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Annual Rings
The park was always crowded at sunset. Joyful children filled the horizon, many running up and down, letting the wind carry them. The setting sun cast a warm glow behind the woman, reflecting off her auburn hair. Behind her, trees shedding an orange and red coat. A squirrel scurried up one leaving behind a dismantled pile of acorns (later a young boy would take them for himself, draw faces on them and call it a family). The man tugged awkwardly at his jacket sleeve.
“Can we make this quick?” The woman said.
The man checked his watch—7:30. It was a Tuesday. She was never busy on Tuesday nights.
“Oh,” he replied. The woman still appeared just as perfect as autumn. She was fidgeting with something in the palm of her left hand. Her wedding ring, he quickly recalled.
She cleared her throat, “Let’s get this over with, please. I have things to do, I have a life now,” she had always complained about him holding her back. He didn’t see what was so wrong. He liked staying at home—he liked just being with her. “Here,” she stuck out her arm and opened her hand, the light reflecting off the gold ring stung his eyes. She couldn’t seem to make eye contact with him.
“Right… thanks,” now resting in his hand, he flipped it over and over.
“Yeah, well… have a good night,” With a turn of the heel, she was gone, the man now left alone. He stood there for a while, still flipping the ring in his hand. When he worried people had started staring, he began walking laps around the park. It was growing darker by the minute, but still, he chose to walk in the shadows of the trees.
He stopped for a moment under one tree, seemingly the tallest in the park. Something round pressed into the bottom of his shoe. An acorn. It was, perhaps, a perfect acorn. A soft golden brown—round and uniform at every angle you held it. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger, still holding the ring tightly under the other three. The squirrel he saw earlier would like this acorn. What did squirrels see in acorns anyway? And children? The man tossed it in the air, and for a moment, he understood the appeal. A certain curiosity struck him, and he ate it. The first crunch wasn’t so bad. It was the ones that followed that gave him trouble. It was earthy (as you’d expect). Not a good kind of earthy. It was dirt and sticks all molded into one. Bits and pieces found their way into every crevice of his teeth. When he finally swallowed, it made sure to cling to every part of his throat. All he could do was stand there, disgusted.
Sitting with his nausea, a thought came to mind. Something he had learned at a young age. Walking down the aisles of the neighborhood library he stumbled across a children’s section on trees. The man (at this age, the boy) picked up one about oak trees. He was fascinated by their branches; tall, twisted things that jutted out from every direction. A web in its own way. In his reading, he discovered a diagram: Acorns: the Fruit of the Oak Tree. At the very center, towards the bottom of an acorn, a seed. Now, in the pit of his stomach, lay that seed.
Childish, maybe, but an old fear resurfaced. That seed would grow inside his stomach. He would soon become home to a giant oak tree. Too aware of himself, any slight movement caused the seed to roll up the walls of his stomach. Stumbling back, he clung to the tree behind him. He slid down slowly, ripping off bark with his back as he went. He could feel it already. Against the grass, his legs began to take a new form. The dirt pulled at them. It wasn’t long before the underside of his legs began to sprout. Tiny roots that planted themselves in the rich soil. They spread quickly. It had rained last night, and plenty of water was still there for the taking.
His torso was next. It grew taller, wider, rounder. His jacket and shirt now rough and cracked. Already he could feel ants crawling in the paths this new skin made. He could imagine happy couples carving their love into his side. (Would he be stripped down to nothing?) His hair took on a new color. Green at first, but quickly changed under the circumstances of the weather. A color so similar to the woman’s—he felt closer to her than he had in years. As his eyes slowly closed he held tightly to an object still pressed into his hand; the ring. Leaves sprouted and spread until they covered the sky. Finally, his arms. They twisted and bent before shooting out at his fingertips. The ring fell, but caught on the edge of his thumb. His growing branches spread wider, taller.
Everything came to a halt. His body was finally still. His bark split into two slits as his eyes forced their way open. Even though the sun was setting everything was suddenly brighter. He was taller than any other tree in the park. A squirrel scurried up his trunk, down a branch, and jumped. It flew for a moment, arms and legs outstretched in a perfect star. It landed gracefully on a nearby tree below. Waiting for it, another squirrel. They danced around one another before running off to find a new home. As he watched them go, his eyes began to dim. Bark hardened over him once more, and he slept, calm for just a moment. In the morning he woke under a tree—normal. There was a strange absence in his hand, and as he stared longer at the tree behind him he noticed a golden ring, hanging from the highest branch.