Second part of the story with no title. Tyler is now age 13.
Reader participation needed…
Should this be a tragic tale? or a happy allegory? Post below. And we still need a title. What does this new chapter do to your original thoughts on the title?
School wasn’t kind to Tyler. He couldn’t control his crazy times and the middle school now insisted that he take a lot of medication and that he be in a special class with children who had a lot of trouble learning. Tyler had no trouble learning, in fact, he was very smart, but the energy in his body would ratchet up and up and up until he had to let it out. At school, he couldn’t simply go outside, so he sometimes hurt people and broke things.
His mom was on the phone, yet again, with the school. She was crying and begging them to take him back, but they said, no. Unless he was medicated into a zombie, they could not take him back. He was simply too “disruptive.” He needed a special school or medication per a doctor’s order and the school’s evaluation.
It upset Tyler to hear his mother cry. She worried about him all the time, and only went to work at the diner when he was in school. If he couldn’t go to school, she couldn’t work. That made him worry more, which made the creepy crawlies start back up and cause his skin to itch and hurt. His brain got confused and his legs needed to run and run and run.
He went outside to his safe place, rule 1, in the long grass in the back of the yard. He ran around in circles for what felt like hours. He pulled grass and threw it in the sky and watched it rain down. He did this repeatedly, observing how the grass could get caught in the wind and blow away. When he was done, he was tired but instead of sleeping, he remembered rule 2, that he could be anything he wanted to be.
Right now, he wanted to be a tree.
He planted his feet in the earth, digging them into the dirt so it covered his sneakers. He held his hands out wide and watched the bark encase his body, starting with his feet, rolling up his torso to his shoulders. The bark stretched out over his arms and his fingers grew leaves. His face was encased in the wood and everything was still.
Birds rested on his shoulders. Squirrels climbed his branches. He was a quiet, strong tree in the long grass.