The Deep, Dark Torest

(1995)

from 2nd year Oral Narrative at Trent University...

 

Dark. Eternal Space. I am held, yet uninhibited and without boundary. When I come to consciousness I hear a voice, rhythmic and hypnotizing, echoing with emotion and clarity. The black air of the night is perfumed with a faint aroma of flowers, and I can feel the presence of my parent's room around me. The density of it's humid air, tastes like roses , and lingers like perfume on my lips. I close my eyes, and all is dark once again. I am the impressionable young child, embraced and entangled in the magical world of story.

The scent of roses fades into fresh pine, and the air begins to thin. The voice that speaks, continues and I recognize it as that of my father. I reach out my hand, blinded by the night, to discover the roughness of dry bark beneath my small fingers. I accept, invitingly, the whirlwind of story that has carried me into the middle of a deep dark wood.

"No! Start again, start again Daddy!" said the little girl. "You have to say it right. Grandma never said 'wood', she always said 'forest', and you forgot to start with 'Once upon a time.'"
"Ok, ok" gives in the father, "Once upon a time, in the middle of a deep dark torest..."
"Not torest, silly, forest," giggles the little girl. "Daddy, you're doing that on purpose."

The forest is deep and dark, and in its density obscures the light of the full moon. Its silver light scatters on the ground, as through a prism. Through the pine needles I walk, brushed by the arms of all the surrounding trees. What I am looking for is my home, the pink tree house in the middle of the forest. Lifted high up into the green canopy, upon the wings of a red cedar.

"Why was the tree house pink?" asks the young girl.
"Because that was her favorite colour," replied her father.
"Did she live there by herself?" the little girl asked.
"Just listen, honey, or I won't finish the story."

As I became closer to the red cedar, I could feel the familiarity of home. Looking straight up from the forest floor I could see the kerosene lamp burning bright in the window. It's warm glow, familiar, drawing me home. Grasping the rope ladder with my tiny hands I climb upwards into the night, each rung, growing closer to this pink house in the sky. At the top, I see the faces of children, peering out of the front door. Seven young girls, who all live with me in the pink tree house.

"So she lived there with all her friends?" the little girl asked.
"That's right." replied the father.
"Which friends were they? Were they all my friends? Margaret, Jennifer, and Tory... were they there?"
"All the little girl's friends were there. And they all slept in one big room..."

My friends all pulled me into our bedroom, their faces, frozen with worry.
"Where have you been?" asked the little girl in blue. "You never stay out this late after dark."
"Yeah," interrupted the little girl in yellow, "Something could have happened to you! You could have run into the Big Bad Wolf, or the Wicked Witch or something. You had us worried to death!"
"I went out for a walk, and you'll never guess what I saw. I was hiding behind a rock, and in front of me were the Seven Dwarfs!"
"The Seven Dwarfs? Give us a break!" said the little girl in purple. "We know there's no such thing as Dwarfs! What, do you think you're Snow White or something?"

I began to cry and closed my eyes. My friends never did believe my stories. As I cried I could smell the salt of my tears, and in my ears sounded the echoes of waves, soothing, in their undulating rhythm. The moisture of the air, and the cool coastal wind gave it away, I was no longer in the pink tree house, I had been carried out to the sea.

"Did you know that she was really a princess?" asked the father of the little girl.
"She was, really?"
"Well, she may have lived in the pink tree house with all her friends, but where she really belonged was in a castle by the sea."
"Why did she live in the tree house then?"
"Well she found out when she was older, that her parents were really a king and queen."
"She moved into a castle? Wow!" exclaimed the little girl, breathless.
* * * * *
I am surrounded in soft green meadows. The sun beats down, golden, on my skin saturating my body in warmth. Never before, have I seen the truly benevolent landscape. With each breath of the wind I feel the sea near, its crystal salt adds a taste to the air like nothing I have ever known. Before me lies a land where I have not yet been. In it's beauty, it appears truly impenetrable. All around me swarm handsome men on horses, strong, and intrepid in their disposition.
"Princess!" they call out to me. But I do not reply. I am mesmerized by the flight of the bonny swan above me, gliding over the hills of Old England, gracefully he soars up into the firmament. In front of me rises, majestically, the palace I call home, a far cry from the tree house in the woods. As night approaches, the sky becomes a vast opal, shining and empty of definite colour. My eyes close slowly, and the ground beneath me melts into the soft comfort of a feather bed.

"Daddy, is that the end of the story?" asked the little girl.
"Yes."
"Well what happened to the princess ?"
"What do you think happened to her?"
"Did she fall asleep inside a cocoon, and become a butterfly?"
"A butterfly?"
"Yes, is she a butterfly?"
Silence.

I open my eyes. In front of me sits my father, outlined in silver by the light shining through the window. I recognize my surroundings, I am no longer in the deep dark forest, the castle overlooking the sea, or the pink tree house. I am underneath the covers, in my parents bed, surrounded in the mystery of dark. With his stories, my father had the power to carry me elsewhere. He would place me inside a magical world of my own, where I was able to fly on the wings of a red cedar or sleep under the wings of the bonny swan.

"Yes," replied my father. "She is a butterfly. And so are you."

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