Musings of a Forgotten Life

One squirrel zooms through the grass, followed closely by another. They make their way up into a tree, flying from skinny branch to skinny branch until they reach the next tree and scurry straight down. Ah, they’re still growing, testing out their speed and improving their agility. Nothing does it quite like a game of tag. It’s always this way for a while. I saw it with their parents and with their grandparents even just recently; every year, a new generation learning the ropes and I’ve seen it all.

I’m amazed at the consistency from generation to generation of each of the creatures that share my space. The rabbit always knows when to fear and, otherwise, continues unbothered with its daily grazing, just like it’s doing right now as the chaotic, yet predictable, squirrels make their way around our home five times in a minute. The rabbit knows it has nothing to fear, for their families have lived alongside each other for decades. The squirrels, while hyper, don’t spend their energy worrying about warmth and always come to me in the Winter on those days when their nest just isn’t enough. The robin, no matter young or old, always knows where and when it can find food.

Even the humans that share our land are just as predictable. Each generation following in the footsteps of the one that came before. I would hear them all claim that they were going to do one thing or another to change their lives. Then I would watch them all do the same things day in and day out. Each child growing up and starting the same family all over again, working the same land, and making the same empty promises to themselves from time to time until they forgot to think it altogether, let alone try.

I always saw it coming long before they did. The humans aren’t like the other animals; it’s almost as if they simply forget why it is that they’re even alive. The drive just always seems to wear out. Well, almost always. I do remember one certain little girl with long blonde curls who broke the monotony. She was the only one who seemed to be sure of … well, life, I suppose. She could sense it – even in me – and she seemed to bring it everywhere she went. The rabbit never ran from her, and the squirrels always drew nearer. The robin listened when she spoke and offered her the occasional nod of understanding. For several years before that one arrived, I had been being neglected and I felt it. My windowpanes began to sag, my doors started to warp, and my hinges developed rust. On the rare occasions that someone would wander in, I would shudder to show my sorrow and request some attention, but they only even heard it as creaking wood and they would leave – until she came around. She heard my cries for what they were. When I would creak, she would lay a hand gently on my frame and say, “I understand.”

She used me like most would use a diary. She told me her secrets, her dreams, and her worries. When she came to me with tears, I would absorb them just as readily as I absorbed her every word. They all soaked right into my floorboards, and they never really left. When this one made her first assertion that she was going to live the life she deserves and she was going to see the world, I knew immediately that she was going to be the one to actually do it. Her passion was undeniable. She saw the footprints of those who came before her, she looked ahead to where they would lead, and she chose to step out of line – into the unknown. Her life is the first one, and the only one since, that I have not been able to see through before it even happens.

Since the day she left and headed out on her own, she has not been back. Some of the family still lives in the old house that shares my ground, but they haven’t been this far back in a long time. I can still hear them lying to themselves and watch them wallow in their routine, but if they hear me, they show no sign of it. They never did though – not like she did. I wonder what ever became of my dear friend, the dreamer. I sense it in my floorboards that she is well. Oh, where does the time go?

Many miles away, an old woman is lying in her bed. She was just awoken by her giggling grandkids who came for a visit. As they lean in for a hug, she feels a slight twinge in the pit of her stomach and a smile creeps across her face. She tells them to go wait for her in the kitchen and they race out of the room, filled with that powerful life of hers. As she gets ready, she thinks back on her childhood, and she fondly reminisces on that old barn she used to spend so much time and tears in. She’d like to show that barn that her dreams really have come true. She knows he would be proud. Perhaps it is time for a visit with her dear friend.