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What the Forest Does

A story for the Under Purple Clouds challenge

By Marsha SinghPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 4 min read
1
What the Forest Does
Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash

Chapter 1

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Summer nights from Gran's back porch were truly breathtaking. The absence of city lights revealed a glimmering galaxy that seemed too beautiful to be real.

Gran liked to tell the story about how, when Junie was small (just a little junebug, she'd say adoringly,) she would cry because Gran wouldn't lift her up high enough to touch the stars.

Oh, but I was a mean old Gran, she'd chuckle. She never got tired of telling that story.

Junie didn't mind. She grew up loving her summers in Vermont with her Gran. No matter where her mother dragged her the rest of the year, no matter how many friends she made and left behind, or how many rooms she decorated and then packed right back up into boxes, she had Gran's in the summer.

Gran's wild mountain, her mother had called it, while rolling her eyes like it was an insult. She had hated growing up in the mountains, and escaped the first chance she got by marrying the wrong man at nineteen. She welcomed Junie eight months later, though welcome might be too strong a word. The marriage was over almost before it began, and before she even knew the word for what she was feeling, Junie knew her mother resented her.

Oh, I suppose you can't wait to run off to Gran's wild mountain. Signature eye roll.

But Gran loved her.

And Junie could never wait to run off to her bright little house in the mountains at the end of every school year, where she had the same bed every night, and warm berry pies, and tomato sandwiches on the porch. And where she had Gran, and her stories about Junie wanting to touch the stars.

To her mother's credit, she wasn't wrong at all. The forest around Gran's house was indeed wild in the summer months. It grew so thick you couldn't see into it and so fast a person could hardly keep up with cutting it. Gran paid a man from town to come by and mow twice a week, but the vines were unrelenting; within a day they'd be curled around the clothesline and creeping up the downspout. Gran always joked that she didn't get a dog because the forest would take it, and though she chuckled when she said it, Junie knew there was also a warning to be gleaned.

After graduation, Junie packed for Gran's as she had every year before and left, with no intention of returning to whatever temporary situation her mother was calling home at the time. She went to the only place in the world that had ever felt like home to her.

Little had changed since the summer before. A sheet and two cheerful housecoats flapped lazily on the clothesline. A green watering can sat next to a white bucket and a bag of potting soil on the porch. The forest lapped at the edges of Gran's grass with broad, velvety leaves. The vines that climbed the chimney had thickened into leafy ropes; curly tendrils of green spilled from the gutters. Gran emerged from behind a patched screen door, beaming at Junie as she neared.

“Granny!” Junie made a sweeping motion with her arm in the direction of the vine-strewn house. “Aren't you still having the man come?”

“Hello to you!” Gran laughed with feigned indignation. “And yes, I am. He's coming three times a week now, if you're writing a book.”

“Maybe I am,” Junie teased, and wrapped Gran in a hug. She brushed a leaf from the shoulder of Gran's crocheted sweater; another curled out from beneath her perfectly pressed collar.

Gran stepped back as though to just take in the happiness of the moment. In the golden light of the early evening sun, Junie noticed that her grandmother’s hair had become dandelion seeds. As she turned to usher Junie inside, a few of the ethereal seeds floated away into a sky that was quickly gathering massive purple clouds behind the dark hills. Junie's heart grew suddenly sad at the passage of time.

The house smelled like it always had – coffee and toast, clean laundry, fresh air – though it also smelled of cool earth now. Gran started to pull dishes down from the cupboards to make lunch. Vines unfurled slowly towards her ankles from beneath the sink. She pushed them aside with her feet a few times, but then seemed to resign herself to their grasp.

Junie picked up a paring knife from the counter and cut them away, tugging the reaching tendrils from the straps of Gran's sandals. She held them off long enough for Gran to put together a couple of tomato sandwiches and some berry pie on an old aluminum tv tray. She presented the tray to Junie with an exaggerated flourish, smiling brightly as the forest did what the forest does.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

Marsha Singh

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  • Donna Reneeabout a year ago

    oh, this is beautiful!! I love the relationship you build here with Gran and Junie and how you wove in the magic so smoothly.

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