The Blood in My Bark

The Tree:

I’ve stood in this forest for over a hundred years. Listening to the owls hoot. Watching them sway on my branches. The coyotes howl under the protection of my leaves. I’ve seen every fox and kept them warm as they snuggled against my mossy roots. The grey ones climbing high from their predators and digging into my core before finally jumping off and landing into the spongy, mossy earth below.

And I see the humans too. They bring blankets and sit under me. They run around me in circles and flop over laughing. I’m the biggest tree in this forest. I’ve stood through centuries of storms, lightning has cracked through my bark, leaving scars forever. I feel everything. I see everything, I remember everything. And I remember her.

She came to me laughing. Holding his hand and skipping towards me. They played at my roots. Sitting on a blanket with cards and cold drinks. And a knife. It hurt. They cut into me so they could show the forest the letters of their love. KB+JR. It’s not easy to carve into a cottonwood. But they did. Taking turns they mutilated me and left their mark. Then went back to their fun in the sun. Until the sun set. I watched them walk away, hand in hand, smelling flowers on their way out of the forest.

But they weren’t gone for long. A forest’s sleep later, by the time the forest had taken its rest, he returned. He flung her against me, not happy, just weight. Not laughing, just still. He was panting. Sweat drops forming on his forehead. His arm rested on my trunk. The shiny metallic blade of a knife hanging from his wrist. Blood dripping from it and falling down, down, seeping into the bark of my deep wedges. Soaking into the hard, brown wood. He can’t catch his breath. She doesn’t have hers.

I don’t know why, but I know that boy killed her. The humans came later, calling out her name. I’m powerful, but I’m still a tree. I send energy, but nothing else. The humans don’t feel me when I say, “she is here.” My roots wrapped around her like a blanket.

I knew the boy was ashamed when he started digging the hole and trying to get rid of her. Sure, he looked sad, but I don’t think he was sad at all. Maybe he wished it didn’t happen, but that doesn’t mean he could change it. She was dead. In that moment I wished my branches could move like arms and take that knife and cut him down like he did her.

But wishes are for humans, not trees. Trees have big branches. Trees talk to the wind. Trees have energy. I was gathering mine.

I’m glad the boy gave her to me. He buried her like garbage, along with his knife. But I will keep her safe in my soil. Away from prowlers and scavengers. She will be given back to the beautiful earth in this beautiful forest.

The humans wandered around the forest for hours. They wandered around my tree for any clue at all. They found the carving, just as I guided them with a tumble of leaves. “Fresh initials,” they muttered. Now could they do the rest? Could they find the boy, the one who killed her? After he buried her deep in my roots I watched him walk away. But he will be back. To admire his crime. And I will be waiting.

The Fox:

The tree thinks it knows everything. But don’t believe everything you see. And don’t believe the tree. I also saw the girl. I saw her with the boy. See I am a fox who lives in the forest and I feel myself that I own this forest. I know every path, every thicket, every shadow in this forest.

The wildflowers and bushes and beauty that the tree speaks of so powerfully, I weave my body in and out of them daily, smell and lick, and breath, and touch my tail and cheek to all the wonders of the magical air around me. And when I’m tired, I slump right on the slumpy moss of Mr. Tree. Dear old, full of wisdom, I see everything, I know everything, arrogant cottonwood, ruler of the forest, tree. The tree claims to watch everything, but watching is not knowing. He did not see what he thought he saw, now did he? The tree saw the end, not the beginning.

I spent my day sleeping and slinking, and gazing, and playing, and I was in the thicket when I heard a girl scream. Not laughter like the day before. Sheer panic, sharp enough to silence the owls. A stranger lunged from the shadows, knife flashing in the moonlight. And that knife that dripped blood into the bark of the tree, sliced into the girl, quick motions like a rabbit’s kick. She staggered back, her eyes wide.

As the boy fought the man, the knife sliced through her thigh, her neck, her side. The boy found a big stick. He hit the man hard, pounding at his head. The man dropped the knife and the boy took one final blow.

I watched the boy drop the stick. He stood over the man as if he forgot all about the girl. As if he knew she wasn’t coming back from whatever damage that man had caused. The boy stood over the man and screamed. A wail like a coyote in the night calling his lost pack. And then he jumped on his chest. He jumped up and down, up and down. I heard the man’s ribs crunching. Whatever bones live in a human's chest must have turned into powder.

And then when the boy couldn’t jump anymore, he got down to his knees, straddling the man, put his two hands over his throat and strangled him, grabbing his neck, lifting and pounding his head against the ground. He spent what seemed like a forest’s night beating that man. His exhaustion was clear. And then he checked on the girl. The girl was dead. No doubt about it. He cried for the girl. But he already knew. He knew the instant that man cut her with the knife.

So he gently picked up the girl. Covered in her own blood, he carried her softly to the tree. I followed him through the thicket. I crept quietly, close by their side and watched him slump her up against that giant tree’s stump. I watched him try and catch his breath, rest his body up against the tree. His arm held himself up while the knife dripped her blood down into the bark of the cottonwood tree. The tree tasted her blood. The tree saw the end and hated the boy for how it ended. But I know the beginning, and I hate the man. The boy is innocent. The boy didn’t kill the girl, he tried to save her. But the forest will tell the story wrong, because the tree has the loudest voice. And besides, no one listens to a fox.

The Tree:

The boy came back today. Just as I said he would. A tree knows, always knows. He laid over the girl. Admiring what he had done. He pounded at the ground. Silly boy. Are you regretful? Angry with yourself for what you’d done? Do you miss your friend, your lover, your toy? The longer he sat under my branches, the longer I had to harvest my energy and take my branches and put them to work to take a life. To make justice.

I slowly started to break. Split by split, cracking my biggest branch. I needed the cooperation of the wind. My energy, the wind's energy, and then, a fox. Ouch. A grey fox shoots up my trunk with its curved claws, like hooks scraping into me. It scrapes and scrapes like when the boy was cutting into me with his knife, carving those initials to signify their connection. It’s difficult to harvest energy and communicate with the wind as a fox is running around grinding wood chips out of you. But I will still take this life. I just had to get rid of the fox.

The Fox:

I could see what the tree was trying to do. The tree was going to kill that boy. I could feel the energy coming off the ground, feel the vibrations in the air, smell the wind changing and talking with the tree. The wind was going to help. The wind as an accomplice, but the wind wouldn’t even know. That’s what the tree does. It gets help from all forest creatures, from all elements, and they offer up their services without even asking. Because the tree is so powerful and always in charge. But the tree is wrong this time.

I want to tell the wind not to listen, don’t deliver any wind in his direction. Earth, don’t shake. Energy, be still. Please don’t help the tree, just this one time. The boy feels safe in the forest but he is not. He is only safe with me.

So, I ran up the tree, clawed into the tree, tried to hurt the tree and distract his energy. I ran in circles up and around, down, along the branches, taking away what energy I could. Stealing time from the tree to give to the boy. Because I knew the forest wouldn’t listen to a fox.

The Tree:

It’s over. I gathered all my strength. Even the fox couldn’t hold me back. I was so powerful, the fox scurried away like he saw a ghost. My branch cracked at the same time a powerful gust of wind came and with great force whipped the boy in the head with the log sized branch. He fell over, clobbered and bleeding. The branch on top of him. Smashing his head and chest. No chance of him being alive. Just like the girl. The life he took. Now I took him. A life for a life. Just what he deserved. I hope the humans will be happy with me. They will thank the tree, the one who gave the girl justice.

The Fox:

It’s over. The tree was too powerful. Too much energy arose and I had to remove myself from the tree or I might have ended up like the boy. Dead. Crushed by the tree's log-like branch. The humans came back after a forest’s night and found the boy. They found the knife. Because they found the girl. Because they had a dog who started digging a hole beneath the tree.

They hung their heads because of what the boy had done. Because he killed this girl. I watched them through the bushes chatter amongst themselves about how he justly got what he deserved. I ran out of the bushes to tell them, NO, it was the man that killed the girl. The boy tried to save her. I stared at them. I stood still and stared. They stared back. I gave a little chirp. I chirped for the boy.

The humans were surprised to see me. But they didn’t know I was trying to tell them something. I heard one say, “case closed.” And I ran back to the bushes. I watched them put him into a black bag. I don’t know why I showed my face. Deep down I knew it would change nothing. I chirped for the boy. I chirped for the forest. I chirped so anyone would listen. But no one listens to a fox.