I told Ted my story at a point long after it had started. But he did not need to know about my life; or at least, the unimportant stuff. I just had to tell him the bad that I did. After all, a human like me, if you can even call me that, deserves no respect, and Ted did not need to know about the emotional reasons that lead me to cut down the trees. At least, he did not need to know more about my life, more about when I was young and actually acted like a respectable human being. No, he just needed to know about the bad I had done, and how I really did not deserve to be forgiven.
But, if I were to really pinpoint the first link in the chain of my self-destruction that lead me to become the monster I am now, I would say it started a long time ago; even longer than the point where I had started telling my story to Ted.
"Hey Once-y! ONEC-Y!" One of my brothers screamed. I had no idea which one it was; in actuality, Bret and Chet sounded and acted identically.
"Come on out! We won't bite!" The other one shouted. It was true, they hadn't yet bitten me; but I had enough bruises and scars from when they picked on me and beat me up. I was the odd one out in the family; a very skinny boy with unusually long limbs and big eyes. I was smarter than both my brothers, a trait I was quite fond of; however, what I had in brains I made up for with lack of muscles. So day after day after day, they would find on reason or another to pick on me. But today was going to be different.
I was sitting behind a lump of hay, one of the many in our field. It was the only way to hide here; we lived amongst tons of plains, and with no trees to climb or hide behind, it was hard to avoid my brothers. Why do they pick on me so much, I wondered. Maybe they're just jealous because I'm the oldest, but the weakest.
"There he is!" One of them shouted. Oh no, I thought. I have ridiculously long legs… they'll probably see them… I could hear my brothers running towards me from the distance. Stay calm, Once-ler. You know how this is going to work. Everything will be fine, just stay calm… If things went like they usually did, one would come from the left and one from the right so I can't escape before they get to me.
"Gotcha!" They shouted at the same time. I shut my eyes tightly, ready for a blow. …It never came. I opened my eyes and, with a grin, saw that my trap had worked. I had spent all morning trying to think of a trap that could work without hurting my brothers, and I had succeeded. I had dug two shallow holes in the ground and covered them with a think layer of leaves so that when my brothers unwittingly stepped in them, they would trip and fall, giving me time to escape.
"Not this time!" I taunted, running backwards. I laughed at my confused brothers as I ran, until I bumped into something behind me.
"Once-y." My mom said sternly. I turned around and faced her. She looked down at me coldly, for at this point and time she was still taller than me. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Oh…" I gulped. "Hi, mom." She continued glaring at me.
"What in the world made you want to do that?" She asked.
"Well… they were gonna beat me up again…" I replied meekly.
"What?" She exclaimed. "My Bret and Chet would never do such a thing!" She pushed me aside and walked over to Bret and Chet. "Are you two ok?" She helped them up and I sighed. She never believed me when it came to these things. It didn't seem to matter how many bruises I got from them on a daily basis. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen again." My mom said to my brothers. They both ran past me and each gave me a punch, knocking me backwards.
"Better luck next time, Once-y!" They teased.
"See?" I said. Mom ignored me, as usual.
"Honey!" She shouted loudly. My dad poked his head out of the living room window.
"Yeah?" He shouted back.
"Will you take Once-ler to his room?" She pulled me up by my collar. "He was being a bad boy again!"
"Once-ler's never a bad boy!" Dad replied in protest.
"Just do it! I needed to go out shopping anyways. Chet! Bret! C'mon!" She said. "I need to buy y'all some new clothes. You keep getting them ripped!" Brett and Chet followed mom to the truck like lemmings and they drove off into the distance.
"Hey, Once-ler." My dad said after he came outside. "Were Bret and Chet picking on you again?" I nodded.
"Yeah." I smirked. "But I caught them in one of my traps today."
"You did?" My dad exclaimed. "Wait… you didn't hurt them, right?"
"Of course not! Just a little distraction so I could run."
"Well good." Dad said. "Fighting fire with fire is never a good thing."
"I know, I know." I said, rolling my eyes.
"Here, let's get you inside. Your arm's bleeding." I hadn't even noticed. I was so used to getting picked on that it all felt normal to be in pain. I got it when I had fallen, I figured. Dad lead me to my room, the attic. Most people would consider that as bad, but I enjoyed the attic; it was spacious and had plenty of windows, which gave me a nice view, despite the fact that there was nothing to look at except for the dreary, boring plains outside. I had enough in there to occupy my time: sewing materials, (because mom said that my body was too disproportionate for store-bought clothes and that I'd have to make my own), a children's guitar, art supplies… I almost wish I didn't have to leave. In my room, I didn't have anyone to scold or belittle me.
"This might sting a bit." Dad said, dabbing my scar with disinfectant.
"Owww…" I moaned. It didn't matter how many times I had this happen, I would never get used to it.
"Alright, there we go." Dad wrapped it with a bandage. "That should do it."
"Thanks…" I mumbled. We sat in an awkward silence for a moment. "Hey dad… why do Chet and Bret pick on me so much?"
"It's part of being a sibling, I guess." He replied. "That happened to me all the time when I was a kid."
"Why?"
"Probably because I was skinny and never got angry back at them." He said. "You and I are alike."
That was an understatement; saying that my father and I were alike was like saying that the ocean was damp. He was tall for his age like me, and fairly lean, (though not as stick-skinny as I was). He had messy, ebony hair and freckles speckled across his cheeks. It seemed the only thing that I had inherited from my mother was blue eyes. His were dark green.
"Hey, have you been practicing?" My dad asked, with a smile.
"Of course!" I beamed. "Lemme go get my guitar!" I hopped off my bed and ran to go fetch it. Meanwhile, my dad took his off his back and began strumming it. Dad could not be caught dead without that guitar strapped to his back. "Oh, I forgot to tell you dad! I wrote my own song!"
"Did you now?" He sat beside me and grinned. "Well, let me hear it!" I began to pluck at the strings nervously, worried that he might laugh. I took a deep breath, and began to play.
"Everybody needs a thneed~ a fine thing that all people need. Everybody-"
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Oncie, but what's a thneed?"
"Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you about that!" I shoved the guitar into his hands and ran to my sewing set on my desk. "Here they are!" I ran back to him and dumped the thneeds on his lap. "Well? What do you think?"
"Well…" he picked one up and examined it. "What is it?"
"I had some leftover cloth after I made some clothes… so I made that! A thneed! It's amazing, dad! It can do anything!" I grabbed one, that happened to be made of baby blue bunny print, and held it up proudly. "Well… at least it could do anything. I just… haven't found the right material yet."
"You want to sell that, son?" The tone in his voice sounded more stern than usual, so I wiped the grin off my face and put the thneed down.
"Sorry… is that a stupid idea?" I asked. I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up.
"Stupid?" He ruffled my hair. "Of course not! Nothing you put your mind to is stupid."
"But mom says-"
"Your mother doesn't know talent when she sees it, then." He said, grabbing one. "Now… what's wrong with the material?"
"I… I don't know. I just wanted something more absorbent, softer, just… better. Does that make sense?"
"I suppose so." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Well, consider me your first customer."
"What? No!" I snatched up all of the thneeds. "No one can have one until they're done! I don't want anyone getting something less than perfect!"
"Well… your choice." Dad put his wallet away. "You seem really determined to get that sold."
"Of course I am! Someday, I wanna be a success. And I know my thneed will take me there!"
"Well then. I'm rooting for you." Dad began to play with my guitar. "But before then, I'm going to have to get you a new guitar. An adult one."
"You mean it?" I asked, astonished. "I can get a big, electric guitar like you?"
"Of course! How can you expect to boast that jingle with a children's guitar like that?" He held his hand out to me. "Tell you what: next time we can, I'll take you shopping and look for some. Deal?"
"Deal!" I replied, shaking his hand eagerly. "Thanks, dad! "
That night, I heard loud banging coming from downstairs; this meant mom and dad were fighting again. This happened a lot, and I usually slept through it, but tonight was much louder than usual. Mom had a terrible habit of throwing things when she was mad, but this only seemed to apply to when she was mad at dad. I heard muffled screaming coming from downstairs, so I pressed my ear against the floorboards. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out what they were saying. All I knew for sure was that mom was yelling the loudest and dad seemed much calmer. I heard the yelling get louder and banging more frequent, and I couldn't take it anymore. I hid myself under the covers and wrapped the pillow around my head tightly, trying to drown out the sound. Finally, it stopped. I waited intently for a few minutes and heard nothing. Finally, I heard footsteps approaching my room. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to feign sleep. If it was my mom, I'd be in trouble, even if I didn't do anything. The door creaked open, and I relaxed a bit. The footsteps sounded calm and relaxed. It was my dad. I heard him go to the corner of my room, and set something down with a thud.
"Dad?" I asked. He flinched at the sound of my voice, obviously startled.
"O-oncie!" He said, turning quickly. "You're still awake?"
"Yeah." I nodded. " What happened? What are you guys fighting about?"
"We're not fighting, Oncie. Just discussing." He said, smiling sadly. "But go back to bed! Or lie down at least. You're not allowed to see this until morning!"
"Is it a gift?" I asked. "It's not even my birthday."
"Well… you'll see. Just don't look, okay?" I laid back down so I couldn't see whatever dad was doing, and waited for him to come over. He kneeled down beside my bed, and that's when I noticed a huge, bloody bruise on his cheek.
"Dad-"
"It's nothing." He said, covering it with his hand.
"But dad-" I reached my hand out, but he just shoved me away.
"It's nothing a bandage can't take care of. But Oncie…" He sounded more serious than usual. "I'm going to be going on a little… trip."
"A trip? " I asked. "Where are you going? Can I come with you?"
"No… I…" he stroked my hair. "I need you to stay here. You're the oldest boy. And I want you to take care of your mom."
"But she doesn't like me."
"Don't say that!" He sighed. "Anyways… I love you. You know that, right?"
"Of course! I love you too, dad."
"Thank you." He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I'll see you soon. I promise. Now go back to bed."
"Alright. Goodnight, daddy." I closed my eyes and, being who I was, fell asleep in an instant.
I woke up early the next day. Though I was the heaviest sleeper, I got up the earliest. The sun was just rising, and I smiled, eager to try and perfect my thneed as well as my guitar playing. I went to the corner where my guitar usually sat, only to see it was gone. In it's place was dad's beautiful electric guitar.
"What is this…?" I wondered aloud. Dad never went anywhere without his guitar. Something must have been wrong. I found a note folded between the strings of the guitar. It was my dad's writing. He was left handed, so all of his words tended to smudge and look messy.
Dear Oncie,
I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother doesn't want me around anymore. I want you to know Once-ler, that you did nothing to cause this. Don't you ever think that. But… this isn't goodbye. I promise, I'll see you soon. I would have brought you with me, but I'd rather you stay in a secure, stable home, instead of wandering around like me. Believe me, you'll be better off with your mother and your brothers than with me. Besides, they need you to take care of them. You're the oldest boy, after all. And… your mother said she might have her sister and her husband come over to help out. So it'll be a full, happy house. You won't even notice I'm gone! But, I want you to keep my guitar. No worries, I'll find another! And I want you to have something to remember me by. You can perfect your thneed jingle with that as well. I can't wait to see it when it's finished, and I'd love to have one!
I'll try to keep in touch, Oncie, I promise. I love you. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise. I'll see you soon.
Love, Dad.
I stared at the letter for a good twenty minutes, unsure of what to do. Should I cry? Get mad at him? Get mad at myself? Should I try to run away? I didn't know what I was supposed to do. He doesn't get it, I thought. I can't stay here alone without him, I can't! Without him, there was no one to cheer me up, no one to call me "Oncie" in such a kind tone, there was no one to compliment me and tell me I did well. That was all gone. Gone. I reached over and grabbed the guitar gently, as if it were a fragile piece of china. I strummed the first couple of notes in my song. This guitar sounded way better than my mediocre children's one.
"Everybody needs a thneed…" I began, far too downtrodden to sound like a sales jingle. "A fine thing that… that…" I lost it. I put the guitar down and sobbed into my hands. A million thoughts swirled around in my mind, and I couldn't stop the flow of tears. I have to make the thneed perfect, I thought. If I do something right like that…
Maybe he'll come back.
