Juniper Berry

by M. P. Kozlowsky

  In a sense, Juniper thought. Her parents had received their big breaks, their dreams suddenly shifting to reality. They were so very happy, and Juniper was caught up in the thrill of it. But it was then that things slowly began to change. Juniper was still very young as her parents slowly regressed, becoming more and more reclusive the more famous they became, each year more so than the previous one. Eventually, her relationship with them was like the expanding universe; there seemed to be millions of miles between them, miles that could never be crossed, a gap that continued to grow.

  And now Juniper’s father kept more and more to himself, shut away in this very room reading and writing in a thick and battered journal stuffed with clippings and illustrated throughout. There might as well have been a KEEP OUT sign on the door.

  Still, on this day, like every other day, she hoped to find the father she once knew. And, if she didn’t, perhaps a book or two to secretly bring to her room.

  Downstairs now, at the end of the long wing, she threw open the door of his study and, sure enough, there was Mr. Berry. He was pacing the room briskly. Back and forth, back and forth, his long strides never breaking. His hands were balled into fists and his head swung stiffly from side to side. As Juniper watched, his pace quickened, as did his breathing. Every now and then he smacked his fists together hard enough that the crunching sound echoed through the room. His lips were moving, but there was no sound—perhaps he was talking to himself. Juniper thought he looked like a madman.

  She stood there in the doorway for minutes without being noticed. He must be in character, she thought. It was all she could do to keep from crying. She had said this to herself many times lately. She hoped she wasn’t wrong.

  “Dad?”

  He didn’t answer. He just walked straight to the window and peered out into the yard. His fingers scratched at the glass.

  “Dad?”

  Still nothing.

  “Dad!” she yelled, and her father jumped. He turned around with distant, detached eyes.

  “Juniper, what are you doing in here? What did I tell you? This is my space. My private space.”

  Wincing, Juniper took a step back, her hand reaching for the door. “I wanted to see what you were doing. I thought I could read lines with you or something. We haven’t done that in a while. I wrote something new.”

  Although most of her plays were no longer performed, she still wrote new works daily. She wrote short stories, too, mostly about the animals she observed through her binoculars, personifying each creature into a friend she wished she had, some fantasies about the stars above or the lands at the far end of her enhanced vision, underwater worlds with large pockets of air to live and breathe in where she could talk to fish and visit mermaids.

  Mr. Berry snorted. “Do you think this is a game I’m playing? I don’t have time for this.” He spoke faster than she ever heard him, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Don’t you have something to do, some kind of lens to look through?” Mr. Berry reared back and punched the wall. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

  He dismissed her with a wave of his throbbing hand and continued with his pacing; all Juniper could do was run from the room, her heart stinging.

  Mother and Father have not been right lately.

  Chapter 2

  JUNIPER COULD REMEMBER a time when her parents would never have allowed her to play in the rain. But these weren’t those times, and these didn’t seem to be those parents. It was as if she had new parents each year, one pair continuously traded in for the next. And so, the next day, out she went, into the rain.

  Luckily, the grounds surrounding the mansion were endlessly fascinating. Almost every day, Juniper studied the creatures running in and out of the forest— raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, deer, mice, foxes, chipmunks, skunks. She observed the skies and the birds that filled it, as she, too, often wished to. In a notebook, and with the aid of a bird-watcher’s guide, she marked down each of her winged discoveries: willow flycatcher, black phoebe, western kingbird, Hutton’s vireo, black-billed magpie, tree swallow, oak titmouse, western bluebird, California thrasher, yellow warbler, lark sparrow, red-winged blackbird, among others. But her favorite of all was a certain raven, the blackest of all birds, as if dipped in tar, with a thick and curved midnight beak and a wide array of shredded musical communication, a bird that she could usually find on a certain branch of a certain tree in a certain corner of the yard just past where her family’s property line ended, several dozen feet into the large stretch of forest.

  The nearest neighbors were miles away on either side, and, for Juniper, this allowed for much exploring of the grounds. However, it also made it very difficult for her to make friends. There was simply nobody around. She was quite lonely, indeed.

  Juniper knew Kitty heard the crinkling latex as she slipped on her red rain boots and coat. She came bounding in from the hallway at full speed. Man’s best friend, even in the rain. At least I have you, she thought.

  Kitty was by her side in no time, tail wagging jubilantly. Juniper was responsible for bestowing such an unusual name upon her. The moment Mr. Berry set the Jack Russell terrier down, Juniper squealed in delight and waved her hands, saying, “Kitty!” For indeed Kitty looked like a kitten. She was similar in size and her ears curiously pointed straight up at attention—for some reason they never flapped back down as they should. Her slinky body arched and her steps were very careful in her approach to her new owner. And while her eyes were wide and bold, her snout wasn’t nearly as long as it should have been. Almost every aspect of the dog stood in contradiction. It took quite some time before Juniper was convinced Kitty was actually a dog.

  “Are you ready?” Juniper asked Kitty, with her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t make it so easy for me this time.” The moment she threw open the back door, out ran Kitty. In a matter of seconds, the dog vanished within the woods.

  The game was called Here, Kitty Kitty and they played it often. Juniper would give Kitty a head start—several minutes or so—then, using her assortment of spyglasses, she tracked her down. With each new challenge, Juniper had gotten better and better, faster and faster. She would pull out her monocular to spy for a disturbance in the brush, use a magnifying glass to check for tracks in the dirt, observe the skies for fleeing birds with her binoculars. Kitty was found in no time. Usually.

  This, however, was the first time they ever played in the pouring rain. For Juniper, this posed numerous problems. All the leaves and bushes and trees were already shaking and swaying, any tracks Kitty made were quickly concealed in the downpour, and the sky was empty. Still, she refused to give in and call out. She refused to whistle or clap her hands, sending Kitty running right to her. No, she’d find her if it took all day. Juniper Berry was no quitter. Besides, there wasn’t much else to do.

  She ventured through the woods deeper than she’d ever been, boots sinking in mud, rain pelting her umbrella, the cool air penetrating her coat. And still there were no signs of Kitty. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she guessed that she had been searching for close to an hour. Close enough—it was actually fifty-two minutes.

  On the fifty-third minute, she came upon an odd clearing. There was a pile of wood sitting directly in the center and debris strewn all about. If it had been there before, Juniper had never noticed it. At the same time, though, she heard Kitty barking in the distance. If her sense of direction was accurate—and it was—the barks were coming from the direction of her house.

  Although her curiosity was strong—who had been here and what were they doing?—further exploration of the clearing would have to wait.

  Juniper ran through the woods and back toward the house, her thoughts scattering through her head like remnants of a supernova. She never barks like that, Juniper fretted.

  The trees whipped at her face, the mud clutched at her boots, part of her umbrella was torn, but still she pushed on. Though she didn’t know why, she feared
something dreadful might have happened to her parents.

  Nearly halfway through the woods, her home on the near horizon still barred off by thick trunks, she saw something that immediately cleared her head of any previous thoughts. A stranger was in her yard.

  Standing in the rain, flinching at each of Kitty’s barks, was a boy. His hair, his most apparent feature, was a mess of brown tangles; there was so much, in fact, that his long, thin neck barely seemed able to keep his head from tipping. Considering how skinny he was, Juniper believed that his entire body might just fall over from all the weight sitting above his narrow shoulders. Everything about him, except his hair, was small; his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, his arms, legs, hands, and feet. It looked like he hadn’t eaten in some time. He was practically swimming in his green polo shirt and jeans.

  The boy did not notice Juniper standing beneath her yellow umbrella, a look of pure wonder on her face. He cautiously made his way to the nearest tree and began sliding his hands up and down the trunk. Then, when he was finished, he moved on to the next, one after the other. He looked to be deep in thought, his eyes heavily scrutinizing each tree—the rhythmic jerks caused by the relentlessly barking Kitty seemingly reflexive.

  Finally, Juniper clapped her hands and the boy nearly jumped out of his unlaced sneakers. Hearing the sound, Kitty ran to Juniper’s side and fell silent.

  “What are you doing out here in the rain?” she asked. “You’re going to catch cold.”

  His hand was on his heart, as if trying to keep it from beating out of his chest. Clearly he did not expect to encounter another person on such a dreary day; either that or he was terrified of what would happen if he did. “And . . . and . . . what about y-you?” he stammered, his voice weak and whiny.

  “I have an umbrella.” She held it up for evidence.

  “I see.” The boy seemed rather sad. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let the rain drip down his face. His lips were purple and his teeth were clattering. But at least now any previous fears regarding Juniper appeared to have vanished.

  Juniper’s apprehension was diminishing as well. The boy obviously didn’t pose any threat, not to her or anybody. She decided to follow her instinct.

  “Would you like to share?” she asked, raising the umbrella.

  The boy hesitated, then nodded. Juniper ran to him and held the umbrella over both their heads. Up close, she noticed he had a sweet smell about him and that his eyes captured a pattern she had never before seen, the brown and gold of his iris constantly swirling. He gave a soft smile and she liked the way one corner of his mouth ran up the side of his face while the other remained level. His fingers tapped madly against his legs, keeping time with his clicking teeth. He squirmed ceaselessly, and with every bat of Juniper’s eyes he seemed to flinch. Juniper found this quite amusing and blinked as quickly as she could. He was a messy mass of neuroses. She could never have imagined a boy like this, especially when thinking up a friend for herself. Looking at him, she couldn’t help but be thrilled.

  His eyes kept darting away from her and she followed them to the trees at her back. “What were you looking for?”

  The boy just shrugged and averted his eyes to the panting Kitty, who joined them beneath the umbrella. Hesitantly, he lowered his hand. He gave Kitty a quick and cautious pat and then immediately pulled his hand away. Kitty, eyes relaxed, seemed to enjoy it and moved closer.

  “Well, you can’t live around here. There’s not another house in sight.”

  “I’m back that way.” The boy pointed. “It’s the next house. Technically we’re next-door neighbors. Even if it does take a half hour to walk here.”

  “A neighbor!” Juniper couldn’t contain her delight. She whipped out her monocular from her pocket, brought it to her eye, and searched in the direction he signaled. Unfortunately, there was nothing but the thickness of trees. She supposed she’d walk a little deeper into the forest during the winter when the leaves fell to get a better view. “What’s your name?” she asked, collapsing the monocular and returning it to her pocket.

  “Giles.”

  “Giles, I’m Juniper Berry. This is Kitty.”

  At that, Giles sneezed, covering his mouth with his hands and wiping them on his backside. Juniper promptly decided that the pleasantry of a handshake would have to be avoided for now.

  “What did I tell you? Sick.” She knew his hair was dripping wet, but she wanted an excuse to touch it. Reaching up, ignoring his flinch backward, she patted his head. His hair felt like thick strands of yarn or, Juniper preferred, waterlogged caterpillars. She squeezed one tangle and it leaked water into her hand. “See. You’re soaked. How can your parents let you go out like this?”

  “They don’t care.” Every word he spoke came out in a mumble, and these three were no different.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Your clothes are drenched. And why are you only wearing short sleeves?” His arms were littered with goose bumps and his skin was blotchy. She put her arm around him to warm him up.

  Giles smiled at her affection, his entire face brightening like the sun on snow. Slowly, the fearful twitches subsided. “I like your hair,” he finally said. “It’s like it was colored with strawberries and roses.” This was a close enough description of her thick and wavy hair. Usually her unruly locks bothered her, but suddenly she didn’t mind so much.

  “Thank you. I like your hair, too.”

  “You do? Nobody likes my hair.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Smiling, Giles reached out a hand to lean against a tree. Unfortunately, the slick mud gave and his feet flew right out from under him. He fell backward to the ground, splattering his clothes with muck and sludge.

  “Ow!” Giles said, rubbing his bony elbow. He looked like he was trying not to cry. His lips quivered and he bit down on the lower one, revealing a chipped tooth. He turned his head and looked off in the direction of his home, closing his eyes tight. “That hurt.”

  Watching him there on the ground, upset, soaking wet, shivering, sloppy, sickly, Juniper couldn’t help but feel terrible. “Hey,” she said, “come on. Get up.” She reached out her hand, and Giles grabbed it. With her hand swallowing his, she yanked him up as if he weighed no more than a pillow. He came flying, knocking right into her and nearly sending her onto the ground had he not grabbed her around the waist. She quickly stepped back and wiped herself clean, and Giles went about massaging his shoulder. “Careful,” he told her, “you nearly pulled it out of its socket.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She laughed. But, after seeing the look on Giles’s face, she immediately felt bad. She couldn’t believe how vulnerable he was. Everything about him, even his feelings, always seemed about to break. He looked like he wanted to disappear, and that upset Juniper.

  “You’re just like everybody at school,” he said. “Like everyone everywhere. You looked like you’d be different. But I should’ve known.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said. Awkward, they both looked away. Juniper could only imagine what a room full of children would do to such an easy target. She was willing to bet he would like to get as far away from everyone as possible. That’s not fair, she thought, there should be a place for everyone. “Do they call you names?”

  “They like to pick on me,” he admitted. His face clouded over with sadness and embarrassment. “Even the girls.”

  “I’m sorry, Giles. Really.”

  “That’s what the teacher makes them say. But they don’t mean it. They just do it again the next day, the next time she’s not looking.”

  “Why don’t you stick up for yourself?”

  “How? It’s not that easy.”

  Juniper knew he was right. What was easy for one person was most difficult for another.

  “Why don’t I ever see you at school?” he asked her.

  “Oh, I’m homeschooled.”

  Giles nodded. “I
wish I was.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s incredibly lonely.”

  Giles looked like he was about to say something but instead looked back at the trees again, eyes searching.

  “What were you doing out here?” she asked.

  There was a long pause. “I was looking for a tree.”

  “There’s lots of trees. You don’t have trees down by your house?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why would you walk so far in the pouring rain just to look at these trees?”

  “I’m . . . I’m . . .” He took a deep breath. “I’m looking for a very particular tree.”

  “Oh.” She was confused, but she enjoyed having someone her age to talk to, regardless of the odd conversation and behavior. At any rate, she assumed nothing Giles did or said could be more peculiar than what had been going on with her parents. He enjoys nature, nothing wrong with that. “Well, I know all the trees around here. I know every type. There’s mostly pines, some oaks, firs, birches. Of course, there are different species of each. There are also junipers in here somewhere, although they’re more of a shrub or small tree.” Giles looked at her quizzically, and Juniper refocused her thoughts. “What kind of a tree is it? Why do you need to find it?”

  “I shouldn’t really say.”

  “But we’re friends now. I’m not like those kids at school, am I?” She smiled.

  Giles looked up at her. “No, I guess not.”

  “So, tell me, then. What were you looking for?”

  He shifted his feet in the mud and swallowed hard. His eyes began to dart wildly. “I followed my . . . my parents here last night.”

  Juniper was taken aback. “They were out here?”

  “Yeah. In the middle of the night. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the first time either. There’s always something going on with them.”

  Juniper’s eyebrows rose. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, little things.”

  It was clear he wasn’t very comfortable talking about it. His shoulders collapsed even more, his eyes shifted to the ground and didn’t budge, he bit his lip, drawing the tiniest bit of blood, but Juniper needed to hear more. Suddenly she thought she might not be so alone after all.