Bloody Charlie

The smell of a freshly cut tree on any other day would not have smelled so splendid. It was well worth time, as it’s recently cut limbs and breathless leaves rustled one last time in the moonlit autumn breeze. Sap oozed from the bare stump like blood from a wound that, if given quick, and proper, treatment, may allow you to live on with scarred remembrance. This tree lying flat on the front lawn had been an eye sore since the day my wife and I had moved in. The branches, long been dead, rapping on the window pane in the wind like an uninvited visitor constantly begging to be let in. Frankly it gave me the creeps and to say that my wife was any more a fan than me would be the greatest understatement. That’s why I chopped it down.

It was a colder spring day, not the coldest but far too cold for late April, and the branches had been doing their ballet against the windows as I was working in my studio. I tried to let it go, I’m a patient man for some things but it became too much for me to bare. Full rage took me over and I burst out of my office knocking a lamp over on the way out, I heard the bulb crash down to the floor and burst with all sixty watts of powdered white glass exploding in every which way, but I was too far into anger to care. I stormed past my dog who was lying on the kitchen floor, naturally surprised to see me out, and in a utter fuss nonetheless, shot his head up as if to ask what was wrong but without answer or regard I opened the garage door and slammed it shut behind me. I was on a mission to rid my life from this tiresome beating from gray, mangled wood once and for all.

The chainsaw was put away on the highest shelf. It had been a Christmas present from my father in law some years back who knew full well that I am not a man who prizes power tools but decided it would be a perfectly fine gift regardless. Well apparently the man knew something I didn’t and I was finally going to get the use I never thought I would out of it. When I finally fished it down and unboxed it, making sure it was filled to the brim with gasoline, I yanked that pull start with an ungodly strength that I didn’t even know I had in me. It made the sound of metal choking a rum-rum-rum hummed as its motor spun with the yank cord. A moment of unease overcame me but when I heard it spit to life and revved it up a little the power in my hands felt worthy for my sudden burst of strength. This tree was falling today.

The garage door power pull steadily began to purr as the door lifted from the white concrete drive. I stood with fierce intensity running through my veins, the blood of a maniac pumping through my heart, revving it more and more hoping the damned tree would hear the growl and fall on its own accord. But why would it? I stepped up to it, spit at the sky cracked by halfway barren twigs, and brought the chainsaw in full force against its trunk. A nick was made and bark and chips sparked then nothing but short spurts of black smoke and a puff of burnt wood rose. No progress was being made. I was snapped out of my passionate rage for a moment left wondering if this tree—this wooden beast that plagued my peace, this lumberful wretch—was possibly as ancient and otherworldly as it appeared. Could it be that it has seen more than myself, my father, and my grandfather times ten? It was here before this house and will be here long after its own wooden planks wither back to dirt and begin the cycle again. But how? It’s just a twisted, gnarled, sore of a sight that lives in my front yard. Not possible. NOT possible!

Only then did I see what had happened. This brand new chainsaw needed a chain. I was just smacking fast moving, smooth metal against a giant. There were no teeth to bite into its bark and make it whine as the cut dug deeper and wind spread the wound wide. All in a fury the rage came screaming back and my face got hot. I’d be damned if thats what stopped this. I committed and commit is what I’d done. I stormed back into the garage and and grabbed the ax. The ax that I knew had a sharp edge and that I knew would bring an end to this tree. I brought it outside, once again cursing at the sky. Drew it back behind my head and with one fluid and viscous motion struck the tree whacking a wad of wood from its meaty base.

It felt good to see it bleed, so good indeed that I did it again and again and again and again until I was too tired to continue but even then I did it more. Dark had come before I was finished and the moonlight gleamed off the battle worn ax in my hands as it swung in and out of the tree. My hands were bleeding from blisters that had popped and the ax handle grew slimy and wet as the blood fell making it hard to handle. As I swung, now weary and faint, I thought to myself Its either this tree falls or I do, but one of us is dying. Thats when I heard a loud SNAP. The tree had broken. It lost the battle and the war and was falling fast towards a horizontal hell. I laughed manically, barking up to the moon as it tumbled down and down as the neighbors turned on their lights and came to their porches in robes and nightwear to see what all the noise was. It must have been a sight, ill tell ya.

I had bested this tree. It was all a lie. It was no ancient wick. It possessed no supernatural powers. It was only a tree, marked by the rings left on a stump of what once was and will never be again. I screamed at the moon again. I was over it and blood pounded to my head as the Roman warrior on the front lines of battle’s must have thousands of years past. I stood panting over the stump and caught my reflection in the ax blade. I was the beast. I was the monster. I had spent an entire day chopping down a dead tree that just so happened to look ugly.

I ran back into the garage, shutting the door behind me, as the neighbors watched. It moved so slow! Close faster, come on damnit. The neighbors think I’m crazy. Surly Mrs. Herman saw me and has woken her children telling them right now to cross the street when they come up to my house. And Will Tamers will probably be calling the police as I stand here waiting for this garage door to close (Though he never liked me much). Why did I do that? Don’t you need permits or licenses to cut down trees in neighborhoods? What came over me.

Bursting back into the kitchen the dog jumped to its feet this time as alarmed as a firehouse siren. His eyes wide watched me as I ran back into my study and I heard the clack of claws on hard wood floor following close behind. The lamp was on the ground and glass everywhere but I still didn’t care. I had to call my ex wife. I had to call her and tell her I was sorry. That I didn’t mean any of what I said and I should never have had an affair when I knew that she was the only love I’d ever need.

As I picked up the phone I heard a yowl. It was Creed, the dog, crying from a splinter of glass slipping straight into his paw as he trotted in, following me close. I winced at the sound It was pain and agony and I knew that well. I had felt it and made a similar sound when I came home to fooling around to find a note on the bed. A note that said all it needed to say about how awful I am and how she never loved me. They were just words of hate in a moment and the moment was gone but they cut deep, cut sharp, just as I had cut that tree and just as I had once wanted to cut her.

The phone line rang and it felt like it would ring forever but finally there was a voice. So clear and sweet that the world melted and I was in it.

“Hello?”

“Brenda! It’s me, It’s Charlie. I just wanted to call and tell you I did it, honey, I finally did it.”

“Charlie? Why are you calling? What did you do?”

“Oh it doesn't even matter all that never mattered, only you mattered baby, I know that. I’m calling to tell you I love you and you can come home now.”

“What? Are you on something? This isn’t funny, its not funny at all Charlie. I told you not to call me here. Ryan is asleep and Red is in the kitchen. It’s been two years Charlie? What the hell?”

“NO, I know now that it meant nothing. It’s okay you can bring Ryan home and Red will understand. You don’t love him you love me. And I love you.”

“Charlie, I have to go. I’m not putting up with your bullshit anymore. I swear if you call again I’m hanging right up and calling the cops.”

She hung up. I slumped down against the wall with the phone, covered in the blood from my blisters, still in my hand. The dog was crying in the corner in a small pool of its own blood. I looked at it with sympathetic lust. He was a good a dog, a great dog actually. He had brought Brenda and I a lot of joy at one time, but that time was gone it appeared. Now all that was left was a bloody dog in a pool of broken glass, a bloody tree killing my lawn, and a bloody Charlie who’s heart had exploded.