Of Journeys Past (Ch. 1: Wild Imagination)

The blue minivan drove down the highway to its new home. With a trailing being towed behind by a makeshift hitch not designed for a van, and the roof filled with various bags of clothes and furniture, the van was doing admirably well for also containing four children and two parents along with more junk.

“How much longer?” Matthew asked, having given up playing with any of the toys or books he had brought along for the ride.

“Five more hours.” Jeffrey said from the driver’s seat.

“Five hours?” Christian exclaimed. “But mom said that this new place was only an hour away!”

Pamela laughed. “We’re almost there, guys,” she said from the passenger’s seat. “Just sit tight.” The ride down Route 47 was beautiful in some spots. They drove through the country areas, and then through residential areas filled with quant little homes and what seemed to be friendly neighborhoods.

“Look, guys,” their father said, pointing to a green road sign.

Goshen, 2 miles.

“Is that where we’re going?” Greg asked from the back seat, sitting up on his knees to see out the window. Being the youngest of a family of four, and sometimes five because of his half-sister that didn’t live with them, was rough. Greg gazed out of the back window, his dark brown eyes staring at everything that passed them with such wonder and intent. He scratched his thick, brown hair as he pondered why everything looked so blurry when you looked out of the window when the car was going really fast.

But his attention was ripped away when the car began to slow. Christian, who was sitting on the other side of the back seat, climbed over Greg to peer out, seeing where they were about to pull into. With noses pressed against glass, the three story country house loomed over top of them, casting a shadow into the fiery hot street, the August sun beating down on it.

“Wow!”

“Is this it?”

“It’s like a mansion!”

Although it wasn’t like a mansion to them, because their old house which was only an hour away was about the same size. The house showed signs of age and neglect by the peeling paint and overgrown grass that was taller than the five-year-old staring at it through the window. The van hadn’t even come to a complete stop when the door slid open and four kids jumped out, running all over the stone driveway and through the tall grass, and into the house itself.

The kids’ godparents were already there and unloading what had been packed away in their own van, watching as the manic children released energy.

“Ten minutes to explore!” their mother called out. “Then you’re all helping to unload. Matthew and Christian ran into the house to claim first dibs on bedrooms, while Tara, the only daughter present and the oldest of the four at the age of twelve, walked about aimlessly picking up flowers and weeds that looked like flowers. But Greg couldn’t help but explore the grass. He knew his mother wouldn’t approve, probably because of all the ticks and bugs she hasn’t explored, he waited until his parents were deep in conversation with his godparents.

He slowly wandered over to where the grass got pretty high, and before he knew it, he was dashing through the wall of plants as fast as his little legs could take him. Once he figured he was far enough in, he stopped and began panting heavily. He could still hear his parents’ voices, which was a good sign as he could at least find his way back. But how big was this yard? He couldn’t see over the top of the neglected grass, so he headed away from the familiar voices. It was like a whole other world to him. He imagined he was hunting a wild beast that lived here, sneaking around pretending to hold a big gun ready to shoot if it decided to pounce on him. But Greg’s little mind got scared of his own imagination, so he stopped.

But less than a minute later it took off, and he was pretending he was in another world again. But this world was nicer, and he made sure he wasn’t thinking of any ferocious beasts. No, in this world he was just wandering though the grass like he was here. The voices of his parents trailed off as he closed his eyes and allowed a fantastical world to replace it. He could hear people talking far off, and the hustle and bustle of a town. The sounds were so real that he had convinced himself it was real.

Where was this place? Surely his imagination didn’t conjure it. This was all new to him. But yet, it felt so real. He opened his eyes, finding himself still in the tall grass. He crouched down low to the ground, and then with all his might pushed off, launching his little body into the air. His eyes barely cleared the grass line when the roof of a small house came into view.

But that wasn’t our house, he thought as he landed hard against the ground. Our home is taller than that. But then the thought of having wandered too far crossed him. Fear of being lost overwhelmed his five-year-old heart. He crouched low again in the grass, but this time not to jump. He wrapped his arms tight around his knees, and clenched his eyes shut.

All voices were drowned out. The voices of the hustle and bustle vanished, and only one voice became discernibly clearer.

“Greg!” his mother shouted across the property. “Gregory! Where are you?”

His eyes shot open like something had just burned him. Greg jumped up and turned in the direction of his mother’s voice. He wiped the small amount of tears that had accumulated on his cheeks so she wouldn’t see that he was scared out there. She called out again, and Greg took off through the grass, jetting at full speed. He emerged from the sea of grass, crashing head first into the van.

By the time his mother had reached him, his body was sprawled across the stone driveway; tears flowing down his face and eyes clenched in pain.

“Oh, honey!” his mother called out, peering down at the young boy. “Come here, baby!” Greg reached out his arms and she picked him up in her arms, carrying him over to one of the couches that had been unloaded. A red bump was slowing beginning to swell. “What were you doing out there?”

“Just….just….playing….” he managed out through thick sobs of pain. His head was pounding with the impact.

“Well, on the bright side,” his father began. “You’re the only one that took damage. K-O on your part.”

Pamela shot him a dirty look. “How is that the bright side?” For the most of the rest of the day Greg was catered to; ice packs, juice boxes, and sandwiches. And even when they moved the couch through the side porch and into the living room, his father and godfather let him ride on the couch all the way through.

Finally around five in the afternoon, Greg’s mother deemed him fit for duty and he was running trips back and forth from a pile of junk labeled ‘Greg’ and his room which Matthew and Christian had designated his. The room was on the second floor off of a room they had named ‘the middle room’ because it was in the middle of the second floor, and was relatively small. It had two windows, a closet, one electrical outlet and a doorframe; but no door. The floor was extremely creaky, and by the fifth or sixth trip, Greg had learned where to jump to avoid the noisy spots.

He liked the room nonetheless, and eventually his bed was moved into it, and he began poring useless junk onto it. When finally his pile of knickknacks and toys outside was finished, he explored the rest of the house. Across the Middle Room from his bedroom was a small closet and door that was raised up by a step. He walked across the room, reaching a hand out to the door knob.

He turned it ever slightly, and it opened towards him and he immediately saw a small spiral staircase winding upwards. The ceiling was low, but in his youth Greg found that he did not need to duck his head. The air was stuffy, and the summertime heat had infiltrated the room making it uncomfortable to breath. Greg climbed to the stop of the steps, seeing that boxes had already been unloaded here. Climbing past the brown cardboard obstacles, he found himself in a large attic.

The walls and ceilings were one, rising from the floor and meeting in various spots at the top, a few feet above the brown haired boy. Two windows allowed the light of the setting sun into the room, filling it with a brilliant radiance. Off to the left of Greg was a door embedded into the wood, but raised up rather high. He pulled over one of the plastic boxes and stood up on it, unlatching the door. It took a few tugs, but the wooden door finally wrenched open, introducing even more stuffy air to Greg’s lungs.

Inside it was dark, and at the very other end he could see a vent with light filtering in. He knew what it was; a crawlspace. Memories of one at the old house entered his mind, recalling his mother always storing things in it. He closed the door quickly, hoping that the crawlspace’s heat didn’t make the rest of the room hot.

As he turned around on the box, he noticed a hallway heading towards the front of the house. He knew it was the front because he could hear the cars from the highway driving by. Entering the hallway revealed the chimney rising up, acting as a separator for two closets. Further back, another room opened up. The walls, like the first room, started at the floor level and came to the top, creating a perfect isosceles triangle as the farthest front wall.

Greg peered out of the low window in the triangular wall, gazing down into the busy road. He watched as his godparents left, and their new neighbor helping his father with installing a new mailbox. This room was like a little getaway. Chances were nobody was going to make a bedroom of this; it was too hot. But Greg didn’t mind; it wasn’t too much of a hindrance.

“Guys! Come get dinner!” The voice was faint from being so far away in the house. Greg ran down the hallway, climbing over the boxes of junk that acted as a secret passageway into his new lair; his new fort; his new hideaway.

The Middle Room was cluttered with a lot of Matthew and Christian’s belongings and Greg wasn’t entirely sure why. The staircase led off from that room but not before passing by a bedroom that faced the road, like Greg’s hideaway retreat. It was covered in pinks and whites, and Barbie backpack lay down near the door. It was obviously Tara’s room, and Greg was somewhat jealous that she got the bigger room, but those are the perks of being the oldest. He didn’t know it yet, but Greg would soon realize that being the youngest of four, and sometimes five, would have more negative aspects than positive aspects.

Down the staircase and off to the right was another room, which was also directly underneath Tara’s room. It had a desk, and a lot of boxes with books and folders in it. Boring stuff to Greg. To the left was a room with a fireplace which was connected to the kitchen and dining room.

Everyone was hurrying around, getting dinner ready. Greg had barely made it past the kitchen entrance when his mother put a bowl of mac and cheese in his scrawny little hands. “Take that to the table, please?” she asked. He did as he was asked, and that’s all. Sitting down ensured that he wouldn’t have to bring anything else to the table. And sure enough, it worked.

Everybody was bringing plates, cups, silverware to the table and setting it all in front of him. Christian eventually saw Greg and joined him, sharing in the life of laziness. Five minutes later, everyone was seated.

They all held hands as grace was said, and began immediately to speak of the excitement of their first dinner at their new home. But Greg was more intent on something else. Memories of the day flood back into his mind as he poked at the chicken sitting on his plate. The grass…who were those other voices, and the small house? He daren’t ask anyone, except maybe his brothers. His parents might just tell him it was his imagination.

Food that he hated was dished onto his plate, and as always, he was forced to eat. Torture! Making a five-year-old eat peas! How can they possibly get away with this? Wasn’t it illegal or something? The process continued all for another ten minutes before he managed to just eat rice, mac and cheese, and a lot of bread.

With what he considered a full stomach, Greg wandered off to his bedroom. He thought about going up into the hideaway, but since Matthew and Christian had claimed the Middle Room as their bedroom, it would be difficult to get up there unnoticed. The hideaway was to be kept a secret, even though it was in plain sight. By the looks of things, nobody was going to be going up there any time soon.

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Over the next few days, Greg’s heart was ripped from him when his mother mowed the grass down. Although, they did have fun at first in the mazes she made in it, but that didn’t last long. By nightfall of the third day being in this new home, the tall grass was history. It was strange, Greg would think as he stared out across the large backyard from one of his parents’ bedroom windows, that he didn’t see any small house. There was the old shed that came with the house, but Greg wasn’t sure that was it.

Forest stretched on behind the yard, and two lines of trees separated them from their neighbors. Greg’s mother was trying desperately to save some little tree that she found underneath a pile of junk while mowing, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. She always seemed to grow so fond of inanimate objects, especially plants. So far, in fact, that she named the tree she rescued ‘The Charlie Tree’ or ‘Charlie’ for short.

A few more August days past packed with working to get the new house in order, that Greg had no time to ever visit his hideaway. But finally, after a whole week after moving into the house, he finally sought out the perfect opportunity. Matthew and Christian were downstairs watching one of thirteen channels on the television, Tara was in her room doing something with dolls, and his parents were probably in the kitchen cleaning. They never did have time to just lay back in the master bedroom.

Greg snuck upstairs, and slowly, trying not to make a sound to anyone, opened the door into the attic. He crawled halfway up the small stairs before shutting the door, and then jetted the rest of the way into the farthest room in the attic. Slumping against the wall with the window, he admired the room in all its glory. With four times as many outlets as his own room, he could plug in so many things his little mind couldn’t comprehend it.

Big television here, boom box there, an air conditioner in the wall, because he still wanted to be able to see out the window at all the people that drive by his house. He imagined a couch being against one of the slanted walls, and even one of the tiny refrigerators that he saw on television all the time.

This was his way of getting away; to get away from all the noise of being downstairs. But curiosity tugged at his conscious. Whatever happened down in the tall grass? Pushing off of the wall, he lifted himself up to a standing position. He scratched at his dark brown hair, thinking of that day about a week ago.

Finally making up his mind, he left the boundaries of his hideaway. Sneaking back downstairs, making sure nobody was walking by the door when he opened it; he left the attic and calmly walked downstairs.

He passed the kitchen, watching as his parents talked with their backs towards him. His brothers had their backs to him as well, and he saw this poorly planned mission being executed perfectly. Until, that is, maternal instincts kicked in.

“Greg, where are you going?” He had barely stepped over the line separating the dining room from the porch.

“Um, um, just going to play outside…”

His mother shook her head. “No, I don’t want you outside alone. Get your brothers to go out with you.”

Greg turned back, watching as Matthew and Christian stared intently at the glowing box of colors. “They’re watching TV. They won’t get up for me.”

“Well, why don’t you go watch TV with them?”

Greg sighed. “But I want to go outside!”

His mother leaned against the counter, thinking intently. “Fine,” she finally said, looking firmly at him. “But do not, I repeat do not, go past the side door. Understand?”

Greg nodded energetically, ecstatic that he was being allowed even out of the house. “Alright! Thanks mom!” Before she could yell anymore warnings, he was dashing out onto the porch, and then through the screen door leading to the driveway. To the left of this door was the front yard and the highway, straight ahead was the driveway and a tree line, and finally to the right was a section the dropped down into a parking area and the back yard.

The yard went back about an acre, covered now in lush green grass ever since his mother had mowed it all down. Trees created a healthy defense on three sides, protecting them from any unwanted nasty neighbors. The sun beat down on him with such radiance that Greg actually enjoyed it. Butterflies and other bugs flew around lazily, adding more beauty to the yard which he rightfully claimed as his.

He did not regret losing the tall grass which he could hide in. This was a new land he could take adventures in. He traveled further back in the yard, looking down to see the dandelions growing under his shoes, probably seeing light for the first time in months ever since they had lost the war to the tall grass. But redemption was here for them.

These were the things Greg thought of. His imagination was unlike that of other kids his age. There was a story behind everything to him; nothing went unnoticed.

The forest line approached, and once again curiosity nagged at the back of Greg’s mind. Technically, his mother didn’t say not to go in there, but of course it was an unsaid command. Or was it?

He passed the Charlie Tree, imagining that it was his mother’s spy. Its invisible eyes bore into him like security cameras linked directly to his mother’s brain. Maybe if he walked extra slow, it wouldn’t see him. Yeah, that might work. Greg slowed down, pulling his arms in tight as if that might make it all the less subtle. Sure enough it worked; Charlie didn’t see him, or at least Greg thought he didn’t. Otherwise his mother would be outside yelling frantically at Greg for even thinking of entering the woods.

Greg quickened his pace trying to make up time for having walk slow. Past the underbrush and vines that constricted the entrance into these enchanted woods, Greg ran through the trees which towered over him like giants. The trees talked to him; some whispered, some shouted, and other just simply chatted gently to him as he ran through them.

They were all welcoming him into their kingdom, and this kingdom stretched out forever and ever in Greg’s mind. Some of the older trees told him where to go, and the beautiful oaks whispered to him secret places to hide in case of an attack. Finally, after what seemed like a glorious eternity, he stopped.

With great, deep breaths, he returned the air to his tiny lungs, allowing them to fill to their limit. Afterwards, he stood up, looking around. Suddenly, he found that his imagination had gone silent. The trees no longer talked, they no longer laughed and cried. The forest had gone quiet, and to replace it fear took over. It shouted out at him, telling him he was lost. And indeed he was.

Greg circled where he stood, and with every turn it felt like the forest changed. Every tree seemed different, every branch looked older. Sizes changed, colors blended, and rocks appeared where they weren’t before. The smell of the marsh disappeared, only to be replaced by the aroma of smoke.

Smoke. It wasn’t any smoke, though. Growing up on a farm, Greg knew the difference between burning smoke, and woodstove smoke. Quickly and swiftly his imagination returned, and he made believe he was a dog with a great nose. He knew they had good noses from all the shows on television that depicted dogs smelling out lost children. But this time he was the lost child and the dog.

His nose went high, taking in the smell of the smoke. Truthfully, this wasn’t helping him, for he didn’t know which was the origin of the smoke was. But his imagination offered him to guess at a direction, and that’s exactly what he did. Running off through the woods, he assumed the wood was coming from the fireplace in his own home, but he didn’t know why his parents would light it in the summer.

The scent grew slightly stronger, and through the trees he thought he could see the yard. With great zest, he burst through the tree line, welcoming himself back home.

But it wasn’t home. It wasn’t anywhere he knew. In fact, he believed he was more lost than before. In front of him was no simple yard; no, it was a valley. Bordered on three sides by mountains, he had just emerged out of the forests that covered them.

Fear greater than that he had ever experienced took over his body. This was not his home, or anywhere near it for that matter. He didn’t know what a valley was exactly, but he knew that nothing like this was near his new home. Or was there?

This thought comforted him. Luckily, lying directly in the middle of the valley were some answers, and hopefully some directions. Lying in the middle of the valley sat a village.