Falling in the Garden

Chapter Five - Broadcast

Chapter Five

Broadcast

I sat on the back porch, hovering over a bowl of cereal. My arms moved sleepily, as though through water. Beyond the slow-motion sway of high-above branches, I watched the bruised sky melt from starlight to blush. This blue gradient grew more defined, the darker end retreating westward. I ate another spoonful of Cheerios, still dozing, but ready to leave. This was not a morning to sleep in, but I needed this small calm before I ventured off.

Later, I would be glad I decided to prepare my backpack instead of leaving it behind. I filled it with the usual items, but added a few extras. Most important were the walkie-talkies, but also a can of Diet Pepsi, again breaking with the tradition of only essentials.

When I left the house, I followed my usual route. Upon entering the woods, I was amused to see one of the walkie-talkies already in my right hand. It was next to impossible not to turn it on immediately, but I somehow managed to wait. When I finally entered The Meadow, it felt as if I was holding a bomb charged and ready to blow. I chose a comfortable spot, sat down and took off the backpack. Thick beams of morning sunshine sliced through the eastern tree-cover like honey ribbons from an extravagant, heavenly garment. The thick coating of lichen and moss beneath me seemed to rejoice at its caress. Taking a deep breath, I turned the small device in my hand and thumbed the switch.

Static hummed, the sound of Rice Krispies. Aside from this, there was nothing. I just sat there, feeling the sun on my face, listening to nothing and feeling sleep want to take over again. I could easily have stayed in bed another three hours if I hadn’t felt such an urge to be here. I began to gently rock back and forth, wondering if any insects would bother me if I decided to lean back and take a nap. I thought idly of cracking open the can of soda if only for the caffeine, but closed me eyes and let my mind wander.

“Mom? Why hasn’t Dad come back yet?”

And there it was. The same voice that had before sounded so distant now asked this question more clearly and with gentle concern. There was still considerable distortion, but each word spoken was fully coherent.

A second, deeper female voice responded, yet these words were heavily garbled and broken up.

“Last time he was away for almost three weeks,” the girl said.

The response was, again, confused and broken, impossible to hear.

“I don’t care where he is. It’s the time that matters.”

After a strange whirring sound and the loud, metallic thunk of a door closing, more silence. Then:

“I wish I didn’t have to do this boring schoolwork,” the girl said.

I thought back to an awful year in school with Mrs. Arlen, my math teacher, and murmured aloud, “Me, too.”

There was a pause.

“Mom, was that you?” her voice filled the air.

Putting the speaker even closer to my ear, I listened. I heard again the sound of something spinning, then her voice, muddled, asking something that sounded like, “Mom?”

A firm slam. Footsteps growing closer. Stopping.

I leaned forward, still listening.

“Is someone here?” she asked, a defined edge of fear in her voice. I didn’t see how she could possibly have heard me. I hadn’t pressed or even touched the SEND button on the walkie-talkie. Again, her voice:

“Is someone hiding in the bathroom? Sarah? Is that you?”

Taking a crazy chance, I said, “My name is Michael. I’m not hiding. I’m talking to you through a walkie-talkie.”