The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  Is that tomato? he thought, sniffing at his paw. He balked at the smell. A rather rotten tomato, at that.

  He turned to confront his assailant, and there she stood, wearing a grey coat and blue scarf, her paws on her hips and a cocky look on her face that seemed to say, That’s right, I threw the tomato. What are you going to do about it?

  He recognized her immediately. “Sharon?”

  Sharon’s smile faded and her eyes grew wide as she recognized the victim of her pasting. “John?” She ran over and helped him to his feet. “Oh my god, John. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “That’s okay,” John said with an embarrassed smile. “I guess we’re even now.”

  Sharon gave him a confused look, but before she could ask, the other protestors began to close in around them. “Come on,” she whispered in his ear, “we better get you out of here.”

  “Good idea,” John agreed, “I’d prefer not to have anything kicked-in.”

  Sharon gave him a crooked smile as she took his paw, sending a jolt of electricity up his arm. Together they ran through the crowd, then raced across the manicured lawns of the student quad. John stumbled to keep up as he stared into Sharon’s moonlit face; she smiled mischievously, as if they had just pulled off some great caper, each of her giggles forming a cloud in the cold night air. John could scarcely breathe at all, stunned to see his beloved Sharon after all these years. The chants and commotion had fallen far behind by the time they stopped outside an exclusive apartment building on the edge of campus.

  “Well, this is my place,” Sharon said, letting go of John’s paw.

  John doubled over to catch his breath. “Just… one… moment…”

  Sharon patted him on the back. “Breathe, John. Nice and easy. Just breathe.”

  When he finally got his breath back, he straightened up and looked at the tall apartment building. “Nice place.”

  Sharon noticed his threadbare coat and suddenly seemed embarrassed by the opulence of the building. “It’s not that great, really.”

  “If you say so,” John said, scratching his head. He pulled back a tomato-stained paw. “I seem to have lost my cap.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sharon said, tracing circles on the sidewalk with her foot. “Would you like to come inside? To wash up, I mean.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t, really.”

  “Nonsense. You have tomato all over your head. I can’t let you walk across campus looking like that. The least I can do is get you cleaned up before you go.”

  “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Sharon smiled as she opened the door. “Come on.”

  John followed her into the apartment building’s lobby. As she headed for the stairs, John looked up at the impressive flight of steps. “What floor did you say you were on?”

  “The top floor,” she said with a laugh. “Come on, you obviously need the exercise.”

  Sharon bounded up the stairs, and John did his best to keep her bushy tail in view. When they reached the top floor, she pulled a key from her pocket and opened the door. She lit a lamp, revealing a very modern and tastefully decorated apartment. It was three times as large as John’s dorm room.

  “Do you live here by yourself?” John asked.

  “No, I have a roommate, but she’s out tonight.”

  Sharon removed her coat, revealing a white sweater and black skirt underneath. She hung her coat on the coatrack and disappeared into the bathroom. John took off his own coat and held it awkwardly in front of him as he waited. When she returned, she was holding a bottle of shampoo. She pulled a chair up to the kitchen sink and laid a towel across the countertop.

  “Have a seat,” she said, patting the chair and turning on the hot water.

  John sat in the chair, holding his coat in his lap. He looked up at her, and she nodded towards the sink. He laid his head back against the towel, and Sharon directed the warm water across the top of his head. Running her fingers through his fur to comb out the tomato pulp, she squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her paws and began massaging it into his scalp. As she stood over him, working his fur with both paws, her sweater occasionally brushed against his cheek. John breathed in the fragrance of her lilac perfume. He closed his eyes and let all the sensations wash over him—the warm water, Sharon’s soft paws, and the scent of lilacs and shampoo. If heaven existed, he was sure this was it. And he was rather glad for the coat folded across his lap.

  Sharon broke the silence. “So, what did you mean back there?”

  John opened an eye, squinting to avoid the lather. “Excuse me? Back where?”

  “At the Daily. You said, ‘I guess we’re even now.’”

  “Oh, that. I guess you don’t remember. It was a long time ago. The first time we met, as a matter of fact.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You hit me with a tomato?”

  “Not exactly. It was a newspaper. You were in the garden at your parents’ house, and I had thrown a newspaper over the hedges, remember?”

  Sharon’s eyes lit up. “That was you? No way.”

  John smiled shyly.

  “I don’t believe it,” she smirked, continuing to lather his head. “That couldn’t have been you. That little squirrel was really cute.”

  “Hey, what are you saying? I’m not cute?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But I remember that scared little squirrel peeking over my hedges. He had the most adorable puffy cheeks.”

  John puffed out his cheeks, and Sharon laughed.

  “Oh, now I recognize you!” she said. “Little John Grey. Still in the newspaper business, I see.”

  “What can I say? It’s in my blood. My dad says if you were to cut me open, I’d bleed ink.”

  “Gross,” Sharon laughed. “But I guess it makes sense. You were always the best writer at Langley Prep.”

  “I didn’t know you ever read my articles.”

  “Oh, all the girls did. Especially the poems. We’d argue over who your inspiration was, but we never found out. You were so mysterious back then. Lots of girls had crushes on you, but you didn’t seem interested in any of them.”

  “Now you tell me,” John sighed, and Sharon laughed again. It was a sweet, lilting laugh, like a bluebird’s song. “And what about you, Sharon? How is old what’s-his-name?”

  Sharon looked down at him. “Old what’s-his-name?”

  “You know, Philip.”

  She rolled her eyes as she continued lathering his fur. “Oh, Philip. Honestly, I wouldn’t know. He only lasted one semester before he decided to go straight to the professionals. Last I heard, he was bouncing around in the pinecone minor leagues somewhere.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” John said, biting his lip.

  Sharon shrugged. “It was really for the best. Philip was never much for school; I don’t think he has the attention span for it. As I got more into my own studies, we spent less and less time together. I guess you could say we drifted apart.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Law.”

  “So, you’re going to be a lawyer like your father?”

  She gave him a perturbed look. “No, nothing like my father. You wouldn’t believe the stories he used to tell me as a girl: stories about his wealthy clients and all the terrible things they got away with. I don’t want any part of that world.”

  “So what are you going to do with a law degree?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  John crossed his heart with a finger.

  Sharon squinted down at him with an embarrassed look. “Would you believe I’m going to defend the poor, the downtrodden, the needy? I know, I know; it may be naive, but I think I can make a difference, you know?”

  “What does your father think about that?”

  “Not a whole lot, I’m afraid. Have you ever met my father?”

  John winced at the memory. “A couple of times, just briefly. But I did get to know your butler pretty well.”

>   “Alsted?”

  “Well, we weren’t on a first-name basis, but I think we had a real connection.”

  Sharon raised an eyebrow. “Hmm… so, what did you think of my father?”

  “Mr. Payne? He was… very well dressed. And he made quite a strong impression.”

  Sharon snorted, which John found rather endearing.

  “Well,” she continued, “then you know what he’s like. My father doesn’t approve of my career plans. He seems to think I’m just going through a phase, that one of these days, I’ll snap to my senses. Do you know what my biggest fear is?”

  “Um… bees?” John offered.

  Sharon laughed again, the sound of which John treasured even more than her delicate fingers running though his fur. He was sure his scalp was rather clean by now, but he made no mention of it.

  “No, not bees, silly,” she said, “My worst fear is that I’ll become just like my father.”

  “That makes sense,” John said.

  “You think so?”

  “Well, for one thing, you would need a whole new wardrobe.”

  Sharon gave him an annoyed look. “I’m being serious, John. Don’t you ever worry about turning into your parents?”

  “I should be so lucky. My dad is the kindest, most honest squirrel you’ll ever meet. I just hope to be half the squirrel he is someday, though I know he’s already proud of me.”

  “That’s sweet. What about your mother?”

  “I never really knew my mother. She died when I was just a baby.”

  “Oh, how sad! I’m so sorry, John.”

  “Thanks, but like I said, I never really knew her. But I do feel bad for my father. He seems so lonely without her.”

  “Why doesn’t he get remarried?”

  “My dad?” John asked, chuckling. “No, not my dad. He says there was only one squirrel for him, and he’ll see her again soon enough. Whenever he gets down, he says he remembers that the most beautiful squirrel in the world is waiting for him on the other side, and then this life doesn’t seem so bad.”

  Sharon got quiet for a moment, and when John looked up, her eyes were moist.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  Sharon blinked and looked away. “No, I just got some shampoo in my eye, is all.” She sniffed and regained her composure, then resumed massaging his scalp.

  “Like I was saying,” she said, “I’m not going to be anything like my father. Consumed by work, feeding on other people’s misery. That’s a dreadful way to make a living. It takes a toll on your soul, you know? And those around you.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Sharon. You always seemed so happy at Langley Prep. I don’t think I can remember ever seeing you without a smile.”

  “Well, you can thank my stepmother for that. She used to say that no matter how much you’re hurting on the inside, you should always smile on the outside. ‘No one likes a frowning squirrel.’ I hated her back then, but now I just feel sorry for her. It had to be hard living with someone like my father. There was no love, no joy—just money and appearances. I pray I don’t turn into him.”

  “Well, I doubt your father would have been out in the cold protesting for women’s rights tonight.”

  “Ha! That would be the day. My father would prefer I marry a lawyer rather than become one. He hates activists, thinks my head is in the clouds and I should ‘stick to my studies.’” This last part she embellished with a brusque imitation of her father that John recognized immediately.

  “On the bright side,” John said, “if you do get yourself arrested, he could probably bail you out of jail.”

  “Arrested? Geez, John, maybe you’re the one becoming my father; you sound just like him. Whose side are you on, anyway? Oh, riiight… I forgot you work for that awful paper.”

  John twisted his head to look up at her. “Awful paper? You mean the Daily?”

  “Didn’t you read that article they ran on women’s suffrage? It might as well have said, ‘Back to the kitchen, you useless women!’”

  “First of all, it was a letter from a student, not an article. And second of all, I didn’t write it.”

  “But you printed it.”

  “Well, the Daily printed it.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “It’s the duty of the press to present both sides of an issue, whether we personally agree or not. We’re reporters, Sharon; we have to remain unbiased. You know, just the facts, and all that.”

  Sharon looked down at him dubiously. “Just the facts? You mean just the facts you see fit to print.”

  John looked back up at her with a smirk. “As opposed to printing every known fact in existence?”

  “No…” she answered, her voice growing strained as she continued to work the shampoo into his fur. “I mean the words you print can hurt people, people who are struggling to achieve some measure of equality. The press has a responsibility to the underprivileged. You have no idea what it’s like to be disadvantaged.”

  John rolled his eyes. “Disadvantaged? So says the squirrel living in her daddy’s post-modern luxury apartment. Ow! Sharon, not so hard—”

  Sharon ignored his cries, oblivious to his discomfort as she got more worked up. “That’s not fair. I won’t apologize for my good fortune. In fact, I intend to use it to help people. At least I’m out there trying to make a difference and not just cowering behind my typewriter!”

  “Cowering behind my typewriter? A second ago you were all concerned about the power of those words, and now I’m just a coward with a typewriter? Well, you just go on marching with your little picket signs and your cute slogans while we cowards change the world!”

  “What happened to being unbiased?” Sharon asked, now kneading John’s scalp like a baker kneads dough. “Just the facts and all that crap? Now you’re going to change the world? For what purpose? To become president of the Self-Aggrandizing Center for the Self-Centered? I think the only difference you care about making in this world is the size of your paycheck. Face it, you’re part of the establishment, John Grey, just another cog in the propaganda machine.”

  “Propaganda machine? Where do you get this stuff? The Society for the Soft-Headed? I’ll have you know I choose my own stories. No one tells John Grey what to write!”

  “Great, just what we need: more useless words! Way to put yourself out there! Blah, blah, blah, by John Grey, Squirrel of Inaction. I’m sure that will revolutionize the world!”

  “Well, if you had ever bothered to take a literature course, barrister, you would know that words convey meaning, concepts, ideas! Words have the power to persuade! What could be more powerful?”

  “You may be right, because right now your words are powerfully persuading me that you are a complete imbecile! Grow up, John! Playtime’s over; this is the real world!”

  “You’re going to tell me about the real world, you pompous, pampered princess? You know what? Your father was right about you, except your head’s not in the clouds, it’s up your—”

  Sharon kissed him. She kissed him hard, her hands still clinching his sodden head. John wrapped his paws around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, embracing her with a passion many years in the making. He couldn’t be sure how long they kissed; time seemed to stand still. When their lips finally parted, she looked at him with fear in her expression. It was a look John had never seen from her before; she was normally so composed, so confident, but now she seemed rather shaken. For several minutes, there was no sound in the apartment except the warm water running down the sink. A cloud of steam rose up around them, enveloping them like a fog.

  “You should towel off,” Sharon finally said.

  “What? Oh, right.”

  She stood from John’s lap and he reluctantly let her go. She handed him a towel, and he placed it over his wet head, rubbing vigorously. When he emerged, she stood at the front door, holding it open.

  “It’s late,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “You should probably g
o now.”

  “Right,” John said. He was confused, disoriented. He put on his coat, fumbling with the buttons as his brain struggled to comprehend what had just happened. As he walked through the door, Sharon continued to stare down at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. She had nearly closed the door behind him when he suddenly turned around and stuck a paw in.

  “Wait, Sharon,” John said. “Please.”

  Sharon paused, watching him through the crack of the door with big, wary eyes. Her tail quivered behind her.

  John leaned in. “I don’t know what just happened, but I need to know: will I ever see you again?”

  She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. John’s heart pounded as he awaited her answer.

  “Come back tomorrow,” she whispered, then closed the door.

  Chapter 12

  OBSTACLE ONE

  “Falling asleep” describes the natural transition from a state of awareness to a state of unconsciousness. While entering this hypnogogic state, an individual might experience a hypnic jerk—an involuntary twitch commonly known as a night start—accompanied by a falling sensation. These twitches can be brought on by anxiety and often wake the sleeper, resulting in a repeated cycle of falling asleep, a falling sensation, then waking with a start.

  Ernie the ermine banged two pots together.

  “Rise and shine! Everyone up, everyone get dressed. It’s evaluation day; you don’t want to be late!”

  John sat up and rubbed his pounding head. “Knock it off, you white wanker!”

  Ernie stepped into John’s cell. “Oh goodness, where are my manners? Good morning, sunshine.”

  John scowled at the ermine.

  “Aw, does someone have a headache?” Ernie banged the pots together. “Up, up, up, you worthless rodent! Unless you’d like an encore performance?”

  John stood and walked past him. “Okay, I’m up already!” He cringed as Ernie gave the pots one last bang in his ear.