to you, Trevor. It’s difficult for me to write. This stubby pencil keeps falling out of my shaking hand. It is strange, communicating with someone who plays basketball, who talks of other humans. It amazes me that there ever were such things. This paper of yours that you send to me. It appears real. I hope it is and I hope you are.
Forgive me, Trevor.
The woods.
The Laughing Gull.
I remember leaving the Laughing Gull a million years ago or five minutes ago to follow Martin and Julia. I had no idea what I hoped to find in the woods, but the knowledge that others were going first eased my anxiety. Just knowing Martin and Julia were in there somewhere made the experience feel less alone.
I found a trail through the brambles and pushed my way under the big trees. Once I got past the brushy edge, the rough trail gave way to mossy ground, which made every step soft and slippery. It was easy to follow Martin’s trail, though. He left size 13 scars on the moss. Next to his marks were the tiny blemishes made by Julia’s shoes.
The woods were dark all the time. Above, the huge trees disappeared up into the fog. I suppose that fog is why the trees are so big. It’s always feeding them. Always growing them to become more and more overwhelming. More imposing.
Growth only happens up above. Down on the ground, the only thing that grows is moss and mildew. The trees are draped in cobwebby moss. Moss on the tree trunks is seaweed-heavy. The ground is soggy with it. Every surface seems covered with some shade of green. It’s a kind of life, I suppose, but a choking kind.
Taken me half a day to write this, it seems.
I walked alone for some time—no idea how long. The air was so heavy in there, it seemed hard to breathe deep enough to reach that satisfying catch in the throat. If I had to do more than follow Julia and Martin’s marks, I would not have managed. Soon, all I could see were trees and moss. The only dim light came from above. The only sound was dripping water and a kind of squishing, wriggling sound that seemed to come from all around. It sounded like a million bug-sized drops of water had come to life. It seemed—
O Lord.
Trevor, I can’t write more today. I feel I’ve told you nothing so far. Tomorrow.
Dad
Filed under Dad Letters | Tags: adolescence, afterlife, fatherhood, fear, junior high school, letter, middle school, moss, purgatory, The Woods, writing | Comment (0)