by Anna Kyss
I glance at the sorority house. I have my own room, but there’s no real privacy. The girls still haven’t stopped asking about my fight with my father. I’m not ashamed to be with Soul, but I don’t want our business broadcast on the campus gossip channel, either.
He scoops up all the papers. “Let’s drop these off and head to my place.”
As we walk toward the house, I quietly tell him Professor Ansler chose my article for Boulder’s paper.
“Doesn’t surprise me at all. I knew you had mega-talent.” He leans in for a kiss, and the pile of papers begins to wobble.
I move close enough to hold them in place, then I wrap my arms around his neck. “You’ve always believed in me. Even when you barely knew me.”
“I’m just glad you’re beginning to believe in yourself.” He kisses me, his soft lips contrasting with the rough edges of the enormous stack of papers in his arms.
Me, too. I can’t believe I waited this long to finally make my own choices. Being independent feels incredible.
“Um, the kissing’s nice, but my muscles are giving out.” He breaks away. “Come on, my favorite journalist. Open the door.”
“Shh!” I crack the door open and peek inside. It’s still early enough that everyone’s asleep. “This is top secret, remember?”
“For now.” He follows me up the stairs and deposits the newspapers on my floor. “I can’t wait until you can reveal yourself to the world.”
One article, written under a pseudonym, seems thousands of miles away from coming out as a journalist. I don’t want to ruin the magic of the morning, though, so I deflect. “I can’t wait to get to your place.”
“Ready, Maddie LeRebeller?” Soul whispers in my ear.
“I’ve never been more ready,” I answer.
Soul
I SPENT the morning preparing my room. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but I was hopeful she would be in the same mood to celebrate that I was. When we reach my closed door, I take her hands and place them over her eyes. “No peeking.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“More like excited.” Standing behind her, I guide Maddie into the room. “Anticipation can be pretty powerful.”
When I release her, she starts to uncover her eyes.
“Not yet!” I quickly light all of the candles.
“I think I’ve had enough anticipation,” she says.
While her eyes are still covered, I kiss her lips softly. “Go ahead, take a peek.”
She lowers her arms and gasps. I try to picture it from her perspective. I’ve set up a tent in the middle of my room and filled it with a pile of bedding. Just outside the tent doors, I’ve arranged a “fire pit” of pine-scented candles. Since the window shades are closed, the candles’ gentle flickering is the only source of light.
“You brought the feeling of the forest inside,” she whispers.
“Now I have two of the things I care about the most together.” I place my lips to her temple then slowly trail kisses down her face.
“Oh, Soul…” She runs her hands up my back as she draws even closer.
When I kiss her cheek, the salty wetness stops me. “Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
Maddie rubs tears from her eyes. “I’m not used to people caring for me. They care about how I present myself, but not about the inside me.”
My thumb brushes more tears away as I cup her cheek. “You deserve to be cherished.”
“I’m just starting to believe that,” she says softly. “When I first saw my article in the Boulder paper, I assumed someone made a huge mistake. Isn’t that sad?”
This is the first time she’s expressed awareness of how beaten down she is. I need to be honest. “More than sad. I wish you saw yourself through my eyes more instead of your father’s eyes.”
She stares at the ground. “I don’t know why I care about his opinion so much.”
That makes two of us. If I were her, I know where I would tell her dad to go. Parental approval doesn’t make much sense to me—it’s been years since I actually had parents. But then I think about my sister. I would do almost anything to avoid disappointing her.
“I don’t think caring too much is the problem.” I hold her in my arms. “You just need to figure out how to be your own person.”
“You make it sound so easy.” She leans her head back and stares up at me.
“Just start with one simple choice.” I lower my face until my lips brush hers.
She kisses me back, more forcefully. “You and me. I want this to happen. Now.”
“Excellent choice.” I guide her inside the tent then resume raining gentle kisses on any exposed skin I can find. “I cherish you, Maddie. Plan for lots and lots of cherishing.”
She cups my face in her hands then feistily nips my bottom lip. “And lots of lots of rebelling, I hope.”
“Only if I’m lucky.” I rest her on the blanketed tent floor, hover over her, and show her how I cherish every inch of her body.
Maddie
WHILE I’VE cuddled up to Soul before, the sensation of lying skin to skin in our tent haven blows me away. A part of me keeps waiting for him to jump up and move on to other business afterward. That’s what I’m used to. But he seems content to lie here and hold me.
I’m enamored. Completely and totally enamored. This guy has swept me off my feet and taken my heart hostage. After Andrew’s betrayal, I thought it would hard to trust again.
I’m glad to see that I was totally wrong. I would do anything for this sweet, caring guy. I trust him completely.
Soul opened the door to my inner dreams and freed the real me. It’s only fitting I open the door to my heart and offer him entry. Maybe I should just give him the key.
“I wish we could lie here all day,” I whisper.
He slowly traces a path along my arm. “We could. No one would stop us.”
“You wouldn’t want to miss today’s rally, though.” I slowly sit up and wrap a sheet around myself. “And I want to cover the story. It would make a great opening for next week’s article.”
“I guess we should get ready,” he grumbles. “But will you make me a promise?”
“What?”
“Will you spend the night in our tent sanctuary?” He lunges at me. “I might be in the mood for an all-night-long rebellion.”
“How can Maddie LeRebeller say no to a proposal like that?” I joke.
By the time we get to the forest, the shoulder of the logging road is lined with cars. Everybody gathers, talking quietly to one another.
“Are we allowed to all park here?” I wasn’t expecting so many people. Every member of Soul’s environmental group must have come.
Soul nods. “Remember, this isn’t private land. They’re cutting the trees out of our national forests.”
Some people begin pulling signs out of their bags, while others grab short metal tubes.
“What are those for?” I point to the tubes.
“The blockade. Half the protestors will lock themselves together to form a human blockade along the road.” Soul grabs a nearby tube and shows how our hands can be locked with homemade handcuffs made from chains and carabiners. “The tubes make it nearly impossible to cut people apart.”
This feels so much different from coming to the forest alone with Soul. Up in the tree, I was hundreds of feet removed from the happenings on the ground. On the platform, it was the two of us, the forest critters, and the tree. Until the loggers cut down those spruces.
I get why Soul’s group needs to escalate to direct action, but I’m not super comfortable with the nervous energy building around us. I want to help the forest, but I can do more through my words than anything else.
“Are you going to be part of the blockade?” Already knowing his answer, I can’t help wishing he would remain by my side.
He studies the metal tube. “I need to do this. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save this forest.”
“Cou
ldn’t you be arrested?” Once I ask the question, a dozen other worries rush out. Don’t protestors get hurt sometimes? What if the loggers attack? He’ll be defenseless with both hands restrained. Even the police get rough at times.
“Maybe. But it’s a risk I have to take.”
I hate myself for even considering my next thought, but it seeps out anyway. If Soul is arrested, what will my father think?
My fears must show on my face because he draws me close to him. “Hey, everything’s going to be okay. Tonight, we’ll be back in our woodsy, indoor retreat.”
A van from one of Denver’s news stations parks along the road. As they unload their cameras, Raven comes storming over. “Who the fuck called the press?”
He glares, but nobody says anything.
A tall blonde hops out of the news truck and wanders over to me. “Are you Maddie? I’m Annie. Kevin told me to look for the cute redhead.”
“I let the newspaper know about the action,” I say quietly, into the crowd growing around me. “I thought some pictures would be nice for my next article.”
“Pictures are nice,” Annie agrees. “Video’s even better. I contacted my Denver connections.”
Raven shakes his head in disgust. “We’re going to have to seriously sit down and talk after this, Soul. I can’t have your girl running the show.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is?” I gesture to the cameras. “The more eyes on the forest, the better. Media exposure can only help your cause.”
“She’s got a point, man,” someone yells from the back.
“We don’t have time to worry about it.” Soul faces the protestors. “The loggers will return from their lunch break in an hour. We need to have everything in place by then.”
People head into the forest, and the camera crew follows, their equipment turned off and by their side. After a few minutes, Soul and I are left in the parking lot by ourselves.
“Are you okay, Maddie?” He strokes my cheek. “If you want to leave, you can take my car. I’ll get a ride home with someone else.”
“I’m not leaving you here.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “I just hope everything goes smoothly.”
“Who cares about smoothly?” He takes my hand and guides me in the forest. “I just hope we make a big impact.”
Soul
SO FAR, the action’s going perfectly. We form a human chain across the newly carved road. Each day, the logging crew has sliced farther into the forest, getting closer and closer to Grandmother. But not today. Today, we’ve created an impenetrable roadblock.
Apple’s determined to make up for his mess-up last weekend. He volunteered to end the right side of the chain, and then the crazy dude put a U-shaped bicycle lock around his head and attached himself to a skinny tree. I have no idea who even has the key to that thing.
Having my arms spread wide is uncomfortable enough. I can’t imagine having my neck strapped to something at the same time. I don’t know the protestors I’m attached to, but I guess being chained to someone is as good a way as any to get to know them.
The sun shines down on the metal tubes, warming the metal. Sweat drips from my hands, mixing with my neighbors’ sweat. To the sides of us, people gather with signs.
Trees Not Dollars. I Heart Oxygen. Pro: Outdoors—Anti: Two-by-Fours.
The loggers should return any minute, and we’re ready for them. This should be good.
A good protest always energizes me. Outside of squatting in the tree, I’ve always stuck to activist activities that fall firmly within my First Amendment rights. Assembling, petitioning, and protesting have been the hallmark movements of our group.
As much as I dislike Raven’s anarchist views and nasty temper, he was right about needing to step things up. If we don’t act, Colorado Mountain Lumber is going to cut down that incredible, life-giving tree. I’m prepared to intensify our actions, to do whatever it takes to save Grandmother.
Even though Maddie dislikes her psychology major, she’s damn good at psychoanalyzing people. The sicker Sage has gotten, the more my need to save this forest grows. She picked up on that connection during our first night in the tree.
I’ve tried to talk to Sage every day, but he’s been too weak to take the phone himself. The fact that Abby’s been by his side all week worries me even more. He must be too sick to even care about his Sunday rule. Fuck chemo, and fuck the loggers. I’m going to do any damn thing I can to save this forest.
Maddie stands with the news crew. She seemed a little shaken when we first arrived, but she’s stuck it out. I’m impressed. This totally isn’t her scene. A month ago, I would have teased her about not fitting in, but I’ve learned not to judge people so quickly. Her article was pretty powerful. There’s more than one way to make a change.
The video guy asks Maddie a question, and she shrugs then makes her way over to me. She crouches in front of me and holds her water bottle to my lips.
“How are you holding up?” she asks quietly.
“Thanks for the water, but I have an idea of what would make me feel even better.” I purse my lips.
She softly brushes my lips, but the flash of a camera interrupts the moment.
“They would like to film the protest and interview some people,” she says. “Is that okay? It would be good exposure.”
I think for a moment. I don’t want to be the one who gives permission to film tons of incriminating evidence, but people need to see the risks we’re taking. If the news footage brings us more supporters, it will be worth it. “No faces. They can film, but keep the cameras on our feet and arms.”
She kisses me once more then returns to the news crew. After she delivers my answer, they nod their acceptance and begin to film.
“If a tree falls in a forest, these forty brave souls are here to make sure that everyone hears its sound.” The reporter steps forward, microphone in hand. “I’m Ellen Bethel, and Channel Five News is live in the Arapaho National Forest.”
“I understand that protestors have chosen forest names to protect their identities. What do you go by?” She holds the mike to my mouth, but the camera’s focused lower, on the metal tubes.
“Soul.”
“An unusual choice against the myriad of nature-based names. Can you tell me about your name’s meaning?” she asks.
“People are always coming up with sayings about the ‘door to your soul,’ but doors are nothing more than dead wood, while souls hold our entire life force.” I gesture to the surrounding forest. “Trees—living, breathing trees—should be the keys to our souls, and we need to do everything we can to protect them.”
She blinks and takes a moment to formulate her next question. “Everything? Do you have a personal stopping place?”
Talking about my personal limits isn’t going to help our movement, but showing my dedication might. “I will do anything to save this forest. No one will be cutting down Grandmother.”
The reporter turns back to the camera. “There you have it, Denver. These activists are prepared to take what necessary actions they need to preserve the National Forest land.”
Maddie
WHEN THE loggers return, the situation escalates quickly. They walk right up to the roadblock, stepping so forcefully that dirt kicks up in the faces of those who are chained there. When I see Soul cough, choking on the billowing dust, all of my worries rush back.
“What do we want?” Soul yells.
“Our forests!” the other protestors respond.
“How do we want them?” His voice grows even louder.
“Uncut!” the group screams.
They continue to chant and sing, while the loggers pace back and forth, stopping to talk quietly from time to time. When the men noticed the news crew and cameras, they gave the people in the blockade some space. The loggers aren’t happy, though.
I catch snippets of their conversation.
“We’re going to have to work on the weekend to make up for this crap!”
“With a little pain, I’ll bet they’ll be begging to get those damn tubes off.”
I close my eyes for a moment and look off into the forest. This isn’t my life. I’ve been raised to be calm and civil, no matter the situation. Members of Denver’s high society are famous for their tight grin and polite responses, even when they want to pummel the person they’re talking to. My prep school followed the same code: inappropriate language or raised voices led to suspensions, while physical violence was grounds for immediate expulsion.
Everyone’s energy is escalating, but not in a good way. The loggers are ranting to one another. The protestors are yelling their chants louder and louder. The news crew hasn’t stopped filming. I just want to be safe and back home. Maybe I’m not cut out for investigative journalism, after all.
A piercing cry, like the sound of an eagle, draws everyone’s attention to the tree. The grandest tree in the forest. The tree that everyone has gathered here to protect.
Eagle stands at the edge of the platform, holding an enormous bundle in his arms. “For Grandmother!” he cries.
A large banner unfurls, unfolding nearly fifty feet before it stops. It reads, “In Seven Generations, We Leave Our Children Acres of Stumps.”
Wren steps in front of the protestors with a megaphone. Tiny songbird feathers are interwoven in her dreads. “How can you buy or sell the sky? The land?”
Chief Seattle’s speech. I remember it from Native American Studies. Wren continues to speak in her quiet voice, but her words soothe the crowd. Everyone stops to listen. She speaks of being as familiar with the trees as she is with her own body.
Whoops and animals cries fill the air as the protestors sing their agreement. They soon quiet, and Wren continues speaking. She doesn’t carry any papers or notes, so she must have his entire speech memorized. Impressive.
The camera crew films the powerful, inspirational moment. The ancient words fit perfectly into this modern protest.
“Ah, so moving, isn’t it?” Raven says quietly.
