“Signs”

Jon Aretakis

Southern California, 1987 -- As the sun rose over the horizon, the light chased the darkness into the shadows and under the rocks. Grady Waters and John Green marched side-by-side down a narrow dirt path that weaved through vast acreage of rolling hills covered in wild green grass. The tall grass beckoned gently to a soft wind while large clouds sailed across blue sky as if they were cotton ships in search of something mysterious.

John stood tall with lanky arms and skinny legs. He wore a light blue shirt that draped like a bed sheet over his frail upper body. It seemed at any moment a small gust of wind could fill his shirt, and he would float away. He constantly pulled up his Levi’s that fit a bit too loosely around his waist. His light brown eyes complimented his bushy dark brown hair, which tangled around his ears. While carrying a cardboard box under his arm, he stared into the blue sky as he continued to march down the path. The sky reminded him of the many summer nights he lay on the blue grass in his parents’ front yard peering past the farthest stars into the deepest depths of universe. If only all the answers the stars surely held could be examined by reaching out and gathering them up as simply as grabbing up a handful of sand, if only my arms were longer, he thought.

Grady resembled a soldier who had just barely graduated from boot camp. With fine posture and a stocky build, he carried himself well. There was an aggressive air about him, an attitude of cockiness. With short black hair and blue eyes, he wore a camouflaged T-shirt, green military pants, and red canvas high tops while a weather-beaten army pack hung over his shoulder. As he marched down the path he thought, I should have brought my pellet rifle.

Without speaking a word, the two teenagers veered off the path and entered the meadow. As they trudged through the wild grass like oddball soldiers on a top-secret assignment, they approached a lone pepper tree standing near a stream. As they crossed through the stream, a coyote darted past them and melted gracefully out of sight into some tall grass.  

“Did you see that?” Grady said.

“A coyote, that’s a good sign.”

                “What makes it a good sign?”

“I don’t know, just is. When you see a wild animal, it is a good sign.”

Grady turned to John and for a moment peered at him in silence.

“Why do you have to think about everything? Wow, a coyote, a wild dog… whoop-tee-dick.”

“Things have meaning. That was a good sign.”

“Yeah right, and I’m an angel.”

“No, you’re certainly no angel, but that was a good sign.”

“I’ve known you since third grade. Even back then you over thought things. It was a coyote. We saw one because coyotes live around here. That is it! There is nothing special about seeing a wild dog.”

“Nope, that was a sign.”

“Whatever,” Grady remarked with a faint smirk while shaking his head in disagreement.

 They crawled under the pepper tree and sat down in the fallen dew covered leaves. The tree sat calmly in the meadow while the faint sound of tricking water rang through the air. Spun between a few upper branches of the tree, spider webs covered with drops of morning dew glistened in the early sun. Grady dug through his backpack and pulled out a canteen of water. He unscrewed the cap, tipped the canteen to his lips, took a giant gulp and passed it to John, who also took a drink. Grady pulled an army shovel from his backpack and snapped it into working position while John peered out into the meadow and watched as a few yellow butterflies chased each other around as if they were playing a game of tag.

As Grady sat under the pepper tree, he made his hand into the shape of a pistol and pretended to shoot at the many monsters his imagination conjured up and projected onto the landscape. Grady turned and pointed his hand, still in the shape of a gun, at John.

“We better get started on the grave. They will be circling soon,” Grady said.

                “It is not a grave.”

                “Could be before the day is over.”

“I don’t want to get hurt. You’re getting in the hole, not me. This is your crazy idea so you’re getting into that damn hole. I’ll take the pictures.”

“Yeah, yeah… I know. Who else would do it but me?” 

“That’s right… you do it.”

Grady and John crawled from under the tree. Using the shovel, Grady began to dig a long shallow hole. John knelt down next to Grady and used his hands to dig into the loose soil. He placed the handfuls of dirt into a neat pile. The soil felt soft and cool; John enjoyed touching it while Grady flung the dirt over his shoulder into the field.

“We’re going to need that dirt. Put it around the edges please.”

Grady glanced at John for a moment, shook his head, took a shovel of dirt and placed it neatly in a pile next to the hole.

After they finished digging, they crawled back underneath the tree and sat in the coolness of the fallen leaves. As Grady gulped down some more water from the canteen, John stared off into the sky.

“Do you think there is a God or other creatures in space that are different than us?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask such questions?” 

“I pray sometimes but I don’t feel anyone is listening.”

“I don’t think about God. All I think of lately is high school coming to an end. Then getting through college, so I can join the FBI.”

Once again, Grady made his hand into the shape of a pistol took careful aim and shot at the trunk of the pepper tree as if it were a giant monster closing in on a city he loved.

“You still set on being a doctor?”

“I think so. My father says I should follow my heart.”

John peered at the grave and looked into the sky. “You ready?”

                “I was born for stuff like this. Let’s go.”

John smiled as he thought how amusing it was to watch Grady act so tough. But he knew Grady would get in the hole and be buried just to prove to himself that he had courage. He knew Grady thought courage to be one of the most important characteristics a person could possess.

                 The two teenagers grabbed the gear and crawled from under the tree. Grady took a pair of long leather gloves from the backpack, pulled them over his hands and forearms, sighed, looked at John, smiled and lay face up in the grave.

                “Are you comfortable?”    

“I’m good.”

                John covered Grady with the freshly dug up dirt that lay around the edges of the grave. Except for his arms, head and the tips of his red canvas high tops, Grady was completely buried. John gathered leaves and twigs and scattered them atop the fresh soil.

                “I hope this doesn’t take too long. It’s going to get hot in here.”

                “Two or three hours tops,” John remarked with a smile.

                “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”            

“No”

                “I think you look funny.”

                “Just hurry up.”

                While continuing to smile, John reached into the backpack, pulled out a camera, pointed it at Grady and snapped off a few pictures.

                “People will pay to see these photos.”

                “Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to be famous. Can probably sell the pictures to National Geographic or Field and Stream.”

                “That’s not what I meant.”

                “I know what you meant. Just hurry up.”

                “I’m going… relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Grady barked.

                John opened the cardboard box and pulled out a large white rabbit. He held the rabbit by the scuff of its neck and pulled a small flea collar from his pocket. He fastened the collar tightly around its neck, pulled a long piece of string from his other pocket and tied one end of the string to the collar. He cleared the dirt away from Grady’s belt, tied the loose end of the string to it and again covered the belt with dirt and leaves. He reached into the backpack, took out a large carrot and set it beside the rabbit.

                “The final meal,” Grady said.

Uninterested in the carrot, the rabbit sat still on the thin layer of soil above Grady’s stomach. John reached into his pocket and pulled out a red Swiss army knife. He unfolded the blade, cut a small peephole in one side of the box and placed it over Grady’s head.

                “Can you see? Can you see the rabbit?”

“Yeah, I can see it,” Grady muffled from under the box.

As the rabbit sat peacefully on Grady’s covered belly, John gathered up the gear and crawled underneath the tree. He set the gear on the ground, reached into the backpack, pulled out binoculars, raised them to his eyes and peered into the sky. 

After a moment, he set the binoculars on the ground, crawled from beneath the tree, stood, and scratched his groan.

                “I have to take a leak.”       

“Hurry up,” barked Grady.

“Relax, I’ll be right back.”

John walked down to the stream, unzipped his pants and began to pee. Oh, that feels good, he thought. While staring at the tulles and other greenery that lined both sides of the stream, he thought of the plants as spectators, who quietly cheered on the water as it flowed. Some of the plants grew thick and stubborn with slender and thorny leaves. They seemed angry as if they had been scorned from the very soil that had fostered them. Yet others were soft and stringy and their leaves were wide, fragile and covered with soft white fuzz. They seemed more peaceful than some of their neighbors. He watched as the water trickled over the rocks and through the waterways melting its way through the crevices settling gently into a clear pool. As he stared at his reflection on surface of the still water, the soft current continued to melt gracefully over the next set of rough edges. The current flowed faithfully trying to find something mysterious that lay deep within the crevices of its own path. Perhaps, a deeper part of itself, he thought.

A faint cry rang through the air. John squinted and peered curiously across the stream. He scanned the small hillside for the source of the faint whimper and soon saw a small creature covered in mud trying to crawl from the stream up a muddy bank.

                Is that a wet muddy rat? he thought.

“It’s a puppy,” John blurted.

He watched as the puppy tried to crawl from the stream. Its face and body were drenched and muddy. While shivering and yelping helplessly, the puppy clawed its way up the bank only to slide slowly back down into the water. John finished peeing, zipped up his pants and walked through the water. He picked up the puppy and cradled him softly in his arms. The puppy continued to whimper as John made his way back across the stream. John knelt down, dipped the puppy into the water and rinsed the mud out of the animal’s eyes and soft coat.

                I am keeping you. This is definitely another sign, he thought.

While smiling and calming his new friend with a few soft strokes to the head, John glanced up into the sky over the pepper tree; he saw a large hawk circling.

                 “Oh shit.”

While holding the puppy gently, John hurried back to the tree.

                The hawk circled lower and lower as John approached the pepper tree. Suddenly the predator dove down onto the rabbit. Grady jumped up with a jerk, flung the box off his head and grabbed the hawk by its legs.

                “I got it. I got it! I did it, I caught a hawk”

The hawk let out a loud scream, peered down at Grady and bit him on the nose. Grady screamed in pain as he removed one hand from the hawk's leg and rubbed his nose, which was red with blood. The hawk raised its free leg and scraped its claw down Grady’s face. He let go of the bird, and it flew off as the rabbit shook violently while having a heart attack. Grady rolled over into the fetal position and moaned in pain while Jon stood, eyes wide, beside the tree cradling the puppy. The rabbit continued to flounder violently for a moment, then lay motionless.

                “Are you all right?” John said softly as if speaking too loudly might make the pain worse for his friend.

                “No… I’m lucky that thing didn’t pluck my eye out!”

                “Did you get the pictures?” Grady said as he sat up.

                “No, but I found a puppy.”

                “A puppy?”

Grady rolled over to see the puppy in John’s arms. He stood up, wiped the dirt from his face, dusted the dirt from his clothes, walked over to John and peered at the small creature.

                “Found him in the stream. It’s a male coyote pup.”

“I get my ass kicked by a hawk and you find a coyote. You’re lucky.”

                “It would seem I am,” John responded while smiling.

A stream of blood dripped down Grady’s cheek as he reached out to pet the puppy.

                “You’re bleeding.”

Grady wiped the blood from his face. “I noticed. How bad is it?”              

“It’s not that bad. The scrapes aren’t that deep. You were lucky.”

“I guess we’re both lucky.”

“That’s what I’ll name him, Lucky. His name is Lucky. I told you there are signs. This is definitely a sign,” John said while petting Lucky softly on the head.

 “What sign? So you found a puppy… whoop-tee-dick.”

“This changes everything. I’m not going to be a doctor. I’m going to be a veterinarian. This is definitely a sign.”

“Whatever,” Grady said while shaking his head.

Grady and John buried the rabbit in the shallow grave and marked the spot with a few large rocks. John smiled as he thought of Grady’s inability to see the signs. They had been so obvious to him. As they headed home, they walked through the stream. John noticed the water was still running on faith -- discovering its mysterious path. Grady marched home while wearing his blood and wounds proudly as if they were medals given only to those who had proven to be courageous. With Lucky in his arms, John was deep in thought analyzing the signs of the day. But why? Down what path would the signs lead? What mysteries would they uncover?