Rooted

by Abby Sundeen

I don’t remember how or when I crawled out of the earth, just the feeling: hands clawing up through soft, damp peat, bugs and worms against my skin as I moved, the complete darkness of mud all around me, the coldness of it running through my veins.

But then my hand broke through, away from the mud and dirt, and out into the world. My fingers, tangled in roots, searching for a hold I could use to haul the rest of myself out of the dirt. I scrambled around for a rock or something but found just another root in a larger tree. It rose perhaps halfway out of the ground, enough to cling onto as I finished my climb. The tree’s wood sat warm in my hands beneath the dappled sun.

Warmth was something I’d never felt but somehow desperately craved. Even after my whole body was above the earth’s surface, I curled around the root and the bark until the sun seeped into my skin. There were parts of me, I thought, that would never feel the heat. The mud running through my veins warmed, though, and there I fell asleep for the first time.

I’m not sure how much time passed before I woke, nor am I sure what woke me. But now I’m sitting here on the same tree root and I can’t find the hole I came out of, though it was gaping when I first crawled out. The earth simply had its way with me and spat me out on my own, as if I were to know what to do with this new world. There’s light and birdsong and warmth, and I’m still covered in dirt.

I am not light or birdsong or warmth. I am just dirty.

As I stand, it seems for a moment like I’ve attached myself to the ground. The tree bark from the root I slept on pops and snaps as I rise up and away. What few bits of bark that come with me stay on my skin before sinking in; I feel them as small bumps before they dissolve away into the small contained ecosystem that is me.

Being here in this forest feels natural. I think this is where the earth meant to send me.

I do like it here, so I think I’ll stay.

There’s no harm in exploration, though. My feet carry me around the forest while I admire the views and the colors, the lush green of the leaves above contrasted against the gentle brown of the bark and the undergrowth. Things scuttle back and forth all around me, all in shades of green and brown. They blend together; they couldn’t be more distinct.

Eventually, one very unnatural shade of green catches my eye. It’s bright and artificial, too cold a green to be anything belonging here with me. I slow my pace but continue forward, enough to see that the green is connected to someone shaped like me. The green is on top of their head, and they notice me far sooner than I would have liked.

“Give a guy some warning, huh?” they say.

The sound of a voice is something I’ve never heard. I don’t know if I like it. It’s unnatural like their hair, so robotic and unpredictable in its cadence. Nothing like the birdsong overhead.

I think this is a human. I don’t know what gives me the idea, but the word human sounds right.

What am I?

They turn to face me completely, eyebrows scrunched together. I notice now that they’re holding something round in their hands. White smoke rises up from the tip, and they’re clutching it like it’s their only sense of warmth. Can’t they feel the heat around them, shining down from the sun? It’s radiant around me, the only thing I feel.

“Hello?” they ask, taking one hand away from the smoking thing to wave it at me. “Are you there? Are you okay?”

I just stare. Perhaps I have a voice. I make a sound with it, and they jump.

“Dude, this is not the place for that. Rangers everywhere, you know?”

What?

“They catch you off your ass like this, they’ll throw you out, no questions asked.”

I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I think I’m starting to pick up on the lilts and tones of their voice. I understand the meaning, but the intricacies are much more complex. So to show I don’t know what’s going on, I think I’d have to raise my tone a bit at the end… like that?

“Do you know English?” they ask.

English.

I understand what they’re saying. A single syllable to answer, something that sounds like yes just feels right.

“Are you… okay?”

Also yes. I feel good.

“You seem a little out of it,” they say, “but I guess that’s why we all come here.” They take a few steps closer, and I take one step back. I don’t think I’m ready yet to close the distance between us. “I’m Grayson.”

A name. A title? Something to call them, this human I’ve never seen before. And now they lean forward a bit, eyes searching. They have brown eyes the color of tree bark in the sun. I like the way they shine.

At this moment, I give myself a name. It sounds like Bly.

So now my name is Bly.

“Nice to meet you, Bly. You seem a bit lost, and I have nothing else to do. If you don’t mind, we can stick together for a bit.” I nod. Speaking still isn’t my forte, but I’m grateful they can understand me. “My younger sister is autistic,” they explain, “and she doesn’t always feel like speaking. It’s okay if you’re not comfortable.”

I appreciate that, too.

We walk around together, not speaking but still comfortable. A few times their shoulder almost brushes mine, and I don’t jump away. I still don’t want to touch. Grayson offers me some of their steaming water with a smile. “Have you ever had tea before? This kind is Moroccan mint, and it tastes really good. Do you want to try?”

I take the mug in my hands, again savoring the warmth it offers. It’s a different kind of warmth, more centralized[7] than what the sun gives me. Sharper, almost, but not unpleasant. When I take the sip, it’s both warm and cool. The heat soaks into every part of my mouth, but it tastes cool. My words can’t describe it, and the sensation leaves me puzzled. Apparently, it’s visible: Grayson hides a giggle behind their hand.

“If you’ve never had mint before, it’ll have that effect on you. Did you like it?”

I take another sip and let a smile cross my face.

We stay like this, just the calmness and the minty tea, for a whole lifetime. I don’t actually know how long a lifetime lasts; this has been my whole lifetime. But now the sun is starting to set, and the warmth is starting to leave. Goosebumps break out all over my skin, and suddenly I’m touching tree bark wherever I can just to feel that warmth again.

“Are you okay?” Grayson asks and then straightens for a moment. “Stay right here.”

They disappear, and I’m afraid for a moment that somehow I’ve driven them away., though I don’t know what I’ve done. They return with a few plush-looking things and hand them over to me. They’re soft to the touch; not warm on their own, but Grayson seems to have lent some of the warmth from their hands to these things. It’s a soft, gentle warmth. I hold it close.

“Look,” they say, “I don’t know what situation you’re in right now, or if things are okay. But I’m here every day all day just because I can be, and I’ll be here tomorrow if you will. Strangers can take care of each other like that. Okay?”

They offer a hopeful smile, and I offer one in return. To twist my mouth in a friendly way feels like the opposite of the original intention; it’s an unnatural feeling to move my face just for someone else’s sake. I do it anyway. “Thank you.” The words fit awkwardly in my mouth. I say them anyway.

Without any more words, Grayson leaves. I settle onto the ground, relieved and content to be in the forest among the leaves and the undergrowth. I’m excited to see Grayson tomorrow and try some more tea and maybe learn some more words.

I think this is what I was meant to come to.