Green Eyes
By Laura Schiller
Based on: The Lorax (2012 film)
Copyright: Dr. Seuss
The first time I saw him, he was being dragged down the stairs of the Once-ler's office by a pair of security guards. He was scratching, kicking and scolding at the top of his voice. At first, I thought he was some kind of animal, although his fur was more orange than brown, and animals, as far as I know, don't have anything like his vocabulary. I was confused, but not for long – after all, I told myself, any enemy of the Once-ler's had to be a friend of mine.
"Hey!" I called. "What do you think you're doing? Let him go!"
"That's right, you knuckleheads," snapped the strange creature. "Listen to the lady. I can walk by my … huh?"
I'm not sure what distracted him so suddenly. Maybe it was the black-and-white horizontal stripes on my shirt and pants, maybe it was my dyed-pink hair styled into spiky tufts, most likely – most definitely – it was the SAVE THE TREES picket sign I was brandishing at the two guards. I'd thought it was a clever idea at first, but five hours later, I was utterly and painfully aware of how ridiculous I looked.
Not that he looked much better. What I had mistaken for fur was actually a bright orange tracksuit and sneakers, clashing violently with thick reddish-blond hair and a heavy mustache. He was short, stocky, and completely unimpressive; physically speaking. All the same, he stopped me in my tracks.
It was his eyes. They were green – not emerald green or dollar-note green, like many people's in this town, but the clear, pure, almost-forgotten green of the Truffula Forest when I was a little girl. I took a breath, and for once, the air didn't scratch my throat. It was cool, clean, with a hint of fresh earth and flowers. The man, whoever he was, looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back.
"Friend of yours, is he?" grunted one of the guards.
"Uh … yes. Yes, he is. I can vouch for him. I promise he won't give you any more trouble."
I straightened up my sign and slung it over my shoulder.
"That'll be the day," said the other guard, rolling his eyes. Their captive snorted, as if he agreed.
"Look, guys," I said, holding out my hands. "It's already getting dark. You must be just about ready to go home, right? Back to your beer and your TV or whatever you do for fun. It would be a shame to have to arrest this man right now – let alone me, when I'm not even breaking any laws. Right?"
I batted my eyelashes and gave them my best smile, making the green-eyed man chucke to himself. The guards turned to each other and shrugged, with a motion so identical I wondered if they were twins.
"Mm, she's right, Chett."
"Reckon we should let 'em go, Brett?"
"Sure, why not?"
They dropped their prisoner on the ground, ignoring the way he stumbled when his feet hit the pavement, and kicked him in my direction. I reached forward to steady him, my hands on his shoulders. He was warm to the touch, pulsing with energy; it was like putting your hands on a running microwave, only stronger. Reluctantly, I let go.
"You got off easy this time," said the guard called Brett, shaking a warning finger, "But next time, you'd better watch out! The boss is getting sick of you, and honestly, so are we."
"We'll shoot next time," added Chett, slapping his gun holster. "See if we don't!"
They swaggered off, up the stairs and into the enormous double doors.
"You call that a threat?" the green-eyed man shouted after them. "Think you could hit me, when you couldn't hit a hummingfish in a barrel? I'd like to see you try!"
They ignored him.
"And you can tell your so-called boss I'm never giving up! He may break his promises, but I'm sure as sunlight never breaking mine! Do you hear me, flea-brains? Never!"
Their only answer was to slam the double doors.
He seemed to almost shrink before my eyes, bowing his shoulders, raising his hand to his head as if it were too heavy to support.
"Oh, why do I bother?" he muttered. "It's been so long … "
"I know the feeling," I said.
Then I blushed, because I really didn't know the feeling. That day's demonstration had been my very first. Still, it had felt centuries long, not only because it was cold and my feet hurt (my only jacket at the time was a Thneed, and how could I wear that to an anti-Thneed protest?), but because no one else had bothered to stay beyond the first fifteen minutes. Even Norma, the leader of the Truffula Club as we called ourselves, had left me behind. I didn't blame her – she was a single mother, after all, and her time was precious – but I had to admit, it had been a miserable couple of hours.
The stranger shot me a sharp, but not displeased look with those bright green eyes.
"Well, look at you," he said, smiling, as he took in my outfit and my sign once again. "'Save the trees', huh? I didn't think anyone still cared."
"I do," I replied.
"Guess the human species isn't a lost cause after all."
He took my hand, and the pollution seemed to fade even further – not only the air felt clean, but the noise of the street grew quiet, and even the smogulous smoke, drifting in lurid purple streaks against the sunset, faded in my eyes.
Touching him was like trying to put your arms around a Californian redwood, or running along the beach into the ocean. Even now, although he barely came up to my shoulder, his spirit towered over mine.
I could not believe I'd ever thought of him as small.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Slyly, charmingly – impossibly – he winked.
"Why don't you come with me and find out?"
/
The next morning, I woke up alone. I expected to have that morning-after feeling – a little sticky, a little sore, and a lot ashamed of myself – but instead I only felt warmth, as if someone had lit a candle inside me. I only wished he could have stayed for breakfast. Instead, it turned out, the little rascal had gone and raided my fridge.
I laughed until I cried; being angry didn't even occur to me. Of course the Guardian of the Forest wouldn't stay for breakfast while the animals went hungry.
My botany textbooks from college were all piled up on my coffee table, and on the very top of the pile was a book about trees. It was open to a painting of a Truffula forest, its sunset-colored tufts waving beneath a sunny sky. A note was stuck to the bottom of the page.
Remember.
/
I never told anyone what happened that night. First, they'd have thought I was either crazy, lying, or a valuable test subject for O'Hare's science labs. Later, after Ted Wiggins' famous smashing of the wall and planting of the first Truffula seed in two generations, they'd have thought I was trying to steal the boy's spotlight. But it's true all the same, and it's also true that nine months later, I gave birth to a daughter with red-golden hair and eyes the color of fresh grass. I watched her grow into a fierce, lively, outspoken young woman, and taught her everything I know about what nature used to be.
Without her, that seed might never have been planted. I am thankful for her every day.