Told By No One: Stories From the Inanimate

Oakly

They could never be together in love because they didn’t speak each other’s language.

Oakly saw the outline of her figure fill the horizon as she climbed the hill on which he was situated. “Oh yeah baby,” Oakly said as the woman approached, “you sure know how to sway with those leaves. Oh my, the way you bend your trunk!” The woman’s unruly shock of red hair was the wind’s plaything. It was being flung back and forth, sideways and crossways, inside out and through and through. She kept trying to push it out of her eyes so as to not trip over something hidden in the tall grass, but the wind wasn’t in any position to make things easier for anybody.  As the woman drew closer, Oakly could begin to make out the finer details of her body. “Well I’ll be fertilized!” Oakly said, “She’s bearing cones!” Oakly had noticed her chest. She had on one of those leave-nothing-and-I-mean-nothing-to-the-imagination t-shirts. It was being whipped about by the wind just as much as her hair, but she made no effort to keep her shirt down; every few moments Oakly would get an unobstructed view of her trunk’s knot-hole (though it was too small for any owls to roost in.) She was close enough now for him to make his move. “Oh me, oh my, you conifer types don’t crop up in these parts very often, now do you? Baby, you sweet little sapling, I’d be overjoyed if you’d permit me to take you out for a little air and sun and water. I know just the spot—and hey, if you felt like maybe having a spot of patience (which is a virtue) you could wait till just about the spring equinox. Baby, my pollen ain’t like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

The woman didn’t hear Oakly’s persistent courtship because, of course, they didn’t speak the same language. So the woman went right on and sat beneath Oakly’s huge arms and brushed a handful of her wild mane from her brow. She took off her shoes dug her toes into the cool earth. Oakly misinterpreted this gesture—Taking root! I can’t believe you are already taking root!—and rattled his frame in excitement. A large branch was shaken loose and fell, bouncing down off other branches like a rubber bat. It hit the woman square on the head with a loud snap. Immediately the woman put her hands to her head leaned forward and shouted. This was the first sound Oakly had her make and he couldn’t comprehend a word. After a few moments of rocking back and forth, her hands clutched to her scalp, she leaned back and looked up into Oakly’s tangly body, and expression of disdain visible through her red, wiry mask. “Baby, I am so sorry,” Oakly tried, “My darling, my sweet, please don’t go. It’s just that time of the season! This sort of thing never happens to me, honest! I never ever loose my wood; you’ve got to believe me—it’s that damn wind! He’s always fooling with me and just look what he’s done to your beautiful leaves!”

She took no heed to his apologies and stood, brushed off her posterior, and coldly walked back down the hill. She was muttering under her breath and repeatedly pressing her hand to her scalp then examining to see if she was leaking any sap. Between presses she would brush hair out from her eyes.

Oakly watched as she disappeared from his sight. He was quiet now, save for the faint crinkle of his own leaves in that mischievous wind. Oakly shivered once more, and a single brown-red-yellow tear dropped off and fluttered to the ground.