A Short Story by Keith Nelson

Bird song whistled faintly from the woods by the well-worn footpath. Peering through the trees, nothing was visible but the shadows of the branches; opposite the woods lay a pasture of grazing sheep. They stood staring at him dumbly. He stopped, staring back at them. They judged him.

“It’s been about an hour,” he thought, uncomfortable from the blank expression of the sheep. “I should turn around before it gets too dark.” He broke the staring contest and headed towards home. The path he walked was very familiar. He and his father always walked it before dinner, talking typically about very important things like the weather, books, or about the dog’s behavior that day.

“I don’t get it; she comes up to me begging and whining to go out. I walk her, we go back inside, she starts it right back up,” his father chuckled as the latch clicked shut on their old English cottage. The dog’s whimper could faintly be heard from the door.

“Maybe she just likes walking. You could always bring her with us,” Floydsaid to his father as he turned toward the pathway across from the house.

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. See those berries there? When she was just a five-month-old puppy, I tried walking down this very path while having a conversation with your mum, just as we are now.” He smiled, “The whole time I thought my walk training was paying off… no pulling or stopping; turns out she had been nipping berries right off the bush the whole walk! Face all blue and red from the juice…” His father chuckled to himself.

Stuck in his memory of the past, Floyd walked mindlessly over the roots and rocks below his boots. The air around him cooled down, and the sun now reached over the hills at eye level. It felt unnatural to walk alone. Dad always insisted on Floyd walking to his left. But not anymore. He could only insist on what he had written in his will: to take care of his dog, which now slumped forlornly on the floor at home with Mum. Floyd couldn’t bring himself to even look at it. It reminded him too much of his father. He knelt, picking a blueberry off a nearby bush.

“I wouldn’t eat that blueberry, looks much too sour.”

Floyd shot up at the sound of a voice that wasn’t his own, looked for the source, but none materialized. He dropped the blueberry and continued his walk, a little hastier than usual. Floyd’s expression hardened.

“Why are you running away? You clearly need my help.”

He continued walking, keeping his eyes focused on the dirty path ahead.

“I am perfectly OK doing everything myself, thanks. I don’t need you trying to fix it up again, not after what happened last time.”

The sun had finally decided to begin setting on the English countryside, its orange rays touching the clouds above and covering the grassy hills. The beauty of the surroundings and the warmth of the sun clashed with Floyd’s cold tone.

“You prayed for wisdom and growth. I answered, just not the way you wanted.”

Floyd was silent, trying to get back home as quickly as possible to avoid any conversation.

“I see your friends and the way they treat you at school. Why do you give them any thought?”

“I like hanging out with them,” Floyd quickly retorted. “They like me as well. It’s fine, and I enjoy it; I don’t want you messing that up.”

Floyd continued walking; his gaze now focused on the sun-kissed fields to his right. He had only given a partial answer to the question. Because without them, I’m alone. What kind of person wants to be alone?

“You know you’re not alone; I hope I’ve made that clear. I won’t leave you.”

“I’m afraid of what happens when it’s just me. When I get back from class, the first thing I try and do is distract myself.”

“Hear and believe what I say—I won’t ever leave or forsake you.”

The promise was too much to bear.

“I don’t know if I can trust you. I know I have in the past, and that was great, but now? I feel far from you… and I don’t mind either. I just can’t trust you. I can’t see you.”

They continued walking together for some time. It had grown significantly dimmer, and the air had a chill permeating it. Floyd kept his jacket unzipped.

“Not to be rude, but I’m not sure how much closer we can be right now,” he smiled, “I live inside of you; that’s got to say something. I know everything about you. All your insecurities, anxieties, your past, your future, your family, your eternity.”

“I don’t care, just let me focus on myself.”

“Right. Just keep focusing on yourself. And what about your dad’s dog? Should he keep focusing on himself too?”

Floyd ignored the question, focusing on the previous sentence. Your family. His heart leaped. Family. That means a wife…A FUTURE.

Suddenly, a large black crow let out a piercing CAW, initiating a dive bomb from a tree up ahead and making a beeline for Floyd’s head, interrupting his daydream. Aggravated from the bird’s sudden interruption of the pleasant thought, he ducked, throwing his hand up at it.

“Stupid bird.” 

“Your situation is very specific to my plan. In fact, you must go through this now, instead of later. I just need you to trust me.”

Floyd continued to walk, noticing they were nearing the village. My situation. Right. You take my dad, and that’s what you call your “plan.”

The dirt had turned to gravel and cracked beneath his boots. He tried to remember what idea was gripping him before the crow had rudely interrupted.

“Just think about what I’ve said. Take it one step at a time.”

Floyd looked up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gone. Floyd threw his hands into his jeans and walked up the street, back home for dinner.

“Hey, how was your walk?” Floyd’s mother asked in a cheery tone. She sat at the table, a rather heavy book in hand, waiting on the oven.

“I went far down Winchcombe Way, right by Dr. Cain’s sheep.”

She closed the large leather book shut. The golden pages shimmered in the light of the fire.

“That’s great! Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes. I cleaned up your room; I noticed it had gotten a bit messy.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said from the stairwell, trudging up the stairs. Opening the door to his room, he looked around at the clean environment. The clothes that had been building up, the food and plates, the trash stacked in the corner—everything had disappeared. The only thing that interrupted the now sterile room was the big white dog lying in the middle of the floor. The dog perked up at Floyd’s entrance.

“Hey,” Floyd said, scratching the scruffy fur of the golden retriever. Its happy face looked at Floyd. One step at a time. It was obvious. The next step had nothing to do with him. He jumped up to his feet and patted his leg at the dog.

“Hobbes? Care for a walk?”