Cave Tree (deadgirl STRIKES AGAIN!)

My lucky jeans were lucky for a reason.

I’d had them since seventh grade. They were looser then and not nearly as faded. I took one of Logan’s belts to hold it up, and Logan and I took Matthew and Chris out to explore.

It was a game we used to play. We’d walk six blocks to a stretch of woods that once divided subdivisions and was soon replaced a gas station and an apartment complex. It wasn’t very big– there was no place in it you couldn’t hear the surrounding traffic. There the boys would run around like wild things, and I’d stand with my arms crossed and pretend to be an adult while imagining myself an elfin queen watching her subjects make mischief.

One day while the boys were off playing space ranger or something silly like that, I found the cave-tree. I was attracted to it because it was so much wider and taller than all the rest. It had gnarls all over the trunk and roots that slithered across the ground like lurking crocodiles. At the base was a hollow just large enough for a twelve-year-old girl to crawl into. So of course I got down on my hands and knees and stuck my head in.

It seemed the inside of the trunk was completely hollow with light peeping in from the gnarls higher up. I thought I could maybe stand up in it, so I did.

Standing in my cave-tree was charming for the first few moments. It was just barely wide enough that if I stood in the exact middle, not even my knobby elbows would touch the sides. A few rotting chunks of wood fell on me as I stood, but that was okay. It smelled of damp earth. I realized this must be exactly what standing in a coffin must be like. I crawled back out.

My brothers didn’t say anything, but my mother yelled at me for getting mud all over my knees from crawling around. She wanted me to be responsible.

The next time I wore those jeans in those woods was several months later. Chris was whining about something a five-year-old would whine about and we were trying very hard to ignore him.

Finally I said to him, “Let’s play hide and seek, okay? I’ll close my eyes and count to twenty and you three go and hide.”

I made a grand show of turning around and covering my eyes with both hands. I counted very slowly to ten, then peeked out through my fingers. Logan and Matthew were hiding very badly behind trees. Chris was nowhere in sight. I finished counting to twenty as quickly as I could.

“Where’s Chris?” I asked.

Matthew stepped out from behind his tree. “He hid over there somewhere.” He pointed. “He’ll probably find and spider and come back scared soon. But look…”

Matthew produced a baseball from his pocket. I found a stick and we took turns whacking at it until Logan managed to snap our makeshift bat. We wandered away then.

When the sun began to set, we realized we’d forgotten Chris.

I panicked, of course. I was the oldest, so I was in charge. Mom wanted me to be responsible. Logan and Matthew weren’t particularly concerned, and they helped me pick through the woods at a frustratingly slow pace. After we were sure we’d gone through the entire area once, they left complaining of hunger. I made them swear not to tell Mom or Dad Chris was missing.

I tried not to cry and wriggled my hand up the sleeves of my jacket, scratching at my arms in frustration. I hadn’t figured out the hair-braiding trick yet, and my hands needed something to do so I could stop feeling so useless. The sun set, leaving the sky a rosy purple color, but there was enough light pollution that I didn’t have too much trouble seeing. Then I remembered the cave-tree.

Surely that’s where Chris was hiding, I had thought. Surely. Where else could he hide? I found the tree and squatted down in front of the hollow. It was dark enough I couldn’t see inside to the coffin-hollow.

“Chris?” I called in a sing song voice. “I found you.”

No reply.

“Chris, this isn’t funny. Come out now. Don’t you want dinner?”

I decided to crawl in. But then– then Mom would know I’d be irresponsible, because it would be muddy and the knees of my jeans would be dirty. If I could keep them clean, and if I pulled Chris out, then Mom wouldn’t know and I could tell her I wanted to show Chris bats or that he was tired and wouldn’t move or one of so many excuses.

I brushed my jeans preemptively, to make sure they were as clean as I could make them. I stuck my arm in the coffin-hollow and waved it around. It was empty.

Maybe– I had a stupid idea. I thought maybe there were kidnappers, and they had taken my brother to work in a factory forever, and he would grow up crooked and sooty and I would never see him again. I got down on my knees and stuck my head in. But it was a stupid idea, and I knew it was stupid and impossible (how could a band of kidnappers hide in a tiny patch of woods?), but that didn’t stop me from crawling in and standing up and scratching my arms red with my stubby nails.

I stayed there in my cave-tree for a very long time. I started chewing up the insides of my cheeks along with the scratching, worrying about where Chris was and was he alright and would Mom say?

Eventually I crawled back out and desperately tried to rub the dirt off my knees. I could still find Chris somewhere else, and I could get my knees clean, and Mom would think I was responsible and I could never, ever forget Chris again. Maybe.

The stars were out, and I couldn’t see anymore even with the streetlights shining through the trees, so I stumbled my way back to the road. I could taste blood on my cheeks. I rubbed at me knees until the mud stains faded away.

I almost didn’t go inside when I reached home. But I reasoned to myself, using my logical-responsible-useful-self, that the best way to find Chris was to tell Mom. Mom would call the police or have some other clever idea that wasn’t standing in the middle of a coffin-cave-tree like a child.

When I let myself in, Chris was sitting in the living room, playing with his toy keyboard.

“Where were you?” I choked out, my voice cracking. I was on the verge of tears. My cheeks and arms stung.

Chris blinked up at me. “You never found me, so I came home.”

I gawked and wanted to hug him, but Mom poked her head out from the kitchen before I could move.

“Oh Juniper, you’re home,” she observed. “I was just about to send Logan after you. Come help me with dinner.”

As I sawed away at a baguette she gave me to slice, she said, “Can you believe Chris found his way home by himself? He said he ran away. You must have been worried.” She chuckled and began spooning rice onto plates. The knife slipped and I nearly cut myself.

She began to scold me as she ladled peas on top of the rice. “And you have dirt in your hair. It’s a mess.” I was grateful my sleeves covered my arms. As an after thought, she smiled and added, “At least you managed to keep you pants clean.”

And because of that, she would never know I had lost Chris.