The Boxfield Elm

by Cinda Swans

  But then as they started to move through the night, she felt him swing his hand by her side and then twine his hand around hers. His grasp was soft, but real. His touch tingled all through her and into her toes. She felt as if she were walking on very thin tree branches, a million miles above the earth.

  “Well,” he said, “I just, it’s hard to know where to start with you, Bri. I’ve thought about you a lot over the past years.”

  She felt guilty – she had tried to forget him. But she had been younger…

  “Where did you go?” she asked. “You just…one day, you were just gone.”

  “Oh,” he said. “It wasn’t very good. My mother disappeared. I wasn’t surprised, Bri. I knew she was going somewhere. That’s why I don’t think she’s dead. I think she went somewhere and—“

  “Why didn’t she take you with her?”

  “Bri.” He sounded hurt. “Bri, fucking…goddamnit. You don’t think I didn’t spend the last twelve years asking the same question? She left me here with nothing. No dad, no siblings, no her, just me. All alone. Twelve years old.”

  “But” Bri couldn’t really believe what he was saying. They were speeding along down the sidewalk, their long legs well matched for quick walking. But he hadn’t let go of her hand. “But you didn’t ever – I mean, why didn’t you…I don’t know. You could have come to live with us, couldn’t you? You could have asked for help?”

  “Bri, you know that’s not how it works. Think of all the stories you’ve read. When that shit happens, the kid gets sent to live with some lizardy uncle, or some overly religious cousin. Or worse, a foster family with 17 other kids, all from worse situations than him.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Is that what happened to you?”

  “More or less, yeah.” He said. “But I didn’t really give in to it. I mean they kept shuffling me around, so by the time I was 14 or 15 I was pretty much good on my own. Better off, really. Yeah, ok, I got into some rough situations. I did some rough things. It wasn’t a pretty time. I wasn’t a pretty person. But you do what you can.

  “Honestly, Bri, one of the things that kept me – that kept me from really forgetting – I mean, I used a lot of drugs, and I really think I kind of just wanted to annihilate myself, you know? But one thing that kept me from forgetting who I was inside was how I dreamed of you, and that elm tree, and my mother’s garden. Green things. I was so lost in the city, Bri. You know, I camped out in New York, Austin, New Orleans – all the cities where lonely traveler kids go for a good time. I was one of them, so lost.

  “I had a great time, don’t get me down.” He laughed. “I learned a lot. I met some really fantastic people. I met some scummy people too.

  “But I thought about you, Bri.” He squeezed her hand tightly.

  She swallowed hard. She couldn’t imagine his life. While she’d been lonely and reading Mr. Parker’s poetry and dating boring boys and getting a college degree, Aeron had been camping on city streets and exploring the underbelly of the world with strangers. A weird pang of jealousy struck her, which she knew wasn’t fair. But his life seemed so full of rawness, of desperation mixed with euphoria. Intensity, that’s what it was. Bri felt like a singularly un-intense person, walking next to Aeron.

  “I” she said. “I hardly even remembered all of it. But oh, Aeron, have you been back to the tree, to Boxfield?”

  “No,” he said. “I couldn’t bring myself to go back. My heart hurt too much.”

  “Aeron, they’re cutting down the woods. They might cut down the tree soon!”

  “Of course they are,” he said. She had never heard anyone speak with such bitterness. His voice was cold, emotionless, like he didn’t even care.

  “That’s your tree, Aeron! How will you – don’t you want to – don’t you need the tree to figure everything out? Isn’t the tree how she – how your mother – we have to save the tree!” Bri was getting worked up, and practically running. She dropped his hand so that she could wave hers in the air as she talked. “If your mother left, don’t you think that’s how she went?”

  Aeron laughed. “Oh Bri,” he said. He sounded so old. She hardly understood his voice. “Bri, of course it’s a beautiful old tree. And yeah, it’s going to fuck things up if they chop it down. But listen, it’s not just that one tree.”

  “There are a lot of people like me in the world, Bri. It wasn’t too long ago that humans were a whole lot more comfortable about the idea of traveling between worlds. But they didn’t take it lightly, either – they kept their messages hidden very well. They had codes, secret signs. It’s not traveling like space travel. It’s so much subtler than that. It’s like … it’s like meditating, but farther.

  “It’s only been in the past two or three generations that…well, a lot of the paths are broken. Or the messages have gotten garbled, miscommunicated. The tree is important, too, but there’s something else about it that I can’t explain to you because I don’t know. I have only ever talked to people about it, I’ve never learned enough to do it myself.”

  Bri wanted clear answers. “So your mother really did come from somewhere else?”

  “Oh,” he said, “She came from Ireland, Bri.”

  “Ireland?”

  Bri felt disappointed.

  “Ireland. Whether she came from the Ireland that you could get to tomorrow if you took a plane ride, or the Ireland that you have to get to through some other form of spiritual or shamanistic travel, I’m not sure, and I might never know.”

  Bri didn’t understand.

  They were approaching the last blocks before her Aunt Claire’s apartment building.

  “I’m saying, I don’t know where my mother came from, or where she went, or what she was, but I know that she had some very special powers, and that she was a very smart woman who had her heart broken very badly.”

  “By your father?” Bri supplied.

  “By my father,” he answered.

  “I want to find her notebooks, because I want to learn more about why I am the way that I am. Why I knew how and when to find you, for example. Why I know that your aunt has a white cat. Why I know that this story is going to have a happy ending, but not the one you expect right now.”

  “Aeron,” said Bri. “What were the letters? Who was writing to us? Or what? We weren't making that up. And they were still there, in the tree, sometimes, after you left. But less often. I stopped trying as hard to understand them when I got older - I started to realize that we never really understood them at all. What were they about? Could we read them now? I still have your book, that is supposed to help explain them. Fire, need, hail, gold. What do they mean, Aeron? And the ones ... the ones we kept, those years I knew you. Do you think we can find them? The ones you hid in the attic?”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding.

  Bri felt very young, suddenly, and afraid of losing his interest. “I think you will find those letters,” he answered. “You were always more interested in the runes than I was. You know where we hid them. You can get back into that house.”

  Bri thought of Mark. Did Aeron know about Mark, then? Did he remember? Mark wanted to save the tree. Would that make any difference for Aeron now? She still sensed that there was more she hadn’t understood at all. She sensed that she couldn’t grasp Aeron. He was so far out of her reach. He seemed like an alien.

  "But who was writing to us? What were they trying to tell us?"

  He laughed. "Well, Bri. The letters, if nothing else, are evidence that there was someone else visiting that tree - someone who was very schooled in lore. Who knows? There are a lot of old wing-nuts in that town. Even in the city, you see them - I can spot them a mile away. Maybe some old wizardy man put them there for us to find. Maybe he lived just down the street."

  Bri thought of the man who had stopped her on the street when Josie had first taken her to the bar. But then she said, "No. They are too - they are too real. I do remember sort of...sort of being able to read them better, as a child. The messages were abou
t long journeys, weren't they? And stories of meeting strangers, and seeking knowledge, and...they were about love, too, weren't they, Aeron? Some of them were love stories - about lovers getting separated and trying to find each other again. Maybe we were just intercepting someone else's communication line, really."

  "I remember mostly them being about trying to find a way to get home again. I remember them being about getting lost, and wandering, and being homesick."

  Bri thought of the letter in her pocket. She hadn't told Aeron about it yet. She decided to wait.

  They arrived at the door. Bri almost expected him to pat her on the head, to tell her goodnight, to disappear into the night.

  But instead, he swept open the glass door in front of her with a gentlemanly swipe of his arm. The gesture surprised her, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. A lightness came and replaced the dark weight of a moment ago. “Oh my,” she said. “Why thank you, sir.”

  Mike perked up at his desk and buzzed open the second set of inner doors for them. “Hallo,” he said. “Evenin,’” he said, nodding to Aeron, as if he were in on the game.

  Aeron smiled his half-lipped elvin smile. “May I?” he asked Bri before pressing the up button on the elevator.

  “Of course,” she said.

  The doors slid open and the two of them stepped inside and the doors slid shut behind them.

  “You’ll have to do the honors now,” he said, “as I am not aware of which floor your esteemed aunt habit-tates.”

  Bri giggled. “Oh,” she said, “I think it’s…this one?”

  She poked him in the shoulder.

  “Nope,” he said.

  “This one?” she tried. Then she pressed her lips to his arm in the same spot.

  “Nope,” he said. “I think you are mistaken. No Claire Collins habit-tates on that floor.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Here?” Then she kissed him on the cheek.

  “Closer,” he said.

  “No,” she said, “here.” She pressed the button for Claire’s floor, and the elevator rumbled and began to lift them up.

  She looked in the mirror, and saw herself standing next to Aeron. Who looked more dream-like? The elevator mirrors made everything seem hazy and golden.

  Then the doors slid open and they stepped into the hall.

  She had forgotten how opulent everything was, but she saw it anew in Aeron’s eyes. “Geeze,” he said. “I feel like I should be wearing, I don't know, golden slippers before I walk on this rug. This place is crazy."

  "I know," she said. "Any we're only in the hallway."

  She went to the door and unlocked it. Blanco was mewing inside, happy to have company again. She threw the door wide and gestured for Aeron to go in.

  "Holy crap," he said. "What?" He stood frozen in the doorway.

  "You can go in," she said. "Go on." She pushed him a little bit.

  "Ah, wow. Jesus. This place. Woah." He was looking around, staring at all of Claire's trinkets and keepsakes. He knelt and stroked Blanco's back. Blanco purred like a tiny motor, dusting Aeron's black pants with long white hairs. "Aunt Claire. I remember her, you know. She was my mother's best friend. It makes sense now, looking around this place. I wonder -"

  Bri watched him, his eyes wide and full of curiosity. He saw the brass bottle opener on the counter, picked it up and studied it, then put it back down. "I wonder if -" He went over to the bookshelves, seeing lots of old books, and new books, and books in other languages. He didn't touch any of them. "She must have some of my mother's things. I know she does. I wish -" he sat down on the couch, looking overwhelmed. "I kind of wish she were here, so I could talk to her. I haven't seen her since ... well, she came by right after my mother disappeared. She took my hands and she said she was sorry for my loss. I wanted her to take me with her. I didn't even know how badly I wanted that, until she was gone. I'll bet she could have. You know, I tried to write to her a couple times, but I always had the wrong address and the letters got returned to me. Where - how long will she be away for?"

  "A couple more months. But listen, Aeron, you can, we can write to her now. We can send her an email, and explain everything, and ask her all the questions you've been holding on to for so long. She will write you back now! She must have so much to tell you! Maybe she can help you now. Maybe she can tell you about your mother, help you understand." Bri sat down next to him, thrilled that she had things that he might want, thrilled that her Aunt Claire was so important to him. She wanted him to take her in his arms again. She quivered nervously.

  He stood up again and walked over to the mess of house plants, the orchids and ferns. "Bri," he said. "What's this?"

  He knelt down in front of the plant which had had the big red flower. The flower was gone now. In its place was a husk, like milkweed. Bri got up and went over to him. His eyes were growing wet. He lifted his hand and caressed the edge of one of the leaves. Bri felt her lips tingle, as if he were touching her. She longed for him to be touching her, the way he was looking at that plant.

  "That...I don't know, Aeron. Do you know?"

  He started to cry. "It's Cynthia's flower, Bri. It's here."

  She watched him, impressed by his feeling, by the strange air of joy and sadness that surrounded him. "What does it mean?" she asked. "That story you told me by the train station - was all of it real? Come on Aeron, just tell me. Did your mother really bring this flower from another world? Please! Tell me."

  He sobbed lightly, then turned to her and buried his face in her neck. "Yes, Bri. Yes. This is it. Please don't - please don't tell anyone. But I know it's real. Do you believe me?"

  She held him tightly. "Of course, Aeron."

  "This means I can go home," he said.

  "Home?" she asked. As she said it, she realized what home meant. It meant that Aeron was going to leave her. She tried not to think about it, she tried to put it out of her mind, to be there with him fully, sitting on Claire's floor as he cried.

  "I love you," she said.

  He squeezed her tightly. Then he drew his face away and looked her in the eyes and smiled what might have been the fullest, most joyful smile she'd ever seen grace his face. It was the smile of someone who knew happiness in proportion to great sadness. He touched her cheek and drew her face closer, and then kissed her fully, passionately, gorgeously. The kiss reached all the way down through her, until she felt like every moment she had ever been alive on earth was full of Aeron's kiss.

  She slid her hand inside his hoodie and pushed it down off his shoulder. He let go of holding her so that she could pull the sleeves off his arms. Tattoos full of strange mystical creatures swirled in scenes of battle and flight, all up and down his gorgeous arms. She reached for the hem of his tattered black t-shirt, and she lifted it over his head. His chest was pale and long and sleek. He looked shy for a second, and so to make him feel right she pulled off her own t-shirt, and then pulled him close to her so that more of their skin would touch. "Aeron," she said, "Whatever else happens next, can I just have you now, in this moment? Can I have all of you for a moment? Can we forget about all the other questions and strange things and ... and just ... just be here with each other?"

  In answer, he took her hand and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Yes," he said. His answer sent a rush of blood straight to Bri's loins, and she led him into the bedroom.

  He laughed when he saw the bed. "That's ridiculous. I can't imagine a bedroom more opposite from mine."

  "You don't have a bedroom," she said, sitting down on the edge of the big, fluffy white cloud. He closed the door behind them, leaving Blanco in the other room. He mewed for a moment, then settled elsewhere.

  "No kidding," he said.

  "Stay here with me. Tonight, at least?"

  He came closer and stood between her legs so that she could link them around behind his back. "Okay," he said. He cupped his hand around her neck and drew her lips in for another long, deep kiss. He kissed fully, until she felt that he was really kissing her fr
om the inside out, like a fire was glowing all around them. She scooted back on the bed and pulled him up with her. They knelt before each other, and then he bent his head down to kiss her chest, her neck, her belly. He looped his hands behind her back and unhooked her bra, which fell away. Her breasts felt proud and happy, warm and supple under his touch. She leaned back and fell into the pillows. It was like lying in warm snow.

  He came and lay down next to her and pressed the length of his body against hers. She sighed, and her sigh turned into a groan of pleasure, longing. She reached down to his belt buckle and started to undo it. "Can I have you ... naked?" She giggled.

  He smiled elfishly. He reached down, too, and finished undoing the belt for her. He scooted back and peeled his pants down off his waist and kicked them to the floor. They were a dark mass, weighing the light in the sea of white carpet. He came back to her wearing only plaid boxers. The feeling of his slim legs twining around hers made her pants seem ridiculous, obstructing his touch. But his hand was sliding over her jeans, up her thigh, towards her crotch. He clasped her thigh, then wrapped his other hand behind her neck. "Bri," he breathed. "You are so beautiful. I couldn't have imagined you more beautiful." He found the band that held her hair back, and slid it down off her ponytail, letting it free. He wrapped his fingers into it, and his eyes gazed down the length of her.

  She traced her hands over his back, pressing him down to embrace her more, her breathing growing heavy. Then he raised himself up and traced a finger just inside the waist of her jeans, running it up and down the ridges of her hip bones. "Ahh," she sighed. He was giving her everything she wanted, so slowly and gloriously.

  "Can I take these off?" he asked.

  "Oh my god, take them off right now!" she said, laughing.

  His hands moved down to unbutton her jeans, and without taking them of, he reached his fingers in to caress the curls of soft red hair. She reached down and slid her pants off her legs, and he pulled on them to help. They were skinny jeans, and they got stuck around her ankles, and she giggled while they struggled.

  He grinned. And laughed. And the seriousness broke, and instead they both felt joy all around. Bri yanked off her underwear, and then his, and felt their nakedness glowing in the white bed. She rolled him into the pillows and laid herself on top of him. "Ah, Aeron, no one has ever made me feel like this."