A Kindness

Jingle, jingle!

I awoke with a start. I opened my eyes to see my room as it had always been: books on shelves, models of aeronautics hanging from the ceiling, art supplies and legos strewn about my desk and floor, clothes crumpled everywhere. Nothing amiss. I closed my eyes again.

Jingle!

My eyes shot open; I didn’t dream it. I peered through the dark to see the red string I had set up the evening before: twine dangling taught, suspended from my window sill, attached to Mr. Whiskers’s old collar.

Jingle!

The string jerked and the cat-bells chimed. My trap had worked. I hurried to the window where my breath fogged the glass and I looked out into the autumn gloam. My red string swagged down from my window into the yard, through the bushes, disappearing in the misty maw of the forest beyond. I wondered if it was the wind that pulled it but as I stood inches from the string I saw it jerk again.

Jingle, jingle!

This wasn’t a coincidence; it was time. I picked up my jacket from the floor and ran toward the door. In the pocket, was my grandfather’s little black book. I knew I’d need it; it hadn’t steered me wrong yet.

————

“We’re leaving,” my dad barked. “Let’s go.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t hide from the sounds anymore; the beeping, the pumping, the talking from the hallway all flooded my ears. The smell of chemicals invaded my nostrils and the fluorescent lights seemed to be dialed to eleven. I looked past him to Grandad who lay in the bed in a cotton gown, his skin puffy and red. His labored voice was barely a whisper: “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

My dad stopped dead in his tracks. He looked between his father and his child. His eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll be in the hall,” he mumbled to me as he hurried out of the room.

“Come closer,” Grandad murmured through swollen, dry lips.

As I stepped toward my grandfather, I could see him relax as I came to his side.

“You have such kind eyes,” his words were labored, “like your father when he was young.”

“Thanks, Grandad,” I said cautiously, fearing that speaking too loud might worsen his condition.

“Your father can’t be here right now, but that’s not his fault,” he spoke sincerely with wisdom, “you must remember that.”

I nodded. I looked up and out the door to the hallway. I could see dad; he looked so angry, talking emphatically, while his own father looked serene even though he could not move.

“It’s not his fault,” Grandad repeated, “he has bezzles and wizzles ‘round his eyes. He’s looking for a tomnokk but, he’ll never find one.”

The adults had said that my grandfather wasn’t making much sense anymore; but I somehow knew this was true. I looked at Grandad and saw him as I remember him. I felt the weight of his sickness fall away as I looked into his eyes. “I wish we could help him find it,” I said.

Tears welled up in his eyes. “I knew you’d understand.” He pointed a feeble finger toward the table across from him. It had a bouquet of flowers and a plethora cards. “There’s something there for you.”

I crossed to the table and looked at all the “get well soon” apparel. Then I saw it.

I lifted up a small black notebook tied with twine. “It’s my Thrylozoology field journal. I hope you’ll find use for it as I did.”

“Thanks,” I said, not sure what I’d do with such a gift; but, as I opened the journal, I realized why it was so special. I was greeted by the familiarity of Grandad’s voice. His penmanship was distinctive but precise, his pen-strokes quick but meticulous. His illustrations were detailed yet unprecedented. He opened a new world to me through his words and sketches; a magical world I had never known; Grandad’s world of mythic creatures. Each warm, yellow page clearly indicated the names of and rules for every beast I could imagine and several I couldn’t. The journal felt loved; it felt as magical as the things inside it. Had my grandfather really seen all these creatures?

My examination was interrupted when my grandfather began to cough violently. One of the machines began to beep faster. He looked at me seriously, lucid. “Use it to help him,” he implored though coughs.

As he continued to cough, I didn’t know what to do. I shut my eyes. I was aware of a commotion. I felt nurses running into the room around me, speaking rapidly. I felt my dad grab my arm and pull me out of that room.

Grandad’s voice now lives only in the journal.

————

The wind rustled the leaves as I walked through the grass away from the house. I saw my red string jerk and I froze. The wind blew through the trees again causing the shadows to change shape. There was definitely something in there.

I consulted Grandad’s Thrylozoology journal as I followed my string into the forrest. I took each twist and turn breathing slowly to keep calm. I came to what I knew was the end of my string, just past the biggest oak I could find.

There it sat. The untrained eye would mistake it for a cluster of moss-covered boulders, but, this dark viridescence was the tomnokk’s matted fur. My red string had taken hold of its ankle; I could see it glowing with heat. The moonlight shown on the brute as it turned its head in my direction. Two coniferous antlers draped in Spanish moss swiveled to reveal its luminous eyes whick like candlelight from an aged jack-o-lantern glowed amid the darkness of this sequestered holt.

“You have come,” the ancient voice of the tomnokk droned. “You are smaller than I expected.”

My knuckles paled as I clutched the journal. I took a deep breath before I spoke, trying to remember my grandfather’s precise words. “Good evening, mighty tomnokk. I see you are ensnared.”

The tomnokk shifted its large hairy body toward me; it seemed amused as it spoke through an obscured mouth. “You should know. This is your snare.” Its glowing eyes examined me.

“This trap is mine,” I confirmed, “But, freedom can be yours if you…” I blanked. I couldn’t remember the next words. I opened the journal and tore threw the pages trying to find the page on the tomnokk.

“…If I grant you a kindness.” The tomnokk finished my thought, raising itself off the ground. “Where did you hear of such things? How do you know me?” The tomnokk’s matted face leaned in close to me, the peaty musk of his fur was distinct in its antiquity.

After a torpefied moment, I responded. “My grandfather told me of you, wise tomnokk,” I revealed truthfully. “He wrote about you in his book.”

The tomnook considered this. It could see the journal and somehow knew my words were true. “Very well,” it proclaimed. “For your knowledge and my freedom, I will grant you my kindness.”

The tomnokk gently moved his giant, string-ensnared leg expectantly. I nodded and untied the string. It fell to the ground, no longer glowing with power. I was afraid the tomnokk would run off and that I would lose my chance, but Grandad had taught me that trust will keep the tomnokk rooted.

“What kindness shall I grant you?” The tomnokk said plainly.

I knew exactly what to say. I had been practicing this since I last heard Grandad’s words. It had all lead to now. “I want my dad to be happy,” I said as simply as I could.

The tomnokk crouched down, leaned toward me, and raised his three-fingered hand. “It is done,” said the tomnokk as it pressed its finger to my forehead.

At his touch, I felt the forest swirling around me. I felt myself being enveloped in swirling vortex of leaves. All I could see were the tomnokk’s eyes as the forest moved around us. All I could hear was the deafening rustle of the foliage until, suddenly, his eyes closed.

————

The sounds of rain bled into my room accompanying the dim cloud-light. I opened my eyes to see my room as it had always been: normal, nothing amiss.

I timidly entered the kitchen to find my dad — eyes red with insomnia— scanning the classifieds. He didn’t look any happier.

This time of day his nerves were the most frayed and as such he was ever-poised for a swift tongue-lashing. In these situations, I had learned it was best to make my breakfast inconspicuously. I approached the refrigerator for the orange juice. As I retreated, I allowed the door close behind me. It closed with a thud.

My dad’s face whipped toward mine, eyes filled with visible veins and inscrutable tears. “How many times have I told you,” his voice crescendoed, filling with pain, “don’t slam the door!”

“I didn’t mean to,” I stammered, frozen where I stood.

He slapped his hand on the table. “If you break the fridge that’s another thing I’ll have to pay for.”

“It just closed,” I retorted, “I didn’t slam it.”

“Of course you did!” He shouted, rising from the table, “It wouldn’t have sounded like that if you didn’t. God, why do you do this to me, today of all days.” He looked me in the eye and said gravely, “you know I’m behind, don’t you? I’m being crushed?”

“Yes,” I said softly, trying to calm him.

His face was getting red, “then why’d you—!?”

Ring!

I jumped as the telephone rang. My father’s eyes darted from me to the phone as it continued.

Ring!

My father picked up the phone transitioning seamlessly between his previous anger and initiated his pragmatic pleasantries. “Hello?… This is he…Yes, Mrs. Johnson?… About the payments, I know I’m—”

My father suddenly straightened up, “Paid for? By whom?”

He listened incredulously before repeating: “The Thrylozoological Society? They paid—” His surprise turned to shock as he continued, “Twenty thousand dollars?”

“I can’t believe that,” Dad said thunderstruck. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” He smiled for probably the first time in the years since Grandad passed. “With that paid, I— I feel like Dad’s finally at rest. I…” his voice faltered, “I just— thank you so much.”

I could see a physical change in my father, he became more animated, “Well, then let me thank them!” he said, joyfully.

Dad said his salutations and hung up the phone and turned his attention back to me. Expecting the cacophony of scathing advice to continue, I was surprised as he moved toward me, wrapping me in his arms. I could feel his freed tears on the shoulders of my pajamas.

He pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Let’s go to the park,” he said.

I was stunned. It had been years since my dad had suggested we go anywhere. “But, it’s raining,” I said timidly, hoping not to jinx the offer.

“That doesn’t matter!” he said enthusiastically, “Bring your kite, the one with the red string, and we’ll get all wet!”

Dad danced across the kitchen, his form silhouetted against the window to the backyard. “Race you to the car!” He smiled ear-to-ear as he ran out of the room.

His smile made me smile. This was exactly the kindness I had wanted. I was so elated I almost didn’t see the two glowing eyes watching from the tree line. The wise tomnokk nodded before shrinking back into the forest.

Though that was the last I saw of the tomnokk, it was only the first of many days that I saw Dad’s smile again. To this day, I still debate which was brighter, my dad’s smile or the tomnokk’s eyes. The only thing I know for sure, both were absolutely real.