TheBanyanTree: Intro

[RJ Fernalld]

Hello ...I was told of your tree and the marvelous tales one can hear 
when gathered here. I would say greetings to you with a tale of my own...

Cranberry Creek

I am making my way back. Once broke and broken, alone and bitter I had fled, but the pull backward today was too strong. My vow to forget was shattered by the sound of yesterday's voice on the phone.

"They found him out at Cranberry Creek."

Seventeen years lost. He'd walked away from the brutal fight in frustration, ranting about me, 'the bitch'. Drunk and raving he disappeared into the October sunset and never came back.

His disappearance gave me my freedom. I escaped to The Bluffs some three thousand miles west, and learned slowly to breathe.

"They found him out at Cranberry Creek."

He spat on me and walked away but not before he'd backhanded me onto the floor. On his way to the door he kicked me a couple of broken ribs. The movement of the air from the slamming door sent needles of pain into my already blackening eyes.

The knife was honed sharp. I had made a religion of keeping it sharp and well hidden for the moment I might find the guts to end it all. Now I grabbed it and ran after him, years of pain turning to madness.

His path was easy to follow. I could still hear his voice cursing me through the ringing in my ears as he thrashed his way through the bushes.

Would the knife through his throat feel like slicing butter? A melon? If he came near me I know, for my intent was to end the beatings one way or the other.

"They found him out at Cranberry Creek."

I saw him reach the creek bank. It was a deep pool with a dragging, pulling current just near this end of the creek where it emptied into the river. If he grabbed me and threw me in, I'd be done for. I'd never be strong enough with broken ribs to get out.

He turned and caught the moonlight's reflection on the knife blade. Before I could react he grabbed me and took the knife.

"Stupid bitch!"

I was already dead and gone in my mind when it happened. As he swung back his powerful arm to strike me with the knife, his footing slipped and he fell back into the creek. The strong current possessed him, swallowing him like a hungry monster. I stood motionless and watched as God saved me while he drowned. The last flash of the knife blade he held above his head stabbed my eyes as the moonlight again caught it. Then, he was gone.

"They found him out a Cranberry Creek. Had a butcher knife in his hand."

So, I am making my way back. No longer broke or broken, lonely or alone, the pull backward is still strong like a killing current. I return to toss the shattered pieces of my vow to forget into the waters that freed me.

copyright R J Fernalld 2003


It's never too late to have a happy childhood.