The Leaving

Once upon a time there was a boy whose skin it was said had a greenish hue. His friends used to tease him that he looked like a tree. One day their English teacher announced a story competition. A list of titles was given to choose from. One of the titles was "The Leaving". "You should write about how you turned into a tree!" one of his friend's joked to him. "Hey, cool idea," he replied laughing, "I think I will". And he did! A few days after all the boys had handed in their stories, he saw his English teacher in the school corridor. "I really liked your story," she told him. "Are you joking with me," he replied. "No, seriously," she reassured him, "it was excellent." Usually English homeworks always took him a long time, but he'd written this one really quickly. He was baffled when he later heard he'd won the prize, and also very pleased. They never teased him for looking like a tree after that.

The Leaving

(Feb. 1996)

The curtains billowed in the wind, the curtain rings rubbing against the rails with a discordant screeching sound. I shut the open window. The noise died down to a murmur. The crisp brown leaves rustled along the hard stone cobbles. It was not late, but it was already dark outside. The trees were not yet bare of leaves, their outlines visible against the clear and purple sky overlooking everything. In the daytime, hundreds had picnics under the wonderful display of yellow-brown leaves, short-lived, sparks of brilliance and wonder. Then nothing would be left behind.

The wind grew stronger now, the windows shaking in their wooden panes. I decided to leave the warmth of the house and take a short walk outside wrapped up in my anorak to feel the cool wind upon my face, the sweet night air. I moved almost effortlessly, the wind continually driving me forward on a blanket of air. The few lights that were still on were now disappearing into darkness. Then all the houses were black, bowing down in obedience to the night. The noise of my shoes upon the ground seemed to carry along the whole length of the tree-lined avenue, like a tunnel, the trees bending over my head on either side. The wind echoed and the leaves scraped against the hard surface, making a crunching noise as they were trodden on.

"Time to go back before the wind gets too strong," I thought to myself. I turned my back to come face to face with the merciless force of the rising wind. I put on my hood, but it was little use. I turned round and began to walk backwards. I kept on looking round, but despite this, the slight changes in direction of the wind left me knocking into flower pots, walking into parked cars and on one occasion stumbling on an empty Coke can in someone's front garden.

Suddenly I felt an abrupt pain from the back of my head. I seemed to be encircled, surrounded. I could no longer move, trapped in my position. I tried to free my arms, but all I heard was the crunching of leaves and the noise of the wind, tearing at my face. I was surrounded by leaves. They grew higher and higher. I tried to lift myself out, but to no avail. I did not have my portable telephone so I could not call for help. I was drowning in a flood of leaves. They poured all over me like waves in the sea over a drowning man. I could not swim in leaves and my body was numb from cold. I breathed heavily and after one final attempt managed to climb on to the leaves. I started to crawl over them, a wave of relief now passing over my body. The trees seemed closer to me now, still bending, but this time lower, swaying downwards, staring thoughtlessly, staring mindlessly, as if about to grab me. All I could see in the sky was a mass of black, a thunderstorm of leaves, no longer beautiful, but menacing. They were falling around me, swallowing me up. "Where am I going?" I thought to myself.

Houses trapped me on either side. My only path was forward. Then suddenly the leaves seemed to give way, leaving no escape route. There was a loud crunch as I fell through the leaves and more leaves fell on top. I was buried. I held my breath for what seemed an age, struggling furiously. Suddenly, it was light. I saw myself through the leaves lying still, motionless. The image became smaller and smaller and then completely disappeared into a vivid white.

I had left the Earth far behind and all my neighbours, a sudden departure, a vivid farewell and then there is a blankness in my memory. I was nowhere and yet I remember once drinking from a well. I was in a queue waiting to get my share of water. My two next door neighbours were behind me. They must have died in that same thunderstorm of leaves.

The picture grew larger, I saw a tree and I entered that tree, became innate with it. My arms were turning into branches, my fingers into leaves. I turned my head to see my old neighbours on that same avenue, their actions identical to mine. Then my head sprouted leaves and I became a tree. We were the homes of the new birds and since we died in autumn when the leaves died, we became creators of leaves ourselves and servants of the spring. This was the leaving of my former self and the leaving of my body.