Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  Micah got into his starting position. The ref shouted “set” and Micah took a breath. He finally was calm. “Bang” the pistol fired and Micah took off at a sprint for a few moments before settling into a comfortable jog. His arms were loose, eyes focused, and he no longer heard the crowd.

  He started his 4th lap continuing his jog. He noticed someone pass, but it did not fully register to him mentally. He was in a meditative state (that is how he later described it to coach). At the start of lap nine, he began focusing on the runners ahead; four boys were spread up to a half-lap in front of him. He concentrated on the nearest boy, and he sped up to match and exceed his competitor’s speed, and then he fixated on the next one. Micah continued to take slow and controlled breaths. His heart was starting to race, and he was throwing off a steady rain of sweat. But he was in no physical distress. By the start of the final lap, only one boy was in front of him, and he was only a few meters ahead. Micah took off in a fast sprint, but so did the other runner. Micah closed his eyes and whispered, “I have won,” and he increased his speed further. His muscles were screaming, and his lungs and throat were burning like a furnace.

  His eyes were shut for a split second, and as he opened them, he saw that he was running even with the Stinett boy. Micah yelled “Ohiwaye!” and pushed forward crossing the Finish Line a single pace ahead of Stinett. He collapsed onto his knees in the grassy area. He mentally focused on his heart trying to slow it down, and it immediately started relaxing. Someone was pouring chilled water on him, and he slowly stood up. People were yelling, and then someone hugged him, and he saw Lindy smiling. She turned and started jumping and yelling something about Bobcats.

  “I did win!”

  Micah spoke as Coach Britt grabbed him shouting, “We won.”

  Soon Micah was surrounded by his friends including Beau, Jan and David. Mr. Dorsey stood back watching with pride. Micah observed the 7th and 8th Grade teams receive their ribbons, and then Micah stood with the 9th Graders on the platform waiting for his name to be announced and awarded the 1st Place ribbon for the 5K run.

  After all was said, the Bobcats went into the showers. Coach Britt said a few words to the boys, thanking them for a good showing. “I am proud to be your coach,” and then he stepped out.

  Micah was exhilarated but uncomfortable being surrounded by a bunch of older kids he did not know. Jimmy John came up to him. “Guys, we need to thank Sherwood for stepping in for Hornsby. He got us a blue ribbon in the 5K, something we ain’t had in a long, long time.” And the boys all stood around him and clapped, but then he was pulled into the shower, forcibly stripped and pushed under the cold water. Then they cheered. Micah interpreted this as some weird rite of passage for new boys.

  He dried off and started to leave when Coach Britt called him into his office. “Mr. Dorsey and your friends are waiting. I’m sorry for springing this race on you. Mr. Malvern said you were a worrier, so I figured you’d do better not knowing. You ran the 5K in 19:30 minutes. That is outstanding. I heard the boys indoctrinate you in the showers. See, I said you’d fit in. Now you’re officially a member of the tract team. You know, I would tell most kids not to jump grades because it is a social challenge, and they end up being pariahs. But you are different. Yeah, you’re smart, but you’re also athletic and friendly, and that makes a big difference. I’m not gonna tell you what to do; I know that you’ll make the right choice, but at least now you can make a more informed decision.”

  “Thanks, coach. It’s a lot harder than I expected, and I don’t know what to do. My friends are important to me. They are not replaceable,” Micah was comfortable talking to Coach Britt.

  “Like I said, do what’s good for you. Now you know that you are Hornsby’s stand in. If he is gone again, I’ll be bringing you over. Is that a problem?”

  “No, I sort of hope he stays sick for a while.” Micah grinned.

  “You might get what you wish for,” and the coach rubbed the boy’s Mohawk. “Just one more thing, what in hell does ‘Ohiwaye!’ mean?”

  The boy laughed, “It means ‘I won!’ in Dakota.”

  Micah walked out and started looking for his friends. He heard voices on the north side of the building, and he walked around to see who it was. There was Beau and another boy. Beau and Micah were not friends, and they had several brawls that almost got them suspended. The other boy was wearing a Stinett jacket. He threw a punch and Beau ducked. Stinett was much bigger than his opponent. Without thought, Micah went and stood by his teammate and recognized the boy he had defeated in the 5K.

  “Come to fight for your boyfriend,” Bear shouted.

  Micah tossed his school uniform to the ground, while Beau tried to retake his position as the contender in the forthcoming fight. Micah pushed him back without saying a word. About this time, the other Tierra Verde boys came around the corner and stopped. Cory started to approach, and Micah signaled him to halt before yelling for his friends to hear, “Stinett can’t win a fair race so he’s gonna try and whip someone smaller to make up for it.” He looked at Bear, “You’re a piece of crap and a coward.”

  Micah looked directly into the older boy’s eyes, absorbing his mood and studying his body language. Three feet separated them. Micah stood his ground, making fists and waiting for his adversary’s move. Bear took a single step forward. He was hesitating, and Micah realized his opponent was indeed a coward; but the situation was not going to let Bear walk away; it was now a matter of manly pride.

  “Fucking loser,” Micah pitched abuse at his adversary egging him on.

  He took a second step, but Micah did not back down. He saw Mr. Dorsey watching without making a move to stop the approaching fisticuffs. He also saw Coach Britt and Coach Terry observing from a window in the Athletics Building.

  The two boys were nearly face-to-face when Bear moved his right hand a fraction of an inch, and Micah let loose with two rapid right hooks to the chin followed by a misplaced uppercut to the liver. Bear’s lip was busted and bloody, but otherwise he took the hits well and threw a right jab that connected with Micah’s left eye. Bear immediately threw a kick, and Micah stepped aside, grabbed the offending leg and pushed sending Bear to the ground. But he was up instantly. As soon as his opponent was back on his feet, Micah ended the bout with a series of jabs which landed the Stinett boy again in the dirt where he remained.

  He stood glaring toward the ground with fists ready for another assault. After a few moments, Micah extended his hand, and Bear gripped it to pull himself up. They stood looking at one another. They did not shake hands; they both nodded their heads and Bear withdrew.

  Micah paused for a moment, and as he turned, it appeared the whole school had been watching. He shoved through the crowd without saying a word. As he passed the door, he heard Coach Terry call his name, ordering him inside. He expected swats or even a suspension. He had been warned about fighting, so he sort of expected the worst.

  “Go to Coach Britt’s office,” Terry ordered, but his voice was mellow and without anger.

  Micah entered the office and saw Coach with a first aid kit. He had a big grin on his face. “Looks like I need to patch you up. Sit down.”

  Mr. Dorsey and Beau came in about this time.

  Micah’s adrenalin was still flowing, and he did not feel the cut or the swollen skin surrounding his eye. “You are gonna have quite a shiner,” Britt joked with him. “I’m afraid you need to go to the doctor for stitches. Or is that a badge of honor? I’ve gotta tell Coach Ramsey that he’s doing a mighty fine job training you.”

  The mercurochrome hurt worse than the punch. “Am I suspended?” Micah asked.

  “For what, defending yourself? I saw it all, how he threw a punch at your friend. You’re okay. When is your next practice?”

  “Boxing?” Micah asked and Coach Britt nodded yes. “Tomorrow night at 6:00 in the Palo Duro gym.”

  “I’ll be there to watch. Now get on to the ER, and please don’t go looking for other Stinett boys to beat up.”
He again rubbed his Mohawk, and Micah left with Beau and Tom Dorsey.

  “If he hadn’t been bigger than you, I wouldn’t have stepped in,” he turned to Beau as he spoke. Micah believed that he needed to explain why he interfered. “I hate bullies,” and Micah smiled. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Beau thought for a moment and grinned without saying a word.

  Micah and Cory rode back to the barn with Mr. Dorsey. They first had to sit in the ER for an hour before the physician could see the banged up boy. He got six stitches just above the eyebrow. “I don’t understand why anyone didn’t stop the fight. Both Coach Britt and Coach Terry watched it. If it had been me fighting Beau, they would have stopped it.”

  “I think it had something to do with an older boy jumping a younger boy, the same reason you got involved,” Tom said. “When a guy does a thing like that, it feels wrong, bad.”

  “I’m the same age as Beau, but it was okay for me to fight? Nobody took offense that I was fighting an older guy? That seems peculiar.” Micah waited for an answer.

  “Beau did not seek the fight and you did. That was the difference,” Cory piped up. “And you were having fun; I heard you yell abuses at that kid. Besides, I think everyone was sort of hoping you’d whop the guy good. It was like the race, you were defending the school.”

  Mr. Dorsey nodded at Cory. “He’s right, Micah; everyone was rooting for you. You carry yourself like a much older boy and people forget your real age; they don’t look at you as a little kid.” Tom paused. “It’s tough. I know you feel like you’re in between two worlds. I can only listen and give advice. Life is a series of decisions, and we get some right and some wrong. As long as we make more right decisions than wrong ones, we’ll come out okay. Your friends and I are always here for you, always sympathetic.”

  “I’m not,” Cory bellowed. “He’s a pain in the ass, always has been and always will be. Micah is a cynosure.”

  “Wow, such a big word for such a little boy,” Micah elbowed him.

  “I’m as big as you are and as smart,” Cory boasted. “I’m just not a show-off.”

  “I agree with everything you just said except the show-off part.” The fight was over, and Micah stopped thinking about it. What bothered him was whether or not to jump to 9th grade. That was consuming him.

  “You’re such a jerk wad.” Micah continued to respond to his friend. “You are smart, and if you had just a little gumption, we would be making the decision about going to junior high next September together.” Micah got serious. “I can’t leave you guys. It’d be like losing my brothers. I can’t just toss you all aside.”

  Cory looked at his friend. “You wouldn’t be leaving us. We’d be around. Now you’re being stupid.”

  “Don’t you see: I want to share growing up with you; to be together on the track team; to see you at lunch; to share our days together; to whip your ass once in a while for kicks. That’s why we’re here; to finish what was cut short.”

  Cory understood. They had not discussed their shared memories in a long time. For an instant, he returned to the hunts and celebrations of a brotherhood of young men who died millennia before there was an Amarillo. All words stopped, and the two boys studied each other.

  Mr. Dorsey listened as they sat in the truck next to the barn, but most of their conversation was incoherent. The boys were staring eye-to-eye. He felt their exchange in his gut and heart. Somehow he was involved in this discussion not knowing how or why. The sun was gone, but twilight still shimmered in the west, which brightened the truck enough that he could see the boys. He watched their flickers, two shallow, yellow, glowing mists that intertwined together forming a single flame encompassing both of their beings. And it was handsome and wondrous. He peered into the mirror, and he saw his own silvery glow interweave with the children’s, and then he was with them in a surreal reality:

  Rain showered the green prairielands with its sweet scent, combining with the odor of sage and mesquite which acted almost like a narcotic on the youthful warriors. The troop had crawled their way to the top of the hill, hiding in the tall grass overlooking the nearby creek, whose water flooded its banks and submerged the nearby stand of trees. They are brothers who scout and track and celebrate life, five paces from manhood with no great hurry to become men. But intruders roam the steppe, and above all else, they will protect the People. This is the second troop of murderers to enter Antelope lands. The dwellers from the west come to trade; and the trackers from the east to hunt in the high flatlands. They are welcome; they are kin. But the marauders are killers who raid and plunder then leave. The brothers annihilated the first group. They plan to crush this band of butchers as well.

  They contemplate the sun as it slowly glides toward dusk, rushing toward the Clan’s ancient home in the Canyonlands far to the west. The Boys-Becoming-Men greet nightfall and then meld together for the long wait till daybreak. But always in the deeps of their thoughts, they anticipate battle and possible death. They feed on pemmican and flatbread. There is no talking, no fire. To survive, they travel the stealthy path.

  A single man-boy reconnoiters the area for signs of the strangers while the others rest. His movements are determined, calculated and cautious. His brothers call him He-of-the-Past because he recites the history of the People, reminding them who they are and where they are going. He speaks of Dream-Time and Dream-Space, and even though he is the youngest, they revere him as their elder.

  There is no moon, and the stars hide behind thick summertime clouds. He stands upon an adjacent hillock facing downward toward the free flowing creek. All is dark; there are no fires. He kneels and thinks about his family. His mind glides through recollections: running with his brothers; collecting flint from the great escarpment; swimming in the river; and concluding his Dream-Cry[5].

  He shifts consciousness until he perceives and hears danger. He holds his breath; another sound, a single footfall. A fighter creeps cautiously nearby; not his kin. Reaching for his knife, grasping its flinty blade which faces outward, he turns slicing vigorously at whatever stands behind him and makes contact with a marauder whose blood spills onto the ground. And before the intruder utters a single warning syllable, He-of-the-Past guts him, spreading his mortality across the surface of the land, his gore and life-fluid sinking into the earth staining and possessing it.

  A car motor roared and its tires screeched, and two of the three returned from contemplation, but the old man remained dazed. Tom recalled the dreams he had when very young, younger than Micah, where he would float away to a place of grass and water and blue skies, until his father would smack him on the side of the head to bring him back to this world. And tonight for the first time in many decades, he returned to that olden time and land. He was struggling to leave that life and his brothers.

  Cory and Micah studied Tom Dorsey, whose eyes gazed blankly ahead. Neither boy wanted to interrupt his sojourn. It was important that he reconnect; they were not sure why, just that it was. And they watched and waited for the old man, their mentor, friend and sibling.

  He stirred and looked over at the boys. “I’m sorry, for a moment I was remembering dreams from my youth; strange that I should recollect them now.” Tom looked knowingly at the boys, now understanding that they saw what he did, that their attachments were old and eternal. “It was like a movie in my head, only I was both an actor and an observer. I saw us; I heard our thoughts, I smelled the air. It was marvelous. It was horrible. I lack the words to describe it.”

  “Don’t let it bother you,” Micah sought to reassure his elderly friend. “Accept it and leave it alone. It’s part of who you are; it always has been. It’s who we are. All time is concurrent. What you saw was not the past, nor is it the future; it is the now. It’s hard to understand and even harder to explain. Life is a maze. Birth and death are its entry and exit, and our goal is to successfully navigate the obstacles of time. If we fail to make it or head down a dead-end, we die only to be born again within the labyri
nth. And this goes on until we fully comprehend what we are. We have eternity to accomplish the task. In between death and life, we return home to an imaginal country, a place of metaphor. It is a glorious place or a cancerous hell; something we create ourselves.” Micah was silent for a minute. “I think life is where we learn to be creators, an abode where we mold our instincts to assist our creativity. But I’m guessing; I am not sure. In an hour, this remembrance will fade away and become hazy. Life helps erase these visions because they hinder our progress.”

  Micah looked ahead, and Dane and Tandy were walking from the back of the barn. The trip to the ER postponed horse riding, but the troop was staying over for the night, and they would plan out what to do during the Easter Holiday. Micah grabbed the two sacks full of hamburgers, and they headed into the kitchen to eat. The boys took turns inspecting Micah’s stitches and fingering his 1st Place Ribbon.

  There was a knock on the backdoor, and then Isabella walked into the kitchen. “Hi fellas, I need to speak with Micah for a moment.”

  Micah followed his sister-in-law to the backyard. He sensed a problem. “Can you sleep over at Willow Wood tonight? I don’t want to be there alone.” She looked desperate.

  “I know why, but tell me anyway.”

  “Your mom went to Anadarko. That house freaks me out, like something is always watching. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t shake that feeling.”

  Micah understood. “Let me tell the guys. We’ll be back in a moment.” After about five minutes, the four boys exited the house and went to the barn. They returned with their sleeping bags and threw them into the trunk and then hopped into the car.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt your plans. It will just be tonight. I’m going to my grandmother’s in San Angelo in the morning. I’ll be home Easter Sunday and so will your mother. Can you find a ride to boxing? You don’t have practice Friday do you?” Isabella was relieved that she would not be alone.