Forbidden

I always knew I would end up here, in these woods.

Honestly, it’s a miracle that I refrained from entering the woods for this long. I’m the type of person that hates to be forbidden from doing anything. It produces this instant, ‘I must do the thing,’ reaction in me. Like when Jonas and I were sixteen and he forbid me from ever kissing him. I immediately planted one on him. Which was, of course, exactly what he wanted to happen. We’ve been kissing each other ever since. Well, not ever since…we need breaks for breathing, and like, life and stuff, obviously.

But even I can’t disobey my Grams. Despite the fact that I have been battering her defenses since I learned to toddle and talk, the truth is that I love her too much to violating her most important decree: Always stay away from the woods. Always.

Until now, that is.

 This whole thing started a few weeks ago with, not surprisingly, a bet.  Jonas, aspiring daredevil, full time best friend, and part time boyfriend, bet me I couldn’t stand near the woods for five minutes without panicking. Our dares are traditionally more inventive, but with the end of our senior year so close we could practically taste it, we were beyond bored and short on ideas. It was an ill-advised bet on all fronts. Jonas knew I would succeed. I knew the dangers, if Grams warnings were any indicator, far out weighed the reward- a hot fudge sundae- but I was curious about the woods. And I have a weakness for ice cream.

 As I stood there staring into the dark woods, I could’ve sworn that the trees were moving. Not like normal swaying in the breeze type movement. This was all out dancing, and walking, and…talking?

The trees called my name. I swear they did.

My knees trembled, and I felt like I was going to vomit, but I managed to stay put for the whole five minutes by envisioning ice cream smothered in hot fudge. Which really didn’t help the nausea situation much, but whatever, it worked.

I’m not sure why, but I told Jonas about the trees moving and speaking. He laughed uproariously and threatened to go back on the bet because as he put it, ‘delusions count as panic.’ But he knows better then stand between ice cream and me so all it took was a feint to his kidneys and he relented. I let him think I had just been joking, carefully hiding how much what I had seen freaked me out. And I definitely didn’t tell him how much the vision intrigued me.

Then, this evening Grams and I had another rip-roaring fight over something I considered trivial. I smuggled store bought shampoo and body wash into the house and used them during my nightly shower (Grams is insanely strict about cleanliness. Like, shower two times a day strict. It’s a little weird), instead of the homemade stuff Grams makes. Her stuff smells dank and mossy. Jonas says he likes the scent. I say it’s because he was dropped on his head too many times as a baby, but I digress. 

Grams and I were engaged in all out shouting match, which I’m sure the neighbors overheard, when I just got completely fed up. I mean, I’m eighteen now. What is she going to do when I go to college, come with me?

Of course she answered with a resounding, and snappish, “Darn tootin’.”

I was so pissed that I stomped and screeched, and ran out of the house. Not exactly one of my finest moments, I admit. Grams let me go, but couldn’t resist having the last word. As I slammed the kitchen door shut she yelled, “stay away from the woods.”

She should have known better.

            Grams words, and the memory of what I had seen weeks before, propelled me to the woods as if I were a piece of scrap iron and the woods a giant magnet.
    That’s how I ended up here, deep in the forbidden forest. I’m not entirely sure what I expected. After the huge fuss Grams made, a part of me anticipated instant death, or at least intense terror. But this misty, twilight haven is more lovely then scary. Not a creepy crawly in sight.

            I pull out my phone and text Jonas: Guess where I am right now??

            J: On the toilet?

            Me: What? NO! Why would-never mind, I don’t wanna know how ur brain works. There is something very wrong with u.

            J: Yesss. And that’s why u love me!

            Me: That’s debatable.

            J: Ouch. OK…where r u?

            Me: IN THE FLIPPIN WOODS!

            J: No really.

            Me: I swear to cow.

            J: Holy! Wait…I’m coming too.

I’m in the middle of typing a reply, telling him not to come, when my phone flashes another message. It reads, 'gathering vital supplies. Be there in 10.'

    I roll my eyes and trash my half done text. Once adventure-mode Jonas is in motion there is no stopping him. Instead I type, 'twizzlers,' and hit send. Our definition of vital supplies is the same-snacks.

            While I wait for Jonas, I walk deeper into the woods, avoiding anything that might possibly, in any way resemble poison ivy, or what I think it looks like anyway. I’m probably avoiding all the wrong plants and rubbing all up on the ones that will kill me overnight. The woods smell pleasant, sort of dank and…mossy. My breath catches as this thought registers. I swallow hard, and shake it off.

Just coincidence, I think reassuringly. 

            On the edge of my vision something moves. I turn, nearly tripping over a rock in my haste. I check my watch, but I know ten minutes haven’t passed. It can’t be Jonas, not yet. Unless.

Unless he tricked me, and he’s much closer then he let on.

            “Jonas,” I yell. “If that’s you I’m going to kick your ass.” Under my breath I mutter, “It’d better be you.”

            There is no answer, just continued silence.

            I narrow my eyes and keep walking, determined not to be scared.

            I sense more movement on the periphery. I freeze and turn slowly to look, but there is nothing. Just trees, and trees, and, oh, look, more trees!

            I remember what I saw, and heard just a few weeks ago-The trees dancing. The trees calling my name.

Suddenly, I can’t breath. Shivers crawl up and down my spine. I take a step back.

            A huge, bark covered branch-arm thingy wraps around my waist.

            “Rowan,” a voice garbles, high above my head.

            I scream.

            I scream like a child who has just dropped their ice cream on the sidewalk. I scream like a person who just found a clown in their closet. I scream like my entire world has just been turned upside down. Because it has- the branch-arm has grabbed me by my feet, and I’m now hanging upside down.

“The sprout has returned,” the tree says. His voice sounds distorted, like when a kid speaks through a fan.

I see more trees walking around on great root like legs, swinging branchy arms.

“Hey,” I yell, trying in vain to kick free. “Hey, put me down!”

The tree ignores me. “It is time for the growing,” he says and the dozen or so other walking trees cheer. The tree holding me shakes me so hard my teeth rattle.

“Stop that you stupid living stump,” I growl.

The tree promptly lets me go. I watch the ground rushing toward me with mounting panic, my arms thrashing spastically. I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for impact but instead I land on something soft. I open my eyes. One of the other walking trees caught me in its huge, leafy hand.

“Thanks,” I say, but my gratitude is short lived. The tree stuffs me feet first into a hole in the ground, holding me in place as another pushes dirt into the hole. I’m buried up to my knees.

“It is time sprout Rowan,” the tree, the one that held me, and seems to be the leader, says. He has an old, old face high up on his trunk, sort of sunken into the bark, and leaf green eyes rimmed with moss. The inside of his large mouth is colored like the fleshy insides of normal trees. Sap drips from his bark lips, and chunky, square teeth.

I try not to wonder why a tree would need teeth.

“It is time for you to grow into a Treeling,” he continues.

“A what-ling?”

“A Treeling. You were born to be one of us before you were stolen away.”

I stare at him blankly.

“You must grow, Rowan,” he says.

“Yeah? Well, last time I checked, I wasn’t a tree, so I think I’ll pass.” I start scrabbling at the dirt holding me captive.

“You must grow,” he says again, louder this time.

“No,” I shout. “I’m not a freaking tree!”

“You are!” He bellows so loud it rattles the branches of the normal non-walking trees. He swings an arm, motioning to his comrades. Two of them step forward to hold my arms, keeping me from pawing at the dirt. I struggle, but they hold me fast as they tamp the dirt down around my legs. They release me but I have no time to move before a cage made of twisted tree branches springs up around me. Unable to move my legs, I pound against the cage with my hands.

“Let me out,” I rage. “You can’t do this!”

Unexpectedly a deluge of water cascades over my head. I splutter and gasp, nearly choking as the water flows into my open mouth.

“Sun,” the old man tree commands. Overhead, the normal trees respond. They lean to the side, opening a hole in the canopy for sunlight to stream directly on me. I blink up at the sudden beam, water dripping from my hair and streaming down my face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say flatly.

“Grow, sprout Rowan. Grow into a tall, strong Treeling,” the old man tree chants. The others take up the call, repeating it in a creepy echo.

I open my mouth to scoff when a shooting pain races up my spine. The skin over my spine erupts, and I feel something pushing up, out of my flesh. The sensation starts at my tailbone, and travels up along my spine to the back of my neck. I howl in pain, pounding the dirt with clenched fists. When the pain finally subsides I cautiously reach a hand around to touch my back. And feel bark-there is an inch wide length of tree bark covering my spine. And it itches like mad. It itches so much worse than poison ivy.

 More pain reverberates in my skull. I'm sure my head is splitting open. Long, thin vines sprout from my scalp, in between strands of my hair. I hunch over, moaning, holding my head in my hands. I feel the vines twining through and around my fingers as they grow. They stop only once they reach my shoulders, the same length as my hair. Serrated, long, green leaves blossom along the length of the vines. I hold one out so I can see it clearly, and my stomach heaves threateningly.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.
My phone chimes. I gasp and jump, bumping into the cage rails in my fright. Sheepishly, I pull the phone out, and read the message from Jonas, “I’m here. Where r u?”

I type a hurried, and badly misspelled reply, “Sray awat. Gert Gr-“

The Treelings notice before I can finish my request for him to get Grams, but I manage to hit the send button right before one of the monsters swipes my phone. I’m not sure if Jonas will be able to decipher the message, or if he will listen if he does.

“Listen,” I shout at the Treelings.  “You can’t do this. I don’t want to be a tree.”

“Not a tree,” they chorus, clearly peeved. “A Treeling.”

“Whatever,” I huff, enjoying annoying them. “I don’t want to be one of you. You can’t do this against my will. It has to be some kind of violation.”

The Treelings actually seem to take my accusation seriously. They shuffle together, mumbling softly. I’m surprised, but grateful. I bite my lip as I feel more bark push through the skin behind my ears, and on my ankles. The soles of my feet tingle with a strange tickling sensation. I imagine roots emerging from my feet and feel a bit lightheaded.

“Hurry up,” I can’t help pleading to the Treelings.
 Jonas barges into the middle of the Treeling meeting. The bag of cheese puffs in his left hand falls to the earth, spewing its contents. I take a second to mourn the loss of the cheese puffs, their orange, crispy perfection crushed into the grass and dirt, before I yell, “Run, J!”

Jonas’s mouth hangs open; he is so stunned he doesn’t seem to hear my warning. He manages to stuff the two cheese puffs still clutched in his right hand into his mouth before freaking out. Well, Jonas’s version of freaking out, which is just wide-eyes, a slight twitch of the knee, and a blurted, “What the hell?”

“The human boy does not belong here,” the old man tree says. “He cannot be privy to the ways of the Treelings.”

“Treelings,” echoes Jonas completely nonplussed as the trees move toward him.

I watch helplessly as one of the Treelings scoops him up, and sets him high up on the peak of its branches. Jonas’s legs hang down freely, but he clutches onto the branch so tight I think his fingers might be permanently stuck there.

In a completely normal tone, as if bizarre situations like this happen everyday he asks, “Uh, Row…what the hell is going on?”

“They want to turn me into a tree,” I explain.

“Treeling,” the Treelings bellow.

“Whatever,” I bellow right back.

“You were stolen from us,” the old man tree says. “It is only right that we steal you back.”

The tickling in my feet suddenly increases. “No,” I scream. “No, I don’t want to be a tree. Please stop! Jonas, help me!”

Jonas stands up slowly, teetering on the branch. He closes his eyes, hesitates a second, jumps. The Treeling simply plucks him out of the air before he can reach the next branch. Jonas lands in the Treeling’s palm, and the great creature’s twiggy fingers arch up to create a jail cell around my would-be hero. Jonas peeks at me, a hangdog ‘we both know I’m no hero anyway,’ look on his face. 
I sigh. If there is saving to be done it’s up to me. I struggle against my prison to no avail. Frustrated, I curse and punch the cage bars. My fists bounce off harmlessly.

“Rowan,” Jonas says, pressing his face through the space between his own prison bars. “You are a tree.”

I stare at him, my brow drawn tight, not understanding.

“You. Are. A. Tree,” he says slowly, rolling his eyes as if I am being stupid.

“What?”

“You are a freakin’ tree! A strong, mighty tree.”

I still don’t get it.

“Rowan,” he says. “I forbid you to get out of that cage and save us.”

I meet his green eyes, and we stare at each other for a moment that seems to last a lifetime. I look away first, not wanting him to see that I’m afraid. I'm afraid that this time I won’t be able to defy his order. I’m afraid that this time I can’t save him. But then he yells the command again, and I feel a familiar rush of adrenaline blast through me.

My eyes widen, and then narrow. I grin maniacally.

Jonas grins, satisfied, and sits back to watch.

I grip the rails of my prison and heave. The branches tear from the earth effortlessly. I hold the cage above my head, and then toss it over my shoulder while simultaneously churning my legs through the dirt to free them. The Treelings are rooted to the spot, watching in stunned silence. They recover their wits, and rush at me but I raise my hands and roar, enraged. A weird, overwhelming power rushes through my veins, electric and sharp. All the Treelings, except the one holding Jonas, are blown backwards. I scream a wordless scream and the branches of the Treelings twirl into masses of cone-like tangles and knots. Their rooty feet twist so that they can’t move forward. I turn to the one holding Jonas, my hand still outstretched threateningly.

“Let him go,” I growl. “Or I’ll do the same to you, and there will be no one to untangle any of you. You will be stuck like this forever.”

The Treeling hesitates, unsure what to do.

“The end of the Treelings,” I warn.

“Do as she says,” says the old man tree grumpily.

The Treeling lowers Jonas and almost before he has touched the ground we are running back the way we came. Just as we reach the edge of the woods a familiar voice commands, “stop.”

“Grams,” Jonas and I exclaim happily, in perfect unison.

“Don’t move,” she says.

“But Grams-“
 “Listen to me, Rowan. If you leave the woods now, you can never go back. You can never be a full Treeling.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I ask, confused.

“If you leave the woods now,” she continues as if I had not said anything, “you will remain as you are-part human, part tree. You will never truly belong to either world. Do you understand?”

Jonas inexplicably steps away from me, out into the world I once knew as the only reality.

“I-I don’t know what you want me to do,” I stammer.

“This is about what you want,” Grams says. “I have made decisions on your behalf for too long.”

I think about what choosing one world over the other will mean. How will I live like this, with leaves sprouting from my head, and bark on my flesh? How will I go to college? Get a job?

“Jonas,” I say quietly. “I need to talk to you.”

            As he walks toward me I eat him up with my eyes, memorizing every inch of him- the way he walks, the quirky smile on his face, his brilliant green eyes- in case it is the last time I ever get the chance. I’m suddenly not so sure of anything.

            When he is in front of me I take his hand, guiding it around to my back. I press his fingers to the bark on my spine.

             His eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa,” he breathes.

             I pluck a leaf from my hair and we watch it float between us, down, down until it comes to rest on the toe of his red converse.

            “Your girlfriend is part tree,” I say. “How does that make you feel?”

            “Can you feel that?” he asks.

            “Huh?”

            “I’m tickling your bark.”

            “Oh.” I concentrate. “No, not really.”

            “Is this the only bark you’ve grown?”

            “No.”

            “I’d like to see that,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

            I smack him on the arm. “Be serious,” I say. I hold out a vine from my head. “Doesn’t this scare you, J? I’m a freak!”

             “What’s a little bark and a few leaves?” Jonas says. “I knew you were a freak a long time ago.” He sighs a long suffering sigh. “I’m resigned to it.”

            I shake my head. “It’s going to be hard to hide. Hard to explain.”

            Jonas just shrugs, as if it isn’t that big a deal. “Listen,” he says, suddenly serious. “If you want to stay…I’ll visit you, everyday.”

             “No humans allowed, remember?”

            We both snort in amusement, and grin at each other.

My grin fades quickly though. I swallow, hating how unsure I feel.
“I’m scared,” I admit softly.

            “Rowan McClain,” Jonas whispers. “I forbid you to leave these woods.”

            And then he kisses me.

            “Unless you want more bark and leaf-shaped problems,” Grams barks, interrupting our embrace. “You have to promise you won’t smuggle anymore of those fancy scented horrors into my house.”

            I laugh as Jonas takes my hand and leads me out of the woods.

             “You got it, Grams,” I promise.