by Too Far
"And the nerves are trees," Dad sang out.
"When the branches touch—" Robbie brought his forefingers together.
"Snaps jump between the leaves!"
They squinted at each other, and then Dad opened the book.
Robbie put his hand over the title page. "I want to go to the lab."
"Sure."
"And look through the microscope."
"At. . . anything in particular?"
Robbie looked at the wall opposite. A large poster hung there, showing a brain in cross-section. It was ringed with examples of branching nerves. The riddle of the mind—that was an interest he and Dad shared.
"Thoughts travel around inside nerves," Robbie said. "I've seen nerves in the lab. I want to see thoughts."
Dad frowned.
"It's not that simple," Robbie guessed.
Dad shook his head. "Nerves and chemicals are physical mechanisms. They produce thoughts. But we can't see them."
"When you're older, you decide what thoughts you're going to have." Robbie regarded him. "Don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Mine just fly out of nowhere. Because I'm six. Right?"
"You'll have more control over them when you're older. But thoughts are that way. They come and go without permission. They can surprise you. Shock you. Overpower you. The way they take control of the mind is a great mystery." He paused. "Is this about the Hill?"
Robbie peered into Dad's eyes. He didn't have to say anything. Dad's eyes were razor sharp, and in their depths the darkness was irising open.
"Thought takes us to our limits," Dad said softly. "The highest mountains, the deepest oceans— And beyond, into the cosmos. To distant galaxies and boundless space. Thought seeks the unknown."
"Exploring," Robbie said.
"Yep." Dad put his arm around Robbie and held him close.
"Mom doesn't understand."
Dad didn't reply. He gazed at the open book for what seemed a long time. Sometimes a thought takes hold of you and won't let go.
"She does understand," Dad said finally. "You don't remember what it was like in California— And before you were born—" He stopped cold.
"What?"
Dad shook the thought off. "The moose that killed that boy in Nenana— That scared her. It scared me, too."
"He was feeding it peanut butter sandwiches."
Dad eyed Robbie sadly. "Mom would do anything for you. We're lucky to have her. Don't make things harder for her."
"Just tell me why."
"Why what?"
"Why she doesn't like Fristeen."
"Let's not get into that."
"Has she ever met her?"
"Probably not."
"What about you?"
Dad shook his head. "I bet she's a firecracker."
Robbie laughed, and a little star burst to life between Dad's mind and his.
"Now listen—" Dad turned serious. "The rules may be nonsense. But you better use your head. Even great explorers make fatal mistakes."
Robbie nodded. He remembered Shivers and their headlong descent.
"What are the Big Two?" Dad asked.
"Don't eat anything except blueberries, and if you see a moose, don't stay in the open. Get behind a tree."
"Right. And when you leave your backyard, there's a third. Don't get lost. There are things you have to do—"
"Like marking the way."
"Exactly. Make sure you always know where you are. If you get excited about going this direction or that—before you do, stop and look around. Which way did you come from? How will you find your way back? What will stick in your memory if you get confused? That's your job, no one else's. Whether you're with a friend or alone." He gave Robbie a searching look. "Got it?"
"Yep."
"You never know," Dad laughed. "You might want to come home."
Robbie grinned and settled back, and Dad began to read.
3
It rained for a week. Robbie was stuck inside with Mom, or with Trudy when Mom was gone. Through the back window, he watched the forest. Had Shivers claimed it? No, the trees weren't bothered by the damp and the fog. They grew quickly. Wherever branch ends met sky, there were sprays of leaves. Every day new bursts of green appeared on the Hill, till the aspen tops swayed beneath resplendent crowns. It was all happening without them.
Fristeen was never far from his thoughts. He fogged the glass with his breath and drew her running: a stick figure in the shrubs. And then she was there on the deck outside, waiting. It was nothing but wishing—just fog and mist. So he rubbed her away and started again. It all seemed impossible after what Mom had said.
When it was dark, he lay down, hoping for sun the next day. And when he got up, it was still raining and his vigil continued.
"Jim's coming over to play," Mom said one morning. "You like him."
Robbie nodded.
He met Jim in kindergarten, but they weren't really friends. Mom liked Jim's mom because she was smart and taught at the University. She brought some books for Mom, and the two women talked in the kitchen. Jim stood in the living room, checking things out.
He was holding something over his heart. It was shiny and red—a plastic car. He sat down on the floor and looked this way and that—the coast seemed clear. He bunched himself up, made a grumbling sound and sprang forward, driving his car around a chair.
Robbie stood and watched. Jim had an imagination, but it wasn't anything like his.
The car circled the sofa. Robbie followed along. Jim jumped on the cushions and drove over the top. Suddenly, from his throat came a gargling and crackling, and he raised his arm terribly and brought it down. His arm was a chain saw. It cut the sofa in two. He drove the car down the canyon, back onto the floor.
"I've been in the forest," Robbie said over the noise.
The car careened past him and circled the cordwood.
Robbie pointed through the window. "To the top of the Hill."
Jim nodded excitedly and the grumbling mounted.
"If it ever stops raining—"
"Watch me," Jim shouted. He drove his car up the window and along the spine of the Hill.
Robbie frowned. Mom was wrong—he didn't like Jim. And he was upset with himself. The forest was a secret. Jim descended the glass and zoomed toward the stove. Robbie turned from the race and headed for his room. The forest, he thought, belongs to me and Fristeen.
That evening, he was with her. "Sweet dreams," Dad said when he kissed him goodnight, and the place he drifted into when the light switched off couldn't have been sweeter. No rain, no Shivers, no Jim and no rules. Just a woodland wrung with yearning and Robbie in it, gazing up. Fristeen— Fristeen filled the sky, her smile like the sun, and no matter how much he drank of it, the warmth still poured down. Bedtime would never darken the spirit again. This new light had such energy that it could burn forever.
***
He woke the next morning feeling hollowed out, expecting the worst. But when he peered through the window, the sky was clear.
Mom left for work as soon as Trudy arrived. It didn't take Trudy long to get absorbed in her things. She filed her nails, she fussed with her curls, then she called one of her friends. She was facing the back door, so Robbie crept out the front.
Rules and promises— Dad understood. Some things you have to do, no matter what.
Not far from the edge of the Clearing, he found a crooked path. The shrubs were dripping, and before he had lost sight of the deck, his pants were soaked. He expected a house to burst into view, but the path kept twisting. It entered a tall thicket. Could he find it? What if he never saw her again?
Then the alders parted, and there it was. A house smaller than his own, but full in the sun. Someone had painted it yellow. Half of it, anyway. The other half was brown.
Was this where she lived?
Robbie stepped around to the front, patting his thighs, very excited.
A big motorcycle, silver and black, was parked on t
he gravel.
Who would answer the door? Fristeen? Probably not. He strode up to it, mustered his courage and raised his hand to knock. Then he stopped.
He could hear adult voices inside.
Robbie lowered his hand.
Suddenly the door swung open and a dark figure barged out. Large boots and grimy jeans swept beneath a shiny black coat. The man's cheeks were bearded and a swoop of black hair beetled over his brow. In the gap between, suspicious eyes darted.
"Liberty caps, Duane," a woman said from the doorway. "Don't forget."
The man nodded, folded some money and put it in his pocket. He almost knocked Robbie down.
"Hey, shorty. Watch out."
He laughed and straddled his cycle, coat squeaking like there were animals inside. Then his machine roared to life and the gravel was flying. Robbie turned, taking the stings on his back and shoulders.
As the clamor subsided, he realized the door was still ajar.
The woman stood watching him. She was beautiful, with long chestnut hair that fell in sleek waves, and deep blue eyes. She was wearing a robe, but it wasn't like Mom's.
"You must be Robbie."
He nodded. The robe was short and red, and sun was caught in its folds.
"I'm Grace," she said.
Robbie smiled hello.
Her brows twitched strangely. For a moment, he thought she was going to make fun of him. Then her features sobered and she motioned him closer. She had something in her hand—a baggie with dried-up plants inside.
"Would you like to come in?"
Robbie nodded.
Fristeen, he thought as he stepped through the door. Honey melting in tea—it was her smell. The living room was different than his. All the stuff was on the floor where you could reach it. A mattress, some pillows and blankets. Grace pointed at a cushion and Robbie sat down.
"Fristeen," Grace called. "Your friend is here."
A moment of silence, then a wild squeal. At the rear, Robbie saw a door pry open. Fristeen peeked out and ducked back.
"Just a minute," Grace said.
She disappeared and Robbie could hear them on the other side of the wall. Fristeen cried out and Grace made conciliating sounds. Then Fristeen was chattering. "No," she insisted, "like this." Grace made a disbelieving sound and Fristeen giggled. Still more yammering, and then the door opened and Grace stepped forward.
"The angel will be with us soon." She sat on the mattress opposite Robbie. "Well now. Finally." She folded her legs beneath her and regarded him with curiosity.
It wasn't unpleasant. Not like when a grownup inspects you. She had magical eyes, gentle and hesitant, and they drew you inside, just like Fristeen's. And once you were in there, it was all wonder and excitement and playful surprises.
"Not so fast, Romeo," Grace laughed. "I've heard about you."
Robbie laughed back.
Grace reached for something on the mattress. It was like a tiny box of Kleenex. She pulled some tissues out and stuck them together. Then she opened the baggie and put some of the dried plants inside. She fooled with it, and it turned into a cigarette. She lit it and took a deep breath, peering through the smoke at him.
"I'm mystified." She exhaled in his direction. "Fristeen says—"
Robbie sniffed at the sweet vapor.
"—you're very close."
Robbie nodded. "I'm going to marry her."
Grace eyed him with amazement. "In one day?"
"Yep."
"It's so different—" She turned aside. "When you're older. When you sleep with the one you love."
"I'd like to do that."
Grace burst out laughing. "I'm sorry." She gave him a kindly look. "I'm sure it will be wonderful when you do."
Then something made her choke, her arms wrapped around her middle and she gave a piteous groan. "Oh—" Her eyes closed tightly and she rocked from side to side. "I have a Romeo, too. He'll find me, Robbie."
Her longing went through him like an electric shock.
"Someday." Grace gazed sadly at him.
Robbie saw the tears in her eyes. She drew on her cigarette again and unfolded her legs. Her robe parted, and he could see the inside of her thigh.
"Don't get any ideas." Grace gave him a reproving look and closed her robe. But she was just having fun. Her eyes sparkled like Fristeen's and they played the same game. The sparkle drew you in, then it moved and you lost it, and you had to find it again. That's the way women are, Robbie thought. The beautiful kind. They had little stars that played hide-and-seek with your mind.
"Are you Fristeen's mom?"
Grace made an odd face and nodded.
Robbie wondered what it would be like to have a mom like that.
"Here I am," Fristeen cried.
Robbie hopped to his feet.
The bedroom door swung open and Fristeen whirled out, a riot of color and flying things. Above the churning galaxy, her eyes flashed secret looks.
"Forgive us our fantasies," Grace said. "It's all we have."
The tornado whirled to a halt. Fristeen lowered her arms and they came to rest on her dress. It was emerald green, but it seemed to have burst. There were pieces cut out of it, and things attached. Swatches of fabric, pictures from magazines and books. Glued and pinned, or hanging loose on green yarn. Her hair was even crazier than before—a confusion of knots on top, with bows on either side.
Robbie swallowed. "I thought about you."
"Oh my," Grace murmured.
Fristeen smiled, but something made her hesitate.
"Give your prince a hug," Grace said. She reached out to catch a photo of a bird as it fell off its thread, but when she moved to re-tie it, Fristeen drew back. "We were up nights working on it," Grace told Robbie.
"It was my idea," Fristeen said stiffly, eyeing the cigarette.
Grace stood with the smoke coiling up from one hand, and the detached bird in the other.
"Would you like to go out?" Fristeen asked.
Robbie nodded uncertainly.
Fristeen clasped his hand and wheeled him away from her mother. When Robbie glanced back, Grace was smirking and shaking her head.
She followed them to the front door. "Where will you be?" Grace asked.
Fristeen gave her a long-suffering look.
"Don't mind me," Grace recanted. And then, "Robbie—"
He turned, hearing the suspense in her voice.
Grace's eyes glittered. "Set the woods on fire."
***
They hurried along the path away from the house.
"I like her," Robbie said.
Fristeen made a witless face.
"Does she make you brush your teeth?"
"She doesn't make me do anything."
"That man on the motorcycle—"
"Duane."
"Is he your dad?"
Fristeen looked irritated and shook her head. Some passing thought held her captive for a moment. "Dada doesn't live with us right now. Do you want to see our farm?"
"Sure."
She took a jog in the path. They threaded through low brush till they reached an unsettled place where the earth had been churned into hummocks. Fireweed was everywhere. In the middle was a tractor. It was rusted and caked with mud, and one of the tires was flat.
"We grow corn and melons—" Fristeen said. "All kinds of things."
They returned to the path and hurried along it, their excitement mounting as they started up the Hill.
"Go from tree to tree," Fristeen reminded him, "and don't stop between."
Everything had changed. The red currant fans sheltered broods of tiny blooms, and the bushes had gone crazy. All the buds had burst, and everywhere they turned there were bunches of leaves. And when the wind lifted, each was a galaxy flashing—they all did just what Fristeen had done with her dress.
High above, the aspen crowns seemed about to touch. Their leaves fluttered like the wings of invisible birds. You couldn't hear the sound indoors, but here beneath them it was re
ally loud. No need to touch their trunks now, their thoughts were gushing: a million strange secrets all whispering at once, thrilling but soothing, like the sigh of the spout when you're filling the tub.
As they reached the top, the magic sound ceased. When they turned to look, the leaves were perfectly still. The wind had stopped, and across the slope, all the invisible birds had flown.
"It's like someone's watching," Fristeen said softly.
"Are you scared?" Robbie turned, scanning earth and sky.
"No sign of Shivers," Fristeen observed.
Robbie's brow crinkled. "Let's see what He Knows says."
They clasped hands, followed the Bendies and scrambled under the Fallen Down Trees. On the far bank of the stream bed, He Knows was waiting, looking grizzled and damp, squinting and glaring over his ragged goatee.
Robbie stepped forward. "Is it a good day to explore?"
"Warm, warm . . ."
Fristeen nodded. "The sun's going to shine."
"Hide, hide, hide, hide . . ."
That bothered Robbie.
"I like to hide," Fristeen shrugged.
"If something bad's going to happen, you better say so."
"No, no, no, no . . ."
"See," Fristeen laughed. "Relax."
"Pass, pass, pass, pass . . ."
So they continued along the bank, scooted over the log bridge and climbed the incline, pausing by the gate of stumps at the start of Where You Can See.
The way was clear and there was hardly a breeze.
Robbie stepped onto the ridge, feeling brave. There wasn't any reason to be afraid. "Come on," he motioned, and Fristeen caught up with him. They stood together, looking down on either side. There were more trees than you can imagine, and not a branch was bare now. It was an ocean of leaves.
"If we jumped, do you think they'd catch us?"
Robbie glanced at her and they both laughed.
They hurried up the crestline, passed the place they'd stopped at the week before, reached the high point of the ridge and then continued along it, descending. A confusion of hills and valleys opened before them.
"Nobody's ever been here before," Robbie said, recalling Fristeen's words.
She smiled. "We're the first."
Which way now? He pointed to the left. A slope was covered thickly with little trees. They started down. You had to hold on, and you kept slipping, but it wasn't that hard. The branches were covered with tiny white dots, and the leaves were sticky. Fristeen started singing, "Dot Trees, Dot Trees."
