In a Yellow Wood

It’s 3:15 in the afternoon, you check the clock again. Wondering if he’s alright. A gnaw in the pit of your stomach like every weekday afternoon. What if she’s trying to get back in his life again? Would she do that behind your back? You don’t trust her not to, so you set out the pizza rolls on a pan and stick them in the oven. 3:16, he’s late. Then you go to the living room and peek out through the curtains. There he is, standing there talking to the girl from down the street. She’s a cute girl and you notice the way Michael blushes as she twirls her hair around her finger. He’s not on his bike; he’s holding the handles as if he walked it home instead of riding it. Probably to walk alongside her. You look down the sidewalk and see another kid, head down, hands in his hoodie pockets. A loner. You can relate; you didn’t have many friends growing up either. That’s probably what made you so easy for your ex. She wrapped you around all five fingers and some toes. Someone, especially someone that beautiful gave you attention. That was all it took. The kid with the hoodie looks up, directly at you, making eye contact. You duck back inside. But not before you saw little Suzie or whatever her name is down the street give your son Michael a peck on the cheek. He was bright red. You rush back to the kitchen.

            The garage door to the kitchen opens and Michael floats in like a smiling pink balloon. You grin at him.

            “Good day?” You ask him.

            “Sure,” he shrugs and heads out of the room.

            “Wait,” you call out.

            “What?” he sighs.

            “Was that the neighbor girl I saw you walking home?” You ask.

            “Maybe,” he fidgets.

            “Is she your girlfriend?” You ask.

            He scrunches his face up, “Ugh, no.”

            “Oh? Because I thought I saw her kiss your cheek,” you say with a grin.

            He turns from red to white and shuffles on his feet, “Uhh… that… WHAT?” he holds his hand to his ear as if he hears someone calling him. “Oh, okay coming dad!” he calls out and takes off running.

            “Wait, I’m your…” you sigh with a chuckle, “whatever.” You were just teasing him anyway. He’s a good kid and now in middle school. It’s normal for them to have girlfriends. And you’re glad he seems to be a gentleman who dismounted his precious bike long enough to walk a girl home, like a lady.  You imagine you’d have been the same way, if any of the girls at your middle school would have let you. Angie, the ex, barely gave you the time of day even in college. Until you graduated early, with honors. Then she was all over you. You knew better. You just didn’t have any other options.

            There was a knock at the door, interrupting your thoughts. The oven dinged at the same time, so you ignore the door for the moment to turn the oven off. “Michael, pizza rolls!” You shout down the hall as you pass. On your way to the front door. The door only strangers use. You open it fully expecting a salesman or missionary of some sort. But when you open it, you have to tilt your head down a little bit. The boy with the hoodie is standing there, looking at his feet.

            “Oh, hello?” You say as kindly as you can. He peeks up at you from under his hoodie. Though most of his face is hidden in the shadow of the fabric covering his head, something about his face looks familiar to you. He doesn’t respond aside from a small squeaked ‘hi.’ So you try again, “Can I… help you?” You look around outside behind him. The pristine street in the suburbs that the HOA works so hard to keep shiny. It’s a sunny and warm day, yet you feel a chill.

            “You need to come with me,” the scrawny boy nearly whispers.

            “Excuse me?” You ask. For one, because you can barely hear him. And for two, if you heard what you think you did, you’re even more confused.

            He sighs hard, “Please, just come with me?”

            “Come with you? Where?” You ask. You look back into the house, Michael hasn’t come out of his room. He loves pizza rolls, you had expected him to come running.

            “This is for him too,” the boy says watching you look back.

            “You know my son?” You ask him. He nods. This interaction is creeping you out so you step forward and pull the door almost shut behind you.

            “Look kid, I don’t know what kind of prank this is, but it’s not funny alright?” You grit your teeth and sort of growl at him. He looks like a timid kid but isn’t intimidated by your tone nor your size.

            “This could change everything. Please?” he pleads. Then he reaches out and grabs your hand. You feel lightheaded for a moment and grip the door frame to steady yourself. The boy is tugging on your hand and you start to feel sick. You rip your hand out of his and regain your balance.

            “What was that?” You ask him.

            The boy looks disoriented as well but he’s keeping it together, “I’ll explain on the way.”

            Something about his urgency and the dizzy spell gets to you, but not in the way it probably should. You know it could be a mistake but it’s just a kid, what harm could he do? You put your hands out to him careful not to touch him anywhere, “Stay there.” He nods and you go  back inside to take the pizza rolls out of the oven and set them on the cutting board. You check to make sure the oven is turned off and head down the hall. You open the door to Michael’s room and he’s at his computer playing a game with headphones on.

            He senses your presence and turns in his chair, lowering one side of the headset, “What’s up?”

            “There are pizza rolls on the counter, they’re hot. And I’m stepping out for just a minute,” you tell him.

            “Okay,” Michael nods. Not rushing for the snack as he usually would. Maybe his mind is still on his little girlfriend. You smile at him and he smiles back. He’s not still upset about your teasing. You nod once and leave his room, shutting the door behind you. You lock the back door then go back out the front. The boy is standing exactly where you left him. You lock the front door as you follow the kid off the porch. He walks ahead of you, head down, glancing back every few yards. He’s walking quickly for someone who looks so sullen and you are nearly jogging to keep up. At the end of the block he does a quick sharp turn to the left, towards the woods.

            “Hey kid,” you shout after him. He doesn’t stop or even slow down. You don’t like the idea of following any stranger into the woods. Especially a child, you look around to see if anyone is watching, as if that wouldn’t look even more suspicious.

            The boy gets to the tree line and finally stops and turns to you. You’re nearly out of breath and your side is cramping a little bit. You didn’t think you were that out of shape but it’s probably the adrenaline spike that has your heart racing. This is all so… strange.

            “What’s the deal kid? I’m not going into the woods with you if that’s what you think,” you point at him.

            “What you’re about to see beyond these trees is something I can’t explain so don’t ask me to,” he says and heads past the first few pine trees.

            “Oh no, I’m not falling for this, I’m going home,” you call out to him, hoping he can still hear you. There is no answer. You look around once more and take a few steps toward the trees. Is this stupid? You know it is.

            You push the branches aside and enter the woods. It’s mostly pines and they curtain around you, hiding anything that could be lurking beyond them. You make your way through the thickness of them until you reach a clearing. The boy is standing in the middle of it staring at something you can’t comprehend, let alone explain. There is an oval… off-ness in front of him. It’s like someone took a liquid window and set it up out here to distort the images behind it.

            “What’s that?” you ask him.

            “I told you, I can’t explain, follow me,” he says. Then he just steps into it and disappears.

            “What the…?” You reach out to grab him as if he’s not already gone. You look back at where you came from. Michael is at home alone and you don’t know what this thing is. You feel responsible for the kid in a way because you let him disappear but not more than you do for Michael, your own child. Before you can look back or go home or even decide which to do, a hand grabs the back of your shirt, and you are pulled backwards. Pulled through the liquid glass. You fall backwards and land on the ground. It looks like the same place you were just standing except on the other side of the glass. You look up and see the treetops and the sky beyond, but part of the view is obstructed by a face. The face of the boy looking down at you.

            “What did you do that for?” You ask him.

            “You weren’t following,” he says.

            “Okay well neat trick or whatever but I have to go home,” you say, standing up and brushing the leaves off the backs of your legs.

            “It’s not there,” he says.

            “What?” You scoff at him.

            “You don’t live there on this side,” he says. He’s not making sense but you feel panicked. Something about his tone makes you believe him. Or believe he believes whatever it is he’s trying to say.

            “I have to go, I hope you get help for whatever’s wrong but I’m not the one, I have my own kid to worry about,” you start off.

            “You don’t have kids here,” he says.  Your stomach lurches for a moment. You tell yourself he’s just being creepy, you shouldn’t have followed him out here. What made you come anyway? You ignore him and start home. The kid is following you, slowly. You start walking faster but he just keeps walking casually. Whatever, you can just get there and lock the door and call the police to see what his deal is, let them figure it out. But once you get to where your house was, it’s not right. The house is there but things are different. It’s white, except you painted your house blue two summers ago. Michael ‘helped’ as you both sipped lemonade and made stupid boy jokes. Michael. You rush to the door and try to open it. Locked. Right, you did lock it. You did bring your key so you knock on the door, hoping Michael doesn’t have his headphones on again. You pound loudly and just as you’re about to start yelling the door opens. It’s not Micheal. It’s an older woman.

            “What do you want?” she asks.

            “ME? What are YOU doing in MY house?” You shout at her. A hand grabs your arm from behind. The woman looks scared and slams the door.

            “I’m calling the police!” she shouts through the door.

            “Let’s go, I’ll take you to your house,” the kid says pulling on your arm.

            “This is crazy,” you jerk your arm out of his grip.

            “Please!” he pleads with you. Tears well up in his eyes and you can’t help it. You calm down.

            “Hey, it’s okay, just show me whatever it is and let me go home,” you say. He sighs hard and leads you by the arm down the street. To a much nicer house with a perfect lawn and two nice cars in the driveway. The kid walks up the sidewalk and to the door. You follow. He doesn’t knock, just goes inside and motions for you to follow. You hesitate in the doorway, looking inside.

            “Come on,” he says. You take a breath and step in. The first thing that gets your attention is a picture on the wall.

            “What is this?” You point at it, hands trembling.

            “That’s us,” he shrugs with a weak smile. The picture is this kid, a beautiful woman who looks a lot like your middle school crush that moved away and a man. The man is you, but a little… brighter somehow.

            “I never took that picture,” You tell him.

            “Not you, but the other you… my dad,” he says, lip quivering.

            “No,” you shake your head, “this is crazy.”

            “I found a way to get to another dimension, I wished really hard for my dad to come back,” he says.

            “Back? From where?” You ask but then regret it because the answer is written all over his face.

            “This place is better, I’ve been watching you for a long time, getting up the nerve. You married Maggie, your first crush, my mom. She’s the best. Not like Michael’s mom, Angie. You could take over,” he says hopefully.

            “Maggie?” You breathe, “No, no way and away if he’s… gone… won’t she wonder how he is back?”

            “He was sailing… they never found ummm…” he trails off.

            “No!” You shout and he jumped. You bite your lip, “I’m sorry about… him but you can’t just replace him like this.”

            “It’s all I have, you’re all I have, please dad,” he says, chest heaving with grief so hard you can barely stand to look at him.

            “I shouldn’t be here. This is messing with the fabric of reality somehow surely,” you put your hands on your hips.

            He grins through his tears, “He used to do that,” he says motioning to your stance.

            “Don’t do this kid, whatever your name is,” You say.

            “You know my name dad,” he says.

            “No, no I don’t, and I’m not your dad,” you point at him.

            Tears stream down his face, “I’m Micheal, in every reality, you named me after your…”

            “My father,” you complete his thought. Then you shake your head, “You are NOT Michael, my son is Michael.”

            “I am your…” he starts.

            “STOP!” You shout. He looks startled, maybe even frightened. You don’t say anything for a while and just look at him. His eyes are yours, but his mouth is Maggie’s. He does look like Micheal a lot but not exactly.

            “My mom is great and this house is nicer than yours back there, you can have a better life here with me and never have to deal with Angie again,” he says.

            “I have a son, MINE not one that belongs to another version of me, one that I raised and have memories of, one that I love,” You tell him. “I am sorry about your dad, I really am but I’m not leaving him.”

            “Can’t you bring him here? We can pretend like he’s my cousin or something, please!” he pleads. You don’t want to consider it but it’s not a bad idea for a kid. And Maggie was always the best friend you could have had. Until she moved. You look at her picture, she’s gorgeous and looks so… sweet. This house is much nicer than your own. You look at the boy. Your paternal heart breaks for him, even if he’s not your Michael, he sort of is.

            Then you remember your own Michael. His world, his mom, his friends, his crush. Everything he knows is in that world. If you brought him here and treated him like an orphaned nephew or something.

            “Come here Michael,” you tell the boy. You crouch down and bring him into your arms. He sobs into your shoulders. “I know how I feel about my son, so I know your dad loved you more than anything. And you loved him more than anything too right?” You hold him by the shoulders at arm’s length and he nods. You sigh, “Well if I feel like he did about you, how do you think my Micheal feels about me?”

            He tilts his head like he hadn’t considered that, then he sighs hard, “You have to go back.”

            “It’s up to you, I’m asking you to choose,” You tell him.

            “Really?” he asks wide eyed.

            “Yeah, but think about it really hard first,” you tell him. He takes a long time to answer but eventually makes his decision.

            Thirty minutes later, you open the door to your original house, “Michael!” You shout as soon as you walk inside.

            Micheal comes into the room from the kitchen, “Yeah?”

            You rush to hug him tight, “I love you.”

            “What’s this about?” he chuckles and shoves you off.

            “I’m just so proud of you, I think no matter what happens, you’ll be okay,” you tell him.

            “Okay…” he eyes you suspiciously, “where did you go?”

            “Just a little walk, it doesn’t matter,” you say, “you want to watch a movie tonight?”

            “Sure,” he says and walks back to his room. You go back outside for a moment and look at the stars. You think you might take up sailing.