Elle trudged home slowly from the bus stop. The glorious sheen of astronomy class had worn off, but unfortunately, the lasagna stains had not. She was still covered in the saucy stains and could still hear the echoes of laughter and Kat’s chant ringing in her ears.
The New Kid had apologized several times and even offered to wash her shirt. It was a nice gesture, but unfortunately, he had asked her to take off her shirt so he could clean it, and once Kat heard that, there was no stopping the jokes. Elle ran straight to her best friend and confidant, Bathroom Stall #3.
The last four periods after lunch, Homeroom, History, English and Science, were disasters. Elle tried to carry her binder to hide the stains, which had inexplicably gotten worse with scrubbing in the sink, but it was hopeless. It looked like she had murdered a lasagna.
She didn’t even bother going inside the house, but instead unceremoniously dumped her backpack on the front doorstep and wandered around the house to the backyard. As she turned the corner of the house, she saw Night, the neighbor’s cat, slinking under some bushes, greedily licking his lips. Elle shouted and kicked a stone in his direction, trying to shoo him away from the yard. She often fed birds and squirrels in the backyard, and she didn’t want Night scaring them all away.
She tramped back down to the stream and found her favorite Thinking Stone and plopped down. She stared, transfixed, into the reflective waters below. Why couldn’t she have just one good day? Why did it have to be a series of disappointments and embarrassments? Sure, the day had started so great, so full of promise, and then reality had to come crashing back down on her. Literally.
Then she remembered—the meteor!
She scrambled to her feet and tried to remember the trajectory from last night. As far as she could remember, the blaze of light looked like it would land at the far end of the wood. She stomped off in the direction of Crater Creek. Mr. LaPlume seemed confident that there was no meteor last night, but Elle was certain that what she had seen was no dream. Even the New Kid saw it!
Following the small stream as it wound through the forest, she kept her eyes trained on the ground for any sign of impact. Everything looked fairly normal. She stopped and listened. The trees stretched up to the blue sky, and gazing up, she could see birds flying overhead. But the middle of the forest was still—more still than Elle remembered it ever being. Usually there was some birds chirping, or in the early evening like this, there should be grasshoppers chirping, or cycads buzzing. But there was nothing--no sound at all, except for the gentle bubbling of the stream. It was eerie to walk through the silent forest, but finally, she reached the edge of the Woods, and she stepped out into an opening near a broad rock-lined creek.
Crater Creek was cradled in the midst of the forest, a large stream with small boulders and rocks strewn haphazardly, as though exhumed from under the earth and tossed by careless giants. Elle glanced around. No meteor in sight. Nothing but the sound of rushing of the water. She sat down on a rock. Maybe LaPlume was right, after all.
The sky was much darker now and clouds were beginning to tower overhead while the wind whistled through the bare branches of the trees at the edge of the forest.
Her gaze wandered back to the stream. To her immense surprise, she saw a black object sitting a few feet away from the edge of the water.
At first, her mind raced back to her nightmare, and the strange creature crawling through the forest. Her heart started pounding. But as she got a better look, she realized that it was much too small to be the creature from her nightmare.
She got slowly to her feet and took a few tentative steps towards the strange object. She felt a compulsion to approach, as though drawn forward by an invisible magnet.
It was a small, smooth black box, about 6 inches on a side. It looked completely out of place among the brown and green leaves littering the ground. Despite a nagging thought, Elle was overcome with curiosity by the black box. She felt the urge to reach out and touch it. Elle extended a shaking hand and carefully felt the side of the object. It was very cold to the touch, and sent a strange vibration down her arm which, paradoxically, left her hand feeling pleasantly warm.
She took the box in both hands, letting the warmth trickle down her arms, and began turning it upside down and right side up, eagerly inspecting every inch of its surface. The sides were completely smooth like a river pebble, the edges polished into gentle curves. It was as pure black, like obsidian.
After several minutes of running her hands lightly along the surface, she noticed a miniscule dim blue light flashing slowly on one side of the cube. She touched the box at the spot, and suddenly, to her surprise, the box opened. The top unfolded like a spring-loaded jewelry box. Inside the box, bright red and blue lights blinked, sparkling like jewels. Elle hardly noticed the lights, however, because her eyes were glued to what was inside.
Amongst the flashing lights was the limp body of a dead frog. Elle almost dropped the box.
As she inspected it closer, she realized there was something strange about the creature (other than being dead in a mysterious box, that is). Elle had studied a good deal about frogs and she decided it was not a frog after all. It looked sort of like a cross between a frog and a gecko, or maybe a tadpole—as it had a little stubby appendage for a tail. But there was something even stranger about it, if that was even possible: it was a deep, dark metallic green color—not a natural color for a gecko or frog.
Elle gently dumped the sad little green body into her hand. It was about the size of a large walnut, but cold and limp. She wasn’t squeamish- she never had been- she just felt sorry for the little frog. She began walking carefully back through the quiet forest towards the house.
“Grandpa?” Elle called as she reached the backdoor and carefully navigated her way inside. The shabby green chair was empty, and grandpa’s book was perched carefully on the edge of the arm.
“He’s out back,” Aunt Mindy called from the kitchen. “And wipe your feet. I just had the carpet waxed.”
Elle carefully crunched over the carpet into the kitchen towards Mindy, who had her back turned towards Elle, reaching for the spice rack. She was in the middle of cooking something that smelled like burnt tires.
“He’s not out there. I thought maybe he came inside,” Elle said.
Mindy turned around with an annoyed look and glanced down at Elle’s hands. She did a comical, slow motion, silent grimace of disgust. After several seconds of mouthing silently, she seemed to find her voice again and screeched, “Eww!! What the HECK is that THING?!”
Elle looked down at the sad, limp body. She didn’t understand what Mindy was so grossed out about. It was interesting.
“I’m not sure, but maybe it’s a new species of frog or something,” she said excitedly. “It’s completely unique and its coloration suggests….”
“ELLE! PUT THAT DISGUSTING LIZARD-THING OUTSIDE!” Mindy’s voice slipped into a screechy falsetto.
“Actually, I think it’s a frog…” Elle started to say, but by the way Mindy’s eye was twitching, she was obviously in no mood to have an intelligent conversation regarding the phenotypic differences between reptiles and amphibians.
“NOW!” Mindy pointed emphatically outside with her wooden ladle. “And hurry back. It’s time for dinner. Make sure to wash your hands. With lots of soap,” she added as an afterthought.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Elle mumbled some choice curse words under her breath as she stepped outside onto the back porch, then spotted her grandfather on the back deck, pouring birdseed into the feeder, looking hopefully up at the empty tree branches. He was whistling a simple, jolly tune, oblivious to the fact that most of the seed in the bag was spilling out a hole at the back. He glanced at Elle as she approached and smiled.
“What’cha got there, Elle?” He asked, carefully setting the down the seed bag and dusting off his hands on his worn corduroys. To Elle's relief, he looked completely back to his normal self after last night's strange episode. He arthritically sat down and patted the bench beside him.
“It’s a little frog, I think,” Elle said, sitting down. “Actually, it’s probably a whole new, undiscovered super-evolved species of frog,” she said, trying to rally her natural enthusiasm. They both looked down at the unmoving body.
He scratched his stubbly chin, “Super-evolved, you say?” he asked doubtfully, eying the dead creature.
"Yes, it's a great example of Darwin's theory of Evolution through Natural Selection! We know that individuals have variation in appearance, just like this guy! It's what helps them survive and reproduce!" She exclaimed.
“Ahhh. Right. ‘Survival of the Fittest,’” his voice was laced with the tiniest undercurrent of skepticism.
“Exactly,” she said. They both stared at the unmoving body and Elle grudgingly had to admit that the dead frog didn’t look like it was about to win any survivalist contests any time soon. She scowled.
“Hmm…Back to the drawing board on this one, I guess,” her grandpa said, breaking the silence.
Elle’s scowl slipped and she felt a brief smile take its place as she glanced up at her grandpa, for once grateful for his detour into the silly, knowing that it meant that he was back to his old normal self. She never wanted to see him like he was last night ever again. He smiled back at her and put his hand on her shoulder.
“I think we should give this little guy a proper burial—a burial fit for a Super-Evolved being,” he continued grandly, one hand upraised. “Indeed! From one Super-Evolved being to another---it is the only thing to do! You know, this reminds me of the time we held the burial ceremony for Tutankhamen…”
Elle shook her head and smiled as her grandpa slowly walked toward the old tower in search of a shovel, happily launching into a story about being one of the High-Priests at the entombment of King Tut.
She followed her grandfather into the old observatory tower. Although it was once used as grandpa's astronomy tower, the bottom level had been converted into a makeshift garden and tool shed when her grandmother was still alive. The rafters were covered with dust, spider webs and owl droppings. It was brimming with garden tools, hoses, pots and an odd assortment of astronomic paraphernalia. In the center of the shed was a long work bench that was now doing double-duty as a nursery for plants. The walls were plastered with sketches of different star constellations penciled by grandpa’s own hand on ancient yellowing sheets of paper. At the end of the room, there was a spiral staircase and an old-time, yet still functional, elevator, which led to the upper stories, including the observatory floor.
Elle plopped down at the bench and fingered some old potting soil next to a chipped clay pot. Besides the Thinking Stone, this was her favorite place. It was the place where grandpa told her some of his best stories about the good old days (even if they weren’t actually his good old days, or even based on reality, for that matter), and would lend an ear as she unburdened herself about the horrors of middle school. Elle sighed.
“Bad day?” Grandpa asked, pausing halfway through his diatribe on ancient Egyptian burial practices, glancing at Elle before returning his attention to the inspection of two equally rusty shovels.
Elle shrugged non-committedly.
“What happened?” He asked kindly.
“Nothing,” she grunted. “Nothing important, anyway.”
“Well, then, if it’s not important, I don’t want to hear about it,” he said, winking at her. “Come on, seriously, I can take it,” he said.
Elle sighed, “Why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can’t life be simpler?” Elle asked, thinking about her abysmal day at school.
Grandpa straightened up. “You know, you’ve got a good point,” he said, selecting the rustier of the two shovels. “Life was simple once—back before we evolved."
“Um…that’s not really what I was talking about…”
“You know, I believe that evolution is the problem. Evolving is a dangerous business. Just ask this guy,” Grandpa said, nodding towards the dead frog.
“I can’t. It’s dead.”
“Exactly! See? Proves my point! Evolution is totally overrated. I was just saying this very thing to Mindy the other day. At least, I think it was Mindy…maybe it was the boy at the grocery store check-out. Hmmm…anyway, I told one of them I’m against the entire idea, and that I refuse to participate!”
“Wait. Let me get this straight. You’re rebelling against evolution?” Elle asked, bemused.
“Yep. I’ve had it with evolving! As of right now, I’m going on strike.”
“Um…how do you protest against evolution?”
“First of all, there will be no more thinking with the frontal brain and no more of this ridiculous upright posture! And tools?!” He threw the shovel onto the floor in disgust—“only for the elite. A real man uses his hands to shovel dirt!”
Elle giggled. “I wish that everyone at school had your sense of humor, grandpa.”
“Call me ‘Ugg,’” he corrected.
“Ok, Ugg,” she smiled. Elle wondered again, for the hundredth time, if grandpa was really as senile as he made out to be. She wondered if maybe it was his way of starting a conversation that would never happen otherwise.
“How can you stay so optimistic, Grandpa? I mean, after everything that’s happened—after grandma died, after you had to retire, after mom….left or whatever, and you had to take care of me…” she trailed off, looking steadily into the distance so she wouldn’t start tearing up again. She swallowed hard, “I mean, how do you do it? How do you smile and make jokes and…and…I don’t’ know, get up in the morning? Don’t you feel like it’s all just pointless?”
“Well, yes, it’s hard sometimes. And I know it’s been really rough for you. By the way, you forgot to mention the part about Mindy coming over to cook," he smiled.
Elle didn't even smile at the joke. She sat glumly at the bench.
"Come here,” he said, wobbling towards the elevator. “I want to show you something."
They took the elevator up to the third floor. It was nearly empty except for grandpa's telescope and a small desk. The crumbling stone walls were covered with pages and pages of drawings and calculations. He arthritically turned the old hand-crank on the wall for a minute, and the ceiling parted, revealing a panorama of sparkling stars in the dusky night sky.
"Look there," he said, pointing at a bright star. "What is that?"
Elle followed his gaze, and recognized the star instantly. "That's the North Star," she said. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"You asked how I stay optimistic," he said.
“Ooookaayyyy. I don’t get it. You’re optimistic because you know a star?” Elle asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
“That star was once used, long, long ago, as a navigation tool. Sailors kept their bearings at night; travelers looked for it to stay on-course," he said, looking up at the start. The light from the moon reflected in his blue eyes. "They knew that the North Star would lead them home."
He looked back at Elle, and smiled. "Like those sailors, I know how to keep my bearings while I navigate this life. I know what’s right; I know when I’m staying on-course, doing the right thing. When things get bad, when life gets dark, I keep my spirit heading North, with everything ounce of my being. I make sure I’m the best person I can be--as genuine, as kind and as helpful as I can be, and I know I’ll make it home alright, even through the darkest of nights.”
Elle was quiet as she pondered this. "But…but isn’t it hard?” She asked, looking at her grandpa.
“Sure—it’s hard. Not everyone is headed the same way, you know. It’s easy to get distracted, to wander off course. Apathy, anger, resentment,” he said, ticking off his fingers. “Selfishness, hatred and fear....It can all lead to moral equivocation. And then we can lose our way. But if we remember true North, we’ll make it OK.”
“Every time I try to do something right at school, I mess it up, or someone makes fun of me or I do something totally embarrassing or something completely stupid. I'm trying, grandpa, but I can’t seem to do anything right,” Elle said.
Her grandpa shuffled over to her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “Elle—you do things right all the time. You’re smart and thoughtful and caring—just look how you’re taking care of a dead frog, for goodness sake!” he said, gesturing to the little body that Elle cradled in her hands.
Elle stared at the floor, as a large tear slid down her nose, and dropped onto the little frog.
“Some people don’t understand intelligence and compassion because they haven’t been blessed with either. But you can forgive them and treat them with kindness, even though they will never treat you the same. That’s a concept that only the truly evolved understand,” grandpa said quietly. He smiled at her.
Elle was silent as his words sunk in. “I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday after the museum,” Elle said softly as her grandpa shakily made his way to the elevator. He stopped and turned around, looking confused.
“Yesterday?” he said, squinting into the distant mists of the past 24 hours. “You yelled at me? Hmm…No…I don’t think so—that was the day that I was climbing the north face of Mt Everest, as I recall. Couldn’t have been me.” He shook his head.
Elle smiled, knowing this meant that she had been forgiven.
As soon as they got back to the ground floor, Grandpa began resorting his tools. “Elle, Arnold! It’s dinnertime!” Mindy called from the house. “Hurry before it burns!”
Elle looked towards the house where a huge plume of black smoke rolled out the window. The fire alarm started. Elle and her grandpa looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Too late.”
“We’ll continue the burial ceremony after supper, OK Grandpa?” Elle said, heading towards the door.
“Sure, as long as the other High Priests don’t get too antsy…” Grandpa conceded, following her outside.
Elle carefully set the limp frog onto the patio then reverentially covered the body with a bucket. She didn’t want Night to come snooping around when they were inside eating supper.
As an afterthought, she grabbed a heavy stone from the half crumbling path and put it on top of the bucket to hold it down in case the wind picked up. As it was, the sky threatened rain at any minute and the wind was whipping through the trees down by the stream, causing little tornados of old leaves to rise like kites into the darkening sky.
During dinner, the clouds fulfilled their promise and opened a floodgate of water. Rain lashed at the windows, streamed down the gutters, poured over the pavement and soaked into the dark soil. It was coming down in torrents by the time they had finished eating, and Elle and her grandpa decided to wait until tomorrow to resume the burial.