*The Lorax belongs to Dr. Seuss. :)
The Onceler peeked out of his boarded window. That boy, what was his name, Fred? Jed? Shed? Oh whatever, anyway, he was back. Few seldom came to the Onceler, fewer with the right payment, and none had ever come back.
He had grown used to the solitude, being left to his own thoughts and self-loathing. And this kid was just kinda creeping him out. NO one comes back. NO one cares. Who was this kid, trying to instill hope - a hope that had shattered him ever so long ago - in his old ticker? He was supposed to leave, just like the rest of them. The girl with the funny glasses who remembered the softness of the trees. A middle-aged man who wanted his children to breathe fresh air. An elderly man just searching for the reason.
Annoyed, hoping hope away, the Onceler blurted, "Why are you so interested in trees, anyway? Why aren't you like other kids? Breakdancing and wearing bellbottoms and playing the Donkey Kongs?"
In the purple dark of the night, the Onceler could see the young boy blush and chuckle nervously. "Yeah. Right, right. I don't know. Uh, I just thought it might be kinda cool to have one."
Gotcha. The Onceler observed the boy, who was a fading shade of red and staring at his shuffling sneakers, rocking side to side. The Onceler softened. "Uh-huh. It's a girl, isn't it?"
The boy's - Ted! That was his name! - fading red face turned vermillion once more. He scoffed. "What? No!"
The Onceler sighed, feeling pity towards the naive boy and a sense of nostalgia. "Really? Because when a guy does something stupid once, well that's because he's a guy. But if he does the same stupid thing twice, that's usually to impress some girl." He crossed his arms and turned away from the boy, cracking open one eye to gauge his reaction.
Ted snapped out of his mortification. And with a defiant look, yelled, "Hey, she is not just some girl!" He went back to his somewhat-adorable, shuffling dance and mumbled, "She's a woman. In high school. And she loves trees. And I'm gonna get her one."
The Onceler thought he would choke on the sappiness of the situation. Then his sense of pity and nostalgia grew as he said, sarcasm clinging to every word, "Awww. How nice to see someone so undeterred by things like reality."
Ted straightened himself, untouched by the sarcasm. "Thank you."
After Ted left, the Onceler was once again left to his own thoughts. He sat in his old, rickety chair and glanced over at his very old snail, who looked back, watery eyes filled with sympathy for his old age. The Onceler stared at the light attempting to enter the room through the boarded window. A window boarded so that he wouldn't have to see, wouldn't have to remember, wouldn't have to wonder... though it didn't help. For sixty years, all he could think about, dream about, hope about, was her.
The Onceler leaned back into his chair, which like him, sighed with age. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the dust, the dust of good times, of memories, of her.
