Waking up bright an early the next morning, a still healing John Dory put his plan into action. Then he did the same thing the morning after that, and the one after that, and even the one after that...
From resuming the level of house work and chores now typical of his efforts, to tidying up the exterior of the pod top to bottom, and beginning a rigorous schedule of maintaining his brothers personal hygiene, appearance, and behavior John Dory's days weren't just full, they were overflowing with responsibility.
More than that however, they were overflowing with anxiety. He was used to the constant nervousness of waiting for mom to become something hideous, the need to keep his secret stashes of snacks well stocked, and his usual chores done. The new fear of his father's temper, accompanied by the weight of his community's scrutiny, and duty of keeping his brothers in line however, was nearly enough to break the child.
Most nights the boy couldn't sleep well. His mind would buzz too loudly with those angry hornets that had taken up residence in his brain. In the fevered beat of their wings John Dory could hear the remarks of Gigi's family, and those of his neighbors which he was now keenly aware of. Everyone thought poorly of them, everyone hated them, everyone but his grand-folks... but that was just because they were lonely.
More often than not, the pressure of all of it would crush his ribs, squeezing the very air from his lungs, building in his head until colorful splotches danced through his vision as much needed rest eluded him. Still though, he wouldn't cry. He didn't have the time or energy to waste on tears. Instead he laid there, night after night, wide awake, thinking.
Making lists helped. A running catalog of each and every task he intended to complete recited to himself in the dark with the same comforting repetition as one of Clay's prayers.
After a while Mom, dad, and Grandma Rosiepuff all seemed to take notice of this change, as they watched John Dory's immense efforts to try and fix their broken family. As a result each and every one of them tried to sabotagehis work. A part of him hated them for it. Didn't they want to be better? Didn't they want all of the whispering and looks to stop? Didn't they hate being the way they were? Weren't they as embarrassed and ashamed as he was?
From his early morning race against mom to be the first up, and get the cleaning started, which mom was, in John Dory's opinion, lackadaisical about, to his frequent arguments with dad about his brother's conduct, and the vast amout ofstuff they just didn't need, John Dory was at his wits end! But, the two always seemed to have an answer for the foils to his work.
Mom would always say she couldn't sleep as she got up earlier and earlier each day just to vex him. John Dory would walk into the kitchen ready for the task ahead, only to find mom waiting for him as she sipped her morning tea. Then, with no other recourse he would sulk over to whatever breakfast she had prepared for him, and devise ways to get around her as he stared at some missed area. Clumps of dust seemed to ever reside in the corners of the room. Clumps he resented her for. Clumps he would tidy away with a damp cloth whenever the opportunity first presented itself.
Dad always had an argument lined up each time John Dory confronted him over the management of the household, the clutter, the mess, and the way his brothers presented themselves to the world. Dad would listen to his concerns, only to counter that the boys were just being boys, and acting their age. He would say that he had worked hard to provide for a comfortable life for his family, one that he was proud of, and that there would be no such culling of things John Dory felt got in the way, toys, or otherwise.
Dad had caught John Dory disposing of a few unnecessary items in spite of his lectures more than once. As a result time-outs were becoming a frequent part of John Dory's new routine, one for which he despised his father.
Grandma however, was the worst offender of the three. She made a habit of leaving him out of the chore he loved most by hurridly washing and hanging the laundry all on her own. Whenever she found him looking towards the wash-bin she would tell him to go play and leave it at that. It wounded John Dory in more ways than one, for surely she, of all Trolls, could see their faults. Hadn't that been what brought her into their lives so long ago? Seeing how broken they were, and having a desire to fix them.
There was a stretch of time where he didn't talk to Grandma anymore. It hurt both of them very deeply.
Yet, out of everyone, the ones who wounded the well intentioned little boy the deepest were his own brothers.
Spruce and Clay went from unintentionally forgetting to include him in their games, to actively ignoring, and excluding him. The trio fought often, and over everything from brushing their hair, to cleaning up after themselves, and each and every infraction of conduct when they left the house. At times it felt like they were misbehaving on purpose, acting up, and acting out just to spite John Dory, and get under his skin.
Didn't they understand that he was doing all of this for them? That he was just trying to make them better? That he was just trying to ensure that they didn't have to live with all the shame and embarrassment he felt day in and day out?
In the end John Dory found himself lonelier than ever as he fought to save his family, a family that seemed forever at odds with him.
By the time Floyd was crawling John Dory felt that he was despised by everyone he loved, save for the baby. He doted on Floyd, and spent what free time he could find with him, seeing as the other two didn't want him around. Still, John Dory didn't give up on his valiant crusade to right his family, and correct the course of their lives.
By the time Floyd was walking the adults seemed to reconcile themselves to the fact that John Dory wouldn't be relenting. Slowly they accepted the duties and responsibilities he'd given himself. Mom still tried to wake around the same time he did to make him something to eat, but she stayed out of his way as he cleaned. Grandma welcomed him back into the washing circle, and dad, the most stubborn of them all, created a new system of organization for the toys with color coded bins.
After that things seemed to find a comfortable balance, and as long as everything went smoothy John Dory found it easier to sleep, easier to breathe, easier to simply get by. It was good, even when something unexpected happened. Even when gray or radiance disrupted their lives and he had to wear a false smile to fool the neighbors it was manageable, because John Dory worked so hard to keep it that way.
For the first time, in a long time, he was happy. Exhausted, but happy.
Floyd himself fit into the family as though there had been a place reserved for him. There wasn't the tension and emotional outbursts Spruce had displayed after Clay was born, or the chaotic upheaval of daily activities. It all just worked somehow, and that was almost entirely due to the fact that as Floyd grew and developed everyone seemed to have a hand in caring for him. Spruce and Clay toned down their games so that he could keep up, the grownups took extra care around meals and bathtimes, and John Dory kept a keen eye out for signs that he was beginning to get winded or rundown and ensure that his baby brother got the rest he needed.
Throughout all of it, it was Floyd's tiny, rasping voice, that seemed to kindle a most protective nature in his family. His harsh whisper was a constant reminder of his difficult start to life, and of the trials the thin, sickly child was sure to face in the future. It was a reminder that kept everyone cautious of Floyd, and he in turn, became cautious of the world.
And so the years passed with their peaks and valleys, as they always seemed to, unnoticed, and unmarked save for the occasion of birthdays. It was the year of John Dory's twelfth birthday however, that would change everything.
The first day of that fateful year John Dory woke, blinking into the cool, familiar light of very early morning. Whatever sound had roused him must not have been of any consequence, because now his room was muted, the colors dulled by the wash of predawn light that chased away the shadows. Blinking heavy eyelids the boy rolled towards the wall and settled into his pillow, trusting himself and the learned skill, that he would be able to rise with the sun when it peaked into full bloom.
When he did open his eyes again John Dory let out a huge, satisfying yawn. The room felt warmer now, fresher somehow, than it had before the sun rose from its slumber to cast its green light through the canopy. Getting up he shuffled to the bathroom where he relieved himself, washed his hands, and then his face. In the living room John Dory froze at the sight of Floyd curled beneath a blanket on the couch.
His heart rate picking up speed at the sight of his baby brother sleeping on the sofa, John Dory began to question himself about the unusual happenstance. Had he wandered in here looking for something? Had he been sleepwalking? There had been a brief bout in time where Clay would stumble through the pod in his dreams. Maybe he was sick? John Dory thought with alarm as he pictured their parents sneaking into the boys' bedroom and bundling a feverish Floyd away.
Creeping towards him the big brother rested the back of his hand softly against Floyd's forehead. There was no fever, he realized, wracking his brain for any other symptoms he might have overlooked, sneezing, coughing, and the like, but he couldn't think of anything. That was when he heard the sound of a cup being returned to its saucer. Turning he saw dad peering through his thick reading glasses at the book in his hand, a cup of coffee beside him on the table.
Spruce was at the table too, his head resting atop folded arms as he dozed in his chair. Curiosity slowly managed to eclipse John Dory's concern as he found himself wondering what they were doing up so early. Tiptoeing towards them he found mom and Grandma talking with easy smiles with one another in the kitchen while Clay busied himself licking something off of a rubber spatula.
Everything seemed good, and peaceful, and right. Glancing around a smile spread across the boy's face as he took his first notice of, not only how clean, and neat the pod was, but of the decorations that adorned it as well. That's right, today was his birthday. Watching his family for a few treasured moments John Dory wished then that he could somehow freeze time and save this perfect serene snapshot of his family forever.
Then, it all came crumbling down when Clay spotted him.
"SURPRISE!" Clay shouted with feeling.
Dad gave a start, staining his book with coffee. Mom squeezed the piping bag she held too tightly, shooting a stream of green frosting across the counter. With a snort of surprise Spruce shot up in his seat, and slipped out the chair hitting his chin on the table as he tumbled to the floor. Grandma jolted, patting a hand lightly over her chest as her heart began to race. Floyd jumped and fell off the couch. John Dory hurried to cover his ears, but it was too late, they were already ringing with the overwhelming echo of Clay's enthusiasm.
For a heartbeat no one moved.
"Happy birthday!" Clay, oblivious to the chaos he'd just unleashed went on, beaming brighter than his hair.
John Dory heaved a sigh as the joy and weightless he'd felt was once more replaced by the heavy mantle of the oldest brother. He could do nothing but give a tight lipped smile to his family as Spruce, chin bleeding, and baby Floyd gasping hard, began to cry. A flourish of commotion erupted immediately afterwards as dad scooped Spruce from the floor and ran him to the sink while mom and grandma fumbled with dish-towels to staunch the bleeding.
Scooping baby Floyd up John Dory sat with him on the floor, while Clay frantically begged the question, "What happened?" Over and over again, tears in his eyes as he tried to make sure Spruce was alright.
"Its ok," John Dory murmured hugging baby Floyd from behind. "Deep big-boy breaths. Slow it down. Slow it down. Big-boy breaths." he said repeating words the adults spoke often in this type of situation.
Breathing slowly, thoughtfully, as he tried to lead by example John Dory felt his own heartbeat beginning to ease as the anxious knots that had formed in his stomach unwound themselves. Baby Floyd soon relaxed, his rasping and wheezing giving way to calm, clear breaths as he leaned back into the embrace.
"Good job, baby Floyd." John Dory smiled, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead.
Floyd, pale, and a little shaky, smiled up at him. "Happy birthday!" he whispered.
"Thanks." John Dory laughed.
And like that, almost as soon as it began, it was over. With the chaos reigned in, Spruce bandaged up, and the icing cleared away, everything was once more as it should have been.
It wasn't long before John Dory found himself at the table, surrounded by his family, his stomach filled with a flock of excited butterflies as they sang him a Happy Birthday. It was fun, and exciting, and embarrassing just like all the birthdays before. He couldn't help grinning even as he squirmed, his gaze struggling to avoid direct contact with anyone. He hated being the center of attention, but, it was kinda nice too.
After the song came blowing out the candles, only- John Dory felt suddenly nauseated by the idea of cake. Staring at the thin coils of smoke moving towards the ceiling he grimaced.
"Its alright sweety," mom murmured half hugging him, as she picked the cake back up with her free hand. "We're going to have breakfast first."
"Thank you, mom." the birthday boy sighed with unexpected relief.
"What?" Clay shrieked.
"Its John Dory's birthday." Dad explained. "And he likes things done a certain way, and 'cake isn't a food-'"
"'Its what you eat after your food.'" the bemused adults chorused John Dory's deeply held sentiment.
"Besides, if you want cake for breakfast on your birthday you can." Mom added with a wink.
"Really?" Clay gasped.
"And ice cream?" Spruce was quick to add.
"Anything you want, Sugar Plum." Grandma Rosiepuff promised, reaching out to squeeze Spruce's hand.
After breakfast, an event that in spite of John Dory's best efforts, had been a rushed affair, they ate his cake. Cake, which tasted much, much better with real food in his belly, even if John Dory had, had to wolf it down to keep up with the excitably whiney Clay.
"Open my present first!" Clay shouted when he had licked his plate clean of icing.
Without waiting for anyone else to finish, or get a word in he took off like a streak of lightning, returning moments later with a haphazardly wrapped bundle.
Smiling awkwardly John Dory started pulling at the paper.
"Just rip it!" Clay begged with anticipation.
"I can help!" Floyd was quick to offer from where he sat on dad's lap.
Giving in, again, John Dory sacrificed the pretty looking paper for his brother's impatience. Beneath it he immediately recognized the little Troll figure as one from Clay's favorite toy set. John Dory felt his smile waver as the thrill and curiosity was replaced by disappointment. Then he noticed the hair, sloppily re-painted green.
"Its you!" Clay smiled, bouncing on his toes, hopefully. "Do you like it? I made it myself!"
"I love it!" John Dory replied, and realizing that Clay had ruined one of his own toys to give him a gift, he knew he meant it too.
Spruce climbed down from the table as his brothers hugged, and moved to retrieve a stealthily hidden sheet of paper from the counter top. Hiding it again, this time behind his back, the purple haired boy seemed embarrassed as he shuffled closer.
"Its not as great as Clay's." he muttered before thrusting the paper forward.
John Dory took the drawing, and found that contrary to the rushed works Spruce would start and finish in a single sitting this was something he had clearly worked on for a long time. It was a picture of the two of them on the swing-set at the park. They were smiling, their hair slicked back by the wind, and John Dory was airborne.
"Its from when you showed me how to jump off the swings." Spruce muttered. "I was scared, but you helped me be brave. I know it's not good, I'm sorr-"
John Dory in a reenactment of the drawing leaped out of his seat to envelope Spruce in a hug. "Its perfect! Really! I love it!" he promised.
"For reals?" Spruce asked anxiously.
"For reals!" John Dory promised, staring at the drawing as a rush of brotherly pride filled his chest.
That's right, he thought, Spruce had been scared, until he'd promised that everything was going to be alright, and John Dory always kept his promises.
John Dory couldn't help giving a little dance of excitement as he stared at the image, feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't half as hated as he believed he was.
"Can I be next?" Floyd rasped, after sputtering on a drink of water.
"Sure can!" Dad smiled as he helped him down.
The six year old trotted off to reach far beneath the couch. "No one looks here!" he wheezed, struggling to reach the gift he'd so thoughtfully stowed away.
Once he'd been successful in retrieving it baby Floyd hurried back, all smiles. "Ta-da!" he announced holding out a lumpy... something made of dried salt-dough.
"Thanks!" John Dory could hear his voice warble in confusion.
"Its a puffalo!" Floyd added.
"Oh!" John Dory nodded, suddenly able to make out the figure of his baby brother's favorite animal in the bumps. "I li-ove it!" he said, trying hard to remember what he'd said to the other two. It had to be equal, it had to be fair, he had to like all of their presents the same or it would hurt someone's feelings!
Little Floyd leaped into his arms for a hug John Dory wasn't entirely prepared for, knocking him onto his butt.
"I guess that just leaves us, doesn't?" Dad asked, grinning brightly at the genuine display of love his sons had shown.
Mom and grandma, just as eager as the kids, rushed away together whispering and snickering as they went.
His heart suddenly racing, John Dory had to tell himself not to expect too much, after all, bicycles were expensive. Watching them return carrying a large, floppy bundle, the twelve year old knew he was right to curb his anticipation. Still, for just a second, it was hard to keep the smile up.
"You have no idea how hard it was to keep this a surprise!" mom smiled, her color bright, lustrous, and happy.
"You're telling me, I thought I'd never get my craft room back!" Grandma laughed.
Giggling the two placed the crinkling bundle into John Dory's awaiting arms. It wasn't very heavy, he realized then, certainly not as heavy as he'd expected. It was just really cumbersome. Taking a breath as he hyped himself up for whatever they had given him John Dory tore into the wrapping paper. Inside he found a large, warm quilt. Made up of a myriad of many different colored squares, likely leftovers from various projects mom or grandma has tackled over the years, it was stunning to look at.
His toes curling anxiously John Dory couldn't help but wonder if it was just as nice to touch. Cringing he dared run his hand across the quilt top. Thankfully, not a square seemed to be made of bad fabric, not too soft, not too rough, and none of it snagging.
"I love it!" he grinned up at them.
"Open it up!" mom told him in a bubbly tone.
Curious John Dory slowly unfurled the large blanket until a sturdy canvas backpack tumbled out onto the floor. Setting the quilt on the table John Dory picked it up, examining its many pockets, and latches. He was of two minds about the backpack; eager to see what he could fit inside, but also dubious about its overall practicality. When would he ever need such a big pack?
Well, he could always use it to shuttle things back and forth from Grandma's, he rationalized. With Clay always forgetting things, and Floyd's most treasured possessions being tiny little knickknacks it would be easier to transport everything at one time now that he had this. Still, it wasn't exactly what he was hoping for.
Or was it? He argued with himself in the constant whirl of noise that was his mind. It would certainly make his life easier, that was sure. Maybe this was exactly what he needed afterall.
"Its great!" he smiled, hugging the pack all the while hoping to be as convincing to them as he was trying to be with himself.
"Oh good, I was hoping you would!" Grandma grinned.
"They go together!" Mom chimed in, clearly having a hard time containing herself.
So that was where Clay got it, the eldest thought with good humor.
John Dory stared between the two gifts trying and failing to piece the puzzle together. The only thing he could think of was sleepovers. He looked at the blanket, the four of them could fit comfortably beneath it. The look on mom's joyous face however, made him doubt the conclusion he'd jumped to.
"How?" he asked with a wairy sense of optimism.
"Yeah, how?" Spruce echoed beside him.
"Well, first you need this." Dad, who'd been unintentionally forgotten at the far end of the table intoned as he stood and pulled a circular metal object from his pocket.
Taking it, John Dory found that the metal object felt deceptively heavy in his hand. Turning it over between his palms the boy's face brightened with a grand smile when he saw his named lettered curling loops of gold, engraved upon the silver face of the device.
Being the oldest, and having to care for the others nothing had ever really felt like it belonged to him. This however, was undeniably his.
"What is it?" he breathed, tracing his name with a type of reverence.
"Its called a compass." Dad explained coming to look over his shoulder. "Press the button at the top."
Doing as he was told John Dory gave a little start when the face of the compass popped open, revealing a glass shielded arrow, and many markings beneath. When John Dory turned to show his brothers he was surprised to find that the arrow was determined to stay exactly where it was. No matter how he turned the compass the arrow wobbled, but never wavered from its task. In a rush of fascination and excitement John Dory laughed and stomped his feet, everything bubbling up inside, too much to contain.
"No matter what the arrow points north." Dad told him. "So no matter where, or how far you go you can always find your way back home as long as you know where you started."
"I love it!" John Dory managed to gush as he pulled his compass away from Clay's curious reach, as he continued to spin with the device.
"I'm glad." Dad said, allowing his son the time to lose himself in the activity before adding, "It'll be a useful tool for your present."
For a minute these words didn't register with John Dory. "Wait, isn't the compass my present?" he questioned, looking from one adult to the next.
"In a way yes, but your actual birthday present is a camping trip, just the two of us." Dad smiled, reaching a hand to rest on John Dory's shoulder.
"Surprise!" Mom smiled.
"Happy birthday, jellybean." Grandma added.
John Dory didn't know how to respond, he was dazed, confused, excited, and afraid. He'd never left the tree before. He'd never been separated from his brothers before. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than... than... a break, but he was terrible for thinking like that! He was the worst big brother ever! Besides what if something went wrong while he was away?
"Everyone's going to be alright." Grandma Rosiepuff whispered as she pulled John Dory into a hug. "I'm going to stay here with your mom and the boys. You just have fun, ok?"
John Dory nodded, a pang of guilt stabbing him in the stomach as from over Grandma's shoulder he saw mom's expression falter. She'd heard, she knew, he'd hurt her.
"I love you mom!" John Dory exclaimed trying desperately to fix things with her as he pulled away from Grandma and threw himself at his mom.
"I love you too, and its alright." she murmured, alternating running her fingers through his hair and rubbing his back when the softly crying little boy made it clear that he wasn't letting go anytime soon. "I'm alright baby, I promise. Go get ready." she said hoping to soothe him.
"I'm sorry!" he whispered, feeling like the worst person alive for hurting her feelings, for doubting her, for being afraid.
"Its alright. I understand. Go and enjoy yourself," she laughed, pulling back so that he could see there had been no true harm done. "You're burning daylight, JohnDory. Go!" she instructed, turning him towards the living room and giving him a playful smack on the bottom to hurry him on his way.
Hesitating John Dory glanced around at his family. His brothers were whining and complaining loudly about how unfair everything was even as dad promised them the same type of adventure on their twelfth birthdays. Grandma nodded to him encouragingly from where she was clearing off the table, and mom watched him with a look of gentle expectation.
Everything was happening so fast and all at once that hishead was spinning in such a tight whirl it felt like it was about to pop off. Looking down at the red arrow still in-hand, as if it could provide him an answer John Dory felt lost.
"Go pack, my love." Mom called to him.
"What do I pack?" he heard himself mutter.
"Enough clothes for five days." Dad called to him from over the ruckus of the others.
Stomach clenching John Dory's eyes snapped up to meet his father's, his anxiety plain to see.
"I'm not planning to be out that long," Dad explained. "But we'll need the extra clothes if it rains. You have to remember, we're not going to have a tree for shelter."
John Dory's heart squeezed. It all felt so daunting. Nodding his understanding he floated with a half conscious sense of awareness to his bedroom where he packed and repacked his new bag until everything was perfect.
"Do you have everything you need?" Dad, sorting through a large pack of his own, asked when John Dory had returned.
Reaching into his left pocket the boy squeezed his Gigi Stone for comfort and nodded.
"Do we have to go right now?" he asked wincing with the expectation of his father's disappointment.
"I'd like to, yes." Dad nodded. "I know we've sprung all of this on you at once, and you're probably very nervous and unsure of what to expect, but I think you'd have more fun if we left now, before you have time to dwell on those fears, and play-out imagined scenarios in your head."
Looking at his toes John Dory squeezed the rock even tighter, but managed to utter, "Ok."
"You're so lucky!" Clay shouted, running up to him then, tail swishing.
"I wish I could go." Spruce grumbled, arms folded as he sat in the corner of the couch.
"When you're older." Dad promised.
"Dad packed like a hundred, hundred candy bars!" Floyd said with wide sparkling eyes.
"And mom tied money to them!" Clay added, bouncing.
"Don't get too excited, they aren't for us." Dad shook his head as he came over to adjust the straps on John Dory's backpack.
"Who are they for then?" the twelve year old asked, intrigue vying against his anxiety.
"You'll see." Dad told him.
John Dory noticed dad give mom a look from where he stooped. "'You didn't have to do that.'" he mouthed.
"I know." Mom said softly from somewhere behind John Dory.
"I love you." Dad declared.
"I love you too." mom walked over to give dad a kiss.
With that, and after a final run through of dad's extensive checklist they said their goodbyes and left.
It felt too difficult to leave knowing that he wouldn't see any of them for several days. Yet, at the same time, it was all too easy, almost as though he'd be right back. Knowing grandma was there helped. Knowing he'd upset mom didn't. The hope tinged jealousy that glowed in his brothers' eyes made John Dory feel incredibly lucky, and terribly selfish all at the same time. He was excited to go, and dreaded the prospect of leaving all in one confusing maelstrom of emotions that made his stomach hurt.
Then there were all of the unknowns. What was it like outside of the tree? What were they going to eat? Where were they going to sleep? What if it really did rain? What if they ran into wild animals? What of they got lost? What if he never saw the rest of his family ever again? The hornets burrowed these frantic questions deep into his brain, until he was dizzy with fear.
By the time the boy's feet had carried him well past familiar branches and avenues, leading him to sprigs and boughs strange and unknown, John Dory had worked himself into a frenzy. Vision obscured by tears he stumbled onward wringing his tail tuft tightly as he tried to focus on where he was going. His head was spinning, his chest hurt, his breath was hitched, he could taste bile rising in his throat, and he couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. He-
"Want to go home?" Dad asked softly from where he walked beside his son.
Trying not to crumble, trying to act his age, John Dory looked at his dad with heartbroken shame and nodded his head.
Dad's blue eyes shimmered with a guilt all his own, he sighed. "Its alright, kiddo. We won't go if you don't want to. This is your birthday. I just wanted you to relax for a change." the man shook his head solemnly. "It was too presumptuous of me to plan this out, without consulting you, or considering how you might feel about being so far from home."
John Dory felt horrible. All he seemed able to do was hurt and disappoint the ones he loved. Hehatedhimself for that.
What made it worse was that his family had clearly been orchestrating this for some time. John Dory wished he wasn't so scared of everything all the time. He wished there was some way of knowing that his brothers would be alright without him. He wished he was different, better, than what he was. He wished there was a way to show dad that he wasn't angry, that he understood that his intentions had been well meaning.
Then John Dory replayed what dad had said in his mind, and slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Yeah it was pretty ostentatious of you." he agreed shuffling his nose.
Dad laughed.
John Dory dared to glance up at his father, hoping to have cheered him up with their shared love of words.
"You're one special kid, do you know that?" Dad asked reaching out to ruffle John Dory's hair.
All the twelve year old could do was shrug.
"It's fine, we'll find something to do at home." Dad nodded, as though confirming the plans to himself.
Relief washed over John Dory, and he found all of the tension was slowly draining out of him. Then dad spoke again.
"There is just one thing I would like to do before we go, is that alright?" he asked, raising a brow in the boy's direction.
"What?" John Dory questioned skeptically, taking off to keep up with his dad who was headed straight for the trunk.
"We don't normally come down this far, so I'd like to visit the Root-System while we're here." Dad elaborated, leading the way.
"Why?" John Dory asked ducking into a hole that was either carved or burrowed straight into the wood.
Inside the tree, the complete shade gave the boy a chill. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light John Dory stopped in his tracks, mouth agape.
"Whoa!" he breathed in awe.
A spiraling staircase stretched as far up and he could see, and as far down as the deep, dark soil below. The inside was illuminated by various mosses and fungi, each a color and hue unique unto itself, and the air was moist and fresh with the breathing life of the tree. Tentative at first the boy reached out, and touched the lined wood beside him.
"That," Dad said pointing to a thick dark stripe in the wood near John Dory's thumb. "Was a good year for rain."
"How do you know?" he asked peering closer at the wood.
"The size of the ring, we're observing it from the side, but from above it's a perfect circle. The large band shows a year where the tree had everything it needed to expand and grow very quickly." Dad explained. "So it stands to reason that it had been a time of good rains."
"Oh," John Dory felt his brow furrow. "What's that?" he asked point to a dark spot.
"A wood knot. That's a place where the tree was trying to form a branch, but it didn't have adequate resources and had to stop."
"How do you know all of this?" John Dory asked as the slowly began their decent.
Dad shrugged. "Its important to know. We have a symbiotic relationship with our Pod Trees afterall. Though, some Trolls forget or neglect this fact."
"Symbiotic?"
"We depend on the trees for shelter, and some of our foods. The tree depends on us for fertilizer, and to help disperse its seeds." Dad went on. "Together we create a living system, one of give and take."
Trailing his fingers across the comforting bumps and ridges of the woodgrain John Dory found himself in deep contemplative silence as they walked. He'd never really thought of the tree as alive before. It was, however, deeply comforting to know that his tree, his home, should care for him just as deeply as he cared for it.
"Does the tree have a name?" he questioned.
"The standing were in is, as you know Puffseed Thicket, but I don't know if our particular tree has a name." Dad confessed. "Its just the western most tree."
"Westie." John Dory half-whispered to himself.
"The Root-System is important because that's how we provide for our trees." Dad, in one of his educator moods continued to say. "Its where our trash, and waste go to help keep the soil fertile."
John Dory grimaced, "That's where our poop goes?"
Dad laughed. "We'll it has to go somewhere!"
"That's disgusting."
"Disgusting, but necessary." his father confirmed. "Just like sorting through what can be composted and utilized by the tree and what is truly garbage."
"Trolls do that?"
Dad nodded. "Down here at the roots yes." here was where dad's face became shadowed with troubling thoughts. "It was once an honored privilege to care for the Pod Trees, but at some point in our history we forgot that, and classism and rank took over. Now the poorest of the poor scrape a living out of the refuse of others." he said, voice low and sorrowful.
Dad stopped and turned John Dory to face him as they neared the last loop of stairs. "You don't have to come all the way down with me if you don't want to." he said rifling through their bags as he spoke. "But if you do you're going to see people struggling, impoverished, and hungry."
John Dory's heart began to beat faster, he couldn't even imagine what terrible sights awaited them as his father measured him with his gaze.
"But, I feel like it's important for you boys to know how we're connected to our trees, how we're connected to our community, and how to love and appreciate not only what you have, but what others have not." Dad was speaking slowly, as he tried very hard to ensure that his words were being received with the same earnest nature he said them.
"Not only are we no better than the people in the roots, John Dory, but our very way of life would not be possible without them. They deserve our respect. They deserve our kindness and compassion. They deserve our love. And some-day when the world remembers how things should be, they will be given everything that we take for granted. Do you understand?" he asked.
John Dory's brows knit. He slowly rolled the thoughts and ideas around in his head. Not a lot of what his father hold told him made sense. If they relied on the tree than taking care of it was an important job. He couldn't understand how or why it could be seen any other way. And, of course he knew he wasn't better than anyone else, he saw every single flaw in the mirror every single day. Then he thought of Rook and Rowan. They had Come from near the top and looked down on John Dory. Maybe dad expected him to act like they did? The idea hurt his feelings. He could never be so cruel.
His thoughts cycled through again, and again, until he seemed to have sorted through them sufficiently enough to have reached an answer.
"That's why you have to be twelve." he announced.
Dad looked concerned, but gave John Dory the space to explain himself.
"Because, if you're not twelve you won't be old enough understand how important everything is." he reached out to touch the tree. "You said we're all connected, we keep the tree alive and the tree keeps us alive. So the people in the Root-System are the caregivers of our whole community."
"That's exactly right." Dad beamed with pride.
"Its sad, that they're poor though."
"It really, really is." Dad agreed.
"I think, I want to see." John Dory smiled with determination.
"That's my boy." Dad roughed his hair before producing stacks of the chocolate bars Clay had been mooning over, each with a dollar taped to it. "The kids usually come running when they see visitors from the canopy. They'll try to sell things they've made from recycled materials, or beg for charity." Dad had a serious look on his face again. "They're your age John Dory, and younger, and they deserve something nice, don't you think?"
"Yeah." John Dory grinned taking some of the sweet treats to hand out himself.
"But they're still our equals, do you understand?" dad's tone had an edge to it, and John Dory felt a brief flicker of fear, fear that he was in trouble.
He wasn't, but it was clear that he would be if he didn't take his father's words to heart.
"I understand."
Together they walked out into the great open beyond the tree, and John Dory felt the brush of grass against his knees for the first time. It was uncomfortable, and overstimulating to have so many cold tendrils of hair-like plants rubbing up against his legs, but he didn't have long to dwell on his discomfort, because before him stretched the Root-System, and the makeshift structures of those who called it home.
Just like with Gigi Tiger-Lily's Psithurism, dad's words had failed to prepare the young Troll for what he saw, and smelled.
There were mountains of trash heaped around the base of the Pod Tree with dozens and dozens of Troll picking and scrabbling through the garbage. They were thin, and dirty, but only the very tired and the most sickly among them stood out in their gray. The rest looked like any Troll he might have seen on a regular basis, and this struck him sideways. He hadn't known what to expect, and in some secret corner of his mind he'd been half prepared for them to look and behave like wild animals, but a few of them even paused their work to look up, smile, and wave.
They could have been his neighbors.
Theywere his neighbors.
And as he watched John Dory could make out the patterns that emerged from the heaps. Foodstuffs being checked over for spoilage, and sorted accordingly. Materials were scrutinized for re-purposing, and divided by utility. The true garbage lay far from Westie waiting to carted away, while anything that could be composted and used by the tree was pushed in wheelbarrows into a series of tunnels that led in and around the roots.
"Dad." John Dory whispered as the tears started to form in his eyes. "Do they eat our trash?"
"Not exclusively," Dad whispered back. "But yes."
John Dory had to sniff back his tears as a dozen or more children in grubby, thread-bare clothes came rushing up to meet them. All at once everyone seemed to be talking, they were asking him for things, offering toys and trinkets made of various discarded objects for money, their hands open they were pleading for something, anything they had to offer.
"Here you go." Dad called loudly over the clamor and commotion as he started to hand out the candy they'd brought with them. "Don't push, here's one for you."
A chorus of gratitude exploded around John Dory as he followed suit.
"Can I have one for my brother? He's sick." Called a green eyed girl.
"She doesn't have a brother!" Shouted an older boy behind her.
John Dory swallowed hard when a brief scuffle broke out. A sharp, "Hey!" from a nearby trash heap was all it took to break it up.
Everything was happening too fast. Everyone was too loud. Someone was pulling his tail! The chocolate was slipping through his fingers like water as they rushed into grab some, and John Dory couldn't keep track of who he'd given to and who he hadn't.
When at last father and son stood empty handed, watching the children scurry off towards an open patch of grass to play John Dory's heart was still racing. Never had he realized just how lucky he was. His family might be broken, but at least they had a Pod to live in, and food to eat, and clothes, and toys, and- and- everything. These people had nothing, but somehow they were still smiling.
John Dory's stomach knotted. Looking up at his father the twelve year old trembled like leaf.
"Dad." he whimpered. "I lied."
Dad raised a brow, "About what?"
"I don't understand!" the boy wailed as his tears finally broke.
"I know kiddo, I know. Neither do I." Pulling him into a hug dad let him cry, let him feel.
"Its not fair!" he sobbed.
"No, its not. I'm very proud of you though." Dad murmured.
Wrapping in dad's loving embrace, and somewhere beneath all of the heartache and the pain John Dory heard someone ask, "Is he ok?"
"Hes ok." dad promised.
"Are you ok?" the voice, a girl with lemon-drop eyes, and a dimpled smile asked, tapping John Dory on the shoulder, clearly dissatisfied with his father's answer.
John Dory gazed at her in shock. Her dress was cobbled together from rags, her hair was unwashed, and her fingers were covered in scrapes and scratches from picking through rubbish. She was his age. She was dirty, but pretty. And she was worried about him. But how could she be? She should have hated him. She didn't though, and that truth hurt the boy's heart.
"Ask if he wants to play!" a ruby complexioned boy called from where he stood with the group that had run off.
"Do you want to come play with us?" the girl grinned.
John Dory looked up to his father who smiled and said with a shrug, "Its up to you."
Stuck with nervousness about getting the rules wrong, or ruining their fun, or saying something wrong John Dory wanted to say no, but, she was holding her hand out towards him. She was smiling. The boy was waving him over. Some of the others started calling for him. "Come on green hair! Come play!"
Wiping his face John Dory took the girl's hand. Together they raced away to a place where the grass had been well-worn flat.
Struck mute by the sense of being a stranger in a foreign land John Dory could only wave when they'd reached her companions. They all seemed happy to have him there. He couldn't comprehend why, but was grateful nonetheless.
"Gonna play with your pack on?" someone teased.
Self conscious John Dory quickly slipped free from the backpack.
"Are you moving to a new Standing?" A blue kid with a runny nose asked with keen interest.
"Camping." John Dory managed.
"Oh, that's fun! Yeah, my mom says if things don't get better for us soon we're going to find a new tree." Blue chattered on.
"You've been saying that forever!" someone retorted.
"Have not!" Blue shouted with indignation.
"Enough!" the red boy who was clearly the leader of the group declared before turning his attention back to John Dory. "Do you know how to play soccer?"
John Dory shook his head.
"Its ok, we'll teach you. You're on my team." he said with authority, while the girl, once more holding his hand, bounced with excitement.
"Ok." John Dory agreed determined to get things right.
And he did.
Before the birthday boy knew it he was racing across the field, dodging, weaving, and laughing as they kicked and passed the tightly bound rag-ball. He'd even become so lost in the game that he hadn't registered his first ever goal until his teammates came crowding in around him, whooping and hollering as they cheered. By game's end he was panting, and his side was stitched, but he was also smiling brighter than he had in a long, long time.
"Bye Aqua, bye Coco, bye Glitz!" he called as they parted ways.
"Did you have fun?" Dad asked as he bent down to pick up John Dory's pack.
"So much fun!" the twelve year old panted. "Can we come back?"
"Of course we can." Dad smiled.
"So, are you ready to head home?" Dad motioned to Westie with his thumb.
"Oh." turning around the boy realized that he'd been enjoying himself so much that he'd completely disregarded the reason they were down there to begin with.
Turning back towards the forest that expanded far beyond any horizon John Dory had ever seen, even from his visit to the tree-top, he felt small. It was unsettling just how small he felt, a myriad of dangers and unknowns lurking within the undergrowth that lay beyond Puffseed Thicket. Taking a drink of water John Dory let his smallness fill him, then, after he'd accepted it, he let his worry for his brothers fill his well too.
Letting out a long slow breath he imagined the waters receding, just a little bit. He was still scared, and worried, but he had dad, and a part of him really did want to go.
With one hand around the Gigi Stone, he pulled his compass out with the other. "No," he shook his head. "I'm still scared, and I'm still worried about leaving, but I think I'm ready for an adventure too."
"Good." Dad grinned, leading the way.
"Dad?" John Dory asked abruptly as they followed a thin trail into the forest, though the thought had occupied his mind for several minutes now.
"Yes, John Dory?"
"We have a lot of toys." the boy mused, careful to avoid saying that they had "too many" toys.
"Mm-hmm." Dad grumbled.
"Instead of throwing them away can we bring some to my new friends?" he asked, testing the water.
Dad stopped in his tracks, staring. He seemed entirely dumbfounded, but John Dory couldn't think of what he'd said that was so wrong.
"You really are one hell of a special kid." Dad observed, with a warmth that radiated from deep within. "Yes. Yes we can."
John Dory flushed with an embarrassment he struggled to shrug off.
"Race you to the fork in the road!" Dad shouted, and without warning he took off at a run.
"Wait, what?" John Dory called chasing after him. "Why is there a fork? Who left it? Dad!"
