Catch The Wind

It began as nothing more than a bulb wrapped in a damp cloth. It was a gift, he'd claimed, though she knew better. The tulip, like everything else from that exchange, had been offered as a threat. She should have thrown it out that night, never letting it get back to her locker room. It could have died in a dumpster somewhere on the outskirts of Kansas City, and Justine would have never once batted an eye at letting it rot. Instead, the man who would become her husband said they should bring it home. And on a warm spring evening when reason had worn thin, Jared had carried it from the house and buried it in the earth of their back yard.

But more than that, it had endured.

It had survived being torn from the ground half a world away. It survived a flight across timezones, across contents, and over the great oceans that separate them. Despite her hope that it would die, despite the nagging thoughts that demanded she rip it from the earth and cast it into fire, it took root in the soil. It was the first shoot to break through the unforgiving New England frost every year, and the last bloom to wilt as spring stretched into summer. It lorded over the garden with its halo of crimson and gold petals.

"The colors each have their meaning," Jared had once told her. Justine had written that off as the artist trying to ascribe some higher value to a thing that didn't deserve it, but soon the idea - just like the plant itself - had taken root and begun to germinate.

The red was a reminder of all the battles that had been fought, and the yellow a symbol of the respect that they had borne. She saw whispers of the promises made to each other in the yellow edges, even as the deep red heart recalled every broken vow or secret kept. She saw the bright gold of the empire they had raised together out of nothing, and the crimson reminder of the blood it taken to come this far.

She didn't need light to see it. Even now, with the flower bed covered in leaves Jared had insisted stay to help insulate the ground, Justine could look into the darkness of the yard and her eyes would always find the spot where the tulip would grow.

"Mama!" The tiny voice was a warning that came too late. By the time Andrea had said those words, she had already latched on to her mother's legs.

Justine took her eyes away from the window and looked down into the smiling face of her daughter. The girl had a tight hold on her leg, and couldn't hold back the impish giggle.

"Where's Dada," Justine said as she reached down to pick the girl up. "It must be getting close to your bedtime."

"Yeah, so about that," Jared said, leaning against the door to the room Justine called her library. "We thought you might want to join us for this one."

Justine bounced her daughter against her hip. "Does this mean I get to hear a story, too?"

"Ya!" Andrea said.

"You might actually want to hear this one," Jared said.

Justine slowly turned her head to face her husband and bit back the words desperate to escape her lips. She wanted answers. More than that, she needed to understand the reason why her husband had gone back on his word and appeared on PRIME television without letting her know. Why he felt this was more important than holidays with his family.

He met her gaze and nodded, as though he could read her thoughts.

"I figured it out," he said after a moment. "The words I need to explain, well, everything. I figured it out. It might not be the way you wanted to hear it, but I know how the story ends." # Once, deep in the whispering forest, there lived a bear.

He was a big bear, broad and strong enough to move trees and stones aside with ease, and he was certain that strength alone would make all the other animals of the forest his friends.

The bear lumbered through the trees every morning to call out, "I am the biggest and the strongest in all the forest! You should want to be my friend!"

The rabbits heard this and trembled. Then they jumped through the field as fast as they could in order to get home.

The deer heard this and shook. Then they sprinted away into the bushes to hide.

The squirrels heard this and began to chatter. Then they scurried up to the tops of the trees where the bear couldn't find them.

The animals of the forest weren't afraid because the bear was mean - at least, not yet. They were afraid because he was too loud, and too big, and didn't understand that friendship and fear were different things indeed.

Each time the animals ran, the bear's temper got a little bit hotter.

"If they knew how strong I am," he said, "they would all want me nearby. They would want me as their friend."

One afternoon when the bear was particularly mad, a cool wind swept through the trees. It was a daughter of the storm, blowing down from the mountain as small purple petals danced on the breeze. They spun in the air around the bear like butterflies. They landed on his nose. They drifted along his paws.

The bear's anger softened. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for him to stand very still and feel the gentle calm pass through his fur. He would give anything to feel this forever.

The wolf watched from the shadows. He always watched. The wolf was a troublemaker, and he loved stirring up problems that he never planned to solve.

"You can show all the others that you are truly the greatest in the forest," the wolf said. "You can do this by showing them all that you are so strong, that you can hold the wind in your paws."

"I can catch it?" the bear said.

"Oh, yes," said the wolf. "If you can hold the wind in your paws, every creature will respect you. They will beg to be your friend."

So the bear chased the wind.

He chased it through the trees, and scratched himself on the branches. He chased it through the briar, and his fur became so full of brambles that he had stopped to pick them out. He chased the wind up the rocky mountain slope, and down into the farmer's valley. His paws reached for the dancing petals, but no matter how fast or how far he ran, his paws were too big, too clumsy, to hold on.

And so one day the wind danced away, laughing, it seemed, as it slipped between the branches.

The bear sat and he waited.

And he waited.

And waited.

The wolf slunk away. The animals of the forest stayed far out of sight. And the wind, of course, could never be caught.

It had become very dark when the bear realized he was alone.

He stood up, brushed the grass from his fur, and started the long walk home. He could already feel his temper starting to rise again. The bear cursed himself for failing, and then roared at the world for letting him try.

Season after season, month after month, the bear sat in his den. He watched the sun sink lower in the sky. He watched as the leaves of the trees turned from green to red and fell to the ground. When spring came and the last snow melted, the bear made up his mind. He would leave the forest and go to the mountain, where no one would ever bother him. # Andrea knew that there were some parts of the yard where running wasn't allowed, but she was pretty sure that the grass was safe. Plus, if Mommy and Daddy knew why she was running then she probably wouldn't get in trouble anyway. Janelle had only just turned three and still sometimes had to wear special diapers at night, so she was still kind of a baby. But Andrea was in the third grade, which meant she was already a big kid. In a few years, she thought, she'd be a grown-up.

Besides, Mommy had put her in charge before she went back into the house to get something from the kitchen. It wasn't ‘for real’ in charge because Daddy was still outside, too, but he was cooking at the grill and this was an emergency.

"Jelly, wait!" she said. She hurdled an orange sand pail and almost tripped on a plastic dinosaur. "Wait, wait, wait."

"P'etty," her sister said. "I pick it!"

Not that one, Andrea thought. Any of the others are fine, just not that one. She was almost there, close enough that she could see Janelle's tiny fingers reaching the flower at the back of the yard, the special one near the fence that didn't look like the others. It was the same shape, and Andrea knew it was the same kind, but all the others were pink, or purple, or orange. Only this one was red and gold, and only this one was Daddy's favorite.

"Jelly," she said, "I'm gonna get you."

And before Janelle could close her fingers around the stem, Andrea had swept her up and spun her through the air.

"No," Janelle whined. She waved her arms and kicked her legs, Andrea knew there wasn't much her little sister could do to get free. "I wanna pick it!"

"You can't pick that one, Jelly," Andrea said. "Daddy would be sad if you picked that one. It's his favorite."

"I give it to Mama." Janelle wasn't giving up so easily. She screwed her face up into something that might have been a frown, might have been a pout, and generally just looked angry.

"Is everything okay over there?" their father asked from his spot behind the grill.

"Yup. We're fine," said Andrea.

"Not fine," Janelle tried to protest. She was nothing if not stubborn. "I pick it."

"If I put you down will you promise to leave that flower alone?"

"No.”

Stubborn and honest.

Andrea sighed. She was going to have to talk her way through this one, and that was a prospect she didn't enjoy. The age gap between the sisters made it hard to effectively communicate sometimes. It also meant that Janelle couldn't always be taken at her word. The amount of times Andrea found herself swindled by a three-year-old was something she hoped her friends in Ms. White's class never found out. It would haunt her until middle school at least. Maybe forever.

"Do you want to play a game?" Andrea decided to start small and work her way up from there. She still had a decent-sized stash of Reese's peanut butter eggs left over from Easter, but that was the last ditch scenario. She would only break that glass in case of an emergency.

"No."

"We can play Restaurant and you can be the chef. The leaves can be the food."

"No. No game."

Andrea sighed. There was option one shot down before it had a chance, which meant she was already one step closer to having to redo all that chocolate math. Of course, she could just tell Mommy and Daddy about what Janelle was trying to do, but Andrea didn't want to be that kind of sister. That kind of sister wasn't cool.

"Okay." She thought for a minute. "What about a story?"

Janelle didn't kill the idea outright, which was promising. Instead she pursed her lips and made short humming sound as if deep in thought.

"I can go get a book." There were still some words that Andrea didn't know, and a few that were too big and too hard to sound out, but she was pretty sure she could fake her way by Janelle if she had to. "Or we can make one up together."

"Dada story."

"You want to hear one of Daddy's stories, or you want Daddy to tell us a story?"

"You tell Dada story."

Janelle, now free of her sister's grip, moved away from the flower bed and plopped down rather unceremoniously into the grass.

"Tell Dada bear story." # Once, on a farm by the meadow, there lived a dog.

The dog was quick, loyal, and bright-eyed, but full of that restless energy that makes dogs chase leaves, clouds, and sometimes even their own tails.

Every few days, the dog would run up the mountain path, slide to a stop in front of the bear's cave, and bark, "Come try to catch me if you can!"

And every time, the bear would thunder after him.

"I am the biggest and the strongest in the forest," the bear would say. And then he would start to run.

Sometimes the bear would get too close, and the dog would earn a scratch or a scrape for his troubles. Bears are big and their paws don't always know how to be gentle. At the end of every chase, the bear would stand up tall and proud, and then he would growl, "If you come back here again, dog, I will gobble you all up!"

But even when he was hurt, the dog would always laugh as he ran off.

And he always came back.

One day, after many years of chases, the dog trotted up the mountain path again. This time the bear wasn't roaring. He wasn't even standing. He was sitting on a rock outside of his cave watching the clouds drift by.

"I am too old to chase you today," the bear rumbled. "I am too old and too tired."

The dog scampered right over. He walked in a slow circle, the way dogs do, trying to find the best spot. Then he plopped down on the ground next to the bear.

"That's alright," he said. "I'm too old and tired to run."

When he heard that, the bear blinked.

"Then why do you keep coming back? I chase you. I threaten you. Sometimes I even hurt you. Why do you keep coming back to me?"

The dog wagged his tail.

"Because you're my friend," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I have many friends! I do not need you.”

“The wolf tells you what you want to hear, but he’s not your friend. A friend wouldn’t try to make you do things that are impossible.”

The bear grunted. “He is not my only friend. I have many others.”

“The other animals are afraid of you. They’re nice because they think something bad will happen to them if they’re not. That’s why they hide. They are afraid, but that does not make them friends.”

"Explain yourself, dog!" the bear grumbled.

"You are a bear. You are big, strong, and important. But it's not enough for you to BE those things. You have to FEEL big, and strong, and important, too. It's who you are. That’s why I come and play. It’s what you need, and friends help each other when they’re in need."

"Oh? And what are you?"

"I'm a dog, silly. I'm loyal, and fast, and every night I can go home and curl up by the nice warm fire with the farmer and his family." He shrugged. "But I need to run. I need to feel the grass and the leaves under my paws. I need to feel the wind on my fur as I run through the trees. Sometimes, I just need to feel free. That's who I am."

The bear was quiet for a very long time, and the two sat side-by-side in silence.

"Well," the bear said at last, "we are both old, and we are both tired. So what do we do now?"

“It’s simple.”

Slowly, the dog rose to his feet. He walked over to the bear and gently bumped against him. He wagged his tail.

"Now we find a new game to play." # "I love that story, mama."

Andrea always said that moments like these were her favorite, because everything was quiet and it was like they were the only people in the world. This time was sacred, a word her father once used when he told her about the nights when she was still young, and he would take her up to her room and help get her ready for bed. Then he'd tell her a story. Sometimes he read these from books on the shelf, but other times - Andrea's favorite - was when he made the story up himself.

"So do I," Andrea said. "It's been one of my favorites since I was younger than you."

Her father had told her to hold on tight to as many of those moments as you can, because it's only when they're gone do you realize how fast it all moves. Charly hadn't been small enough to hold in years, but that didn't mean tradition needed to change. Bedtime was still sacred. It would likely be sacred until one day a few years from now when Andrea would be forced to come to terms with the fact that her little girl had become a young woman.

"Will you read it again some time?"

"Of course I will. After all, this is a very special story."

"Why?"

Andrea could hear the yawn implied in her daughter's voice. It had been a busy day, but every day is busy when you're five years old. The world is a very big place, and you never know what adventure you might find around the corner, or what new stories there will be to tell.

"Because..." She pointed to a spot on the cover and drew a soft underline under the family name with the tip of her finger. "Your grandfather wrote this."

Charly pulled herself up closer to her mother and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Really?"

"Really-really. He started telling me this when I was one-year old, he said. And then around the time your auntie was born he made it into a book. He even put notes in it for us, see?" She opened the front cover and pointed to a section on the first page. "This one is for your grandmother." For J, my best friend and forever partner. She pointed to another, a few lines down. "And this is for your Auntie Janelle and me." For my girls, who are everything I ever wanted. Every new day is yours to create... Charly tapped a tiny finger against the page, at a line that her mother had skipped. "Who's this one?" For I, may you find the peace you deserve. "That one's for someone your grandfather used to know. I think they were friends."

"Did Grampa draw the pictures, too?" Charly said.

"Yes, he did. We thought he had the best job when we were growing up, because he stayed home with us all the time and got to draw all day. My grandmother said he always wanted to be an artist."

"Whoa. I want to do that when I grow up."

"I bet you'd be great at it, too. But first I think you need to get a good night's sleep. You've had a busy day, Little Miss, and we have big plans tomorrow, too."

Charly offered a soft whine, but her protest was betrayed by another yawn, this one bigger than the first.

"Okay," she relented.

Andrea adjusted her daughter's covers then leaned down to give her a light kiss on the forehead. She was almost to the door when she heard Charly's voice again, quiet and distant as she drifted off to sleep.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Charly?"

"Do you think Grampa will want to tell a story with me?"

"Yes, baby," Andrea said. "I think he'd like that very much. Like he used to tell your auntie and I, every day is yours to create."

Andrea blinked, and in that moment she was a child again, snuggling Mister Flops tight as her father finished another of his tales. The bear and the dog. The king of the blueberries. The garden gnomes who lived in the refrigerator. The stories from her own childhood now lived as entries on her daughter's shelf.

She could see him smiling as he moved towards the door to their room, always making sure to leave it open a bit just in case.

"Remember, every new day is yours to create," he said.

Andrea opened her eyes. Charly was already fast asleep, her chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. She lingered by the doorway for a moment, glad to steal a few more precious minutes when she and Charly were the only people on earth.

"And there is always another story to tell."