AARON HARRISON’S MYSTICAL QUILL
by Daniel J. Heck
Published by Daniel J. Heck at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 Daniel J. Heck
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This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarity of the characters to real beings, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I wish to extend my deepest thanks to all who have supported me in the creative process, but in particular to Kay Herring, Matthew Ridout, the Saturday Writers’ Group, my parents Richard and Mary, and lastly and most importantly to my loving and lovely wife, Michelle Herring. I couldn’t have done this without you.
CHAPTER ONE
If there exists something in Briarwoods National Park that we haven’t yet explored, I’ll fall over in shock.
Sixteen-year-old Aaron Harrison’s mind wandered as he leaned against a picnic shelter pole. A park ranger addressed all four Harrisons, outlining multiple precautions pertaining to staying on the trail and within earshot. If they should encounter a hostile creature, as they were told the first two times they’d come, they should play dead.
Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my.
Aaron’s mother Julie soaked up every word, while father Robert (never Bob) stared sternly.
Soon they were trekking over plains, crossing streams and zigzagging about and around grand oaks and pines. Six-year-old Katie took the lead, bounding forward, stopping every so often to gawk and point at a white-tailed deer or a royal blue butterfly. The group never once departed from the gravel at their feet.
Aaron brought up the rear, gaze cocked upward. The trees arched over him, casting a claustrophobic pall. Bored, he dragged himself along, hanging even further back from his family. They maneuvered through a sharp turn to the left.
At the apex of the curve, another route lay, this one of dry dirt.
Aaron stopped.
He examined both paths. Aside from a few brambles, the new one appeared just as passable as the gravel. Shallow animal tracks enticed him.
I’m supposed to be in Florida for spring break. Surely they wouldn’t mind my taking a little detour.
With his first step into unfamiliar territory, relief and intrigue soaked Aaron’s soul. He breathed in the forest oxygen’s purity as he hiked. More and more distance stretched between him and the group. The tracks faded. Brown leaves overran the trail. He climbed over fallen branches, brushed a tangle of moss off his shirt, massaged his sore legs. Finally succumbing to the urge to sit down, Aaron found himself turned around and staring in the direction from whence he came.
He’d descended into an isolated valley.
I’m lost. Unbelievable.
He smacked his forehead.
A throaty call emanated from somewhere above him. Aaron scanned the canopy of green. An eagle stood on a branch about fifteen feet up.
It cawed again. The full-bodied tone echoed down the range of the valley’s slopes.
That call sounded desperate.
Something near the eagle’s feet caught Aaron's gaze. A crust of thick gray vines choked this branch, winding nearly the whole way to its tip. The eagle spread its wings and hefted itself upward with several hard swipes at the air, but to no avail. Its left claw remained entangled among several coils of the parasitic plant life. The eagle began to panic, thrashing its head about, pulling and yanking.
“Whoa, whoa, there, bud. Relax.”
Aaron’s voice calmed the bird. It straightened itself. Its round black eye stared sideways at the human below.
Geez, I’m talking to an animal. Still, this is pretty cool. He’d look downright majestic if he weren’t in such a humble position.
The two stood for several moments, stalemated. The eagle opened its beak an inch, and emitted a quiet, plaintive wail.
Aaron heard, “Help me.”
Why should I help? How would I? You got yourself into this mess. I don’t know how you did, maybe you were gathering some worms or something, but…
Leaves above rustled, tossing shadows about the ground. A gray falcon broke into view, cautiously descended through the canopy, and touched down on the base of the eagle’s branch. Aaron observed as the two avians exchanged pecks, pokes, and stares. The falcon bent over and clamped its beak upon the troublesome vine. It maneuvered this way and that, in tandem with the eagle’s stretching of its caught claw. A full minute of slow work passed.
Then, it was free. The eagle nuzzled its head against its friend, screeched in joy, and launched itself, climbing, climbing, over the trees and into the horizon.
The falcon stared at Aaron.
“What was I supposed to do?” Aaron shot back.
He glanced at his watch. About to turn around, he noticed something white and brown float to the ground, near the same tree.
Aaron blinked. He crept forward, being careful not to trip among the brambles. He plucked a feather, light as the air, from on top of a shallow pile of twigs, and smoothed its edges. The barbs were silk in Aaron’s hands. He handled the broken, raw point.
Hadn’t I heard somewhere that birds can start losing control of their flight when missing even just one feather? This one might be as long as one of those quills people used to write with so long ago.
He turned it over and over.
The late March breeze chilled him to the core. He swept his hair back, and pulled his jacket hood over his head.
Seems just like me. Lost in a park. Lost in life.
“Help!” he called, to no one.
Aaron let the feather sit in an open palm. The silence lent it palpable weight.
I’ve seen other feathers. Something’s different about this one. Something special. But what?
At that moment, he heard the crunch of leaves a short distance away. He hastily snuck the feather into his jacket pocket, just as the park ranger came into view over a hill.
CHAPTER TWO
Two days later, the Harrisons had returned to their ranch-style house at the end of the 27th Street cul-de-sac, and only two days of spring break remained. The four of them encircled the dinner table. Aaron glanced down at his side, meeting the eyes of his black border collie, Crystal. She sat panting, oversized tongue wagging.
“I’ve never understood why she can’t at least have the bones,” Aaron muttered.
“She could choke,” his mother said between bites of steak, “And bones have no nutritional value whatsoever.”
Aaron exhaled an exasperated click. “How do you know that?”
“That’s just the way it is,” squeaked Katie. She blinked, her blue eyes enlarging. “They go in the trash, silly.”
Julie said, “We’re almost done. Help us load the dishes, and after that, we’ve got to have a talk, young man.”
“What did I do now?” Their vigorous chewing precluded an answer, so Aaron stood, taking his silverware with him.
As the group gathered around the sink, Aaron’s mind raced forward to Monday:
Two writing projects need to be turned in. I’m meeting Ben for sodas after the bell, then off to baseball practice. Not looking forward to the new drills. Back home for dinner, then Spring Play rehearsal resumes where it left off…
“Son?”
His father’s voice snapped Aaron back to the present.
“What?” He swept his long hair back nonchalantly.
“We want to give you credit where credit’s due, son,” Robert grumbled. He and Julie glanced sideways at each other. “Because after all, you’ve done really well in school in general. But…”
Aaron rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.
“But,” Robert repeated, Aaron’s contempt not lost on him, “Your midterm grades are the lowest we’ve seen from you. Two B-minuses and two C-plusses? That’s not like you at all.”
“The college application process starts next term, you know,” added Julie, “We’re concerned that these grades could keep you from earning a scholarship.”
Aaron sighed. “I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do,” his father barked, “I mean, something must be causing this. You getting enough sleep?”
“I’ll try to go to bed earlier tonight.”
His mother said, “But, Robert, dear, we don’t even know whether tests or homework caused the drop. Extra sleep would only help in taking tests.”
The three of them stared at each other blankly.
Aaron mumbled, “Was that a question? Was I supposed to answer that?”
“Enough of the attitude, son.” Aaron’s father sat up straight and gave him a piercing look. “Let’s get to the point. Unless you want to pay for college yourself, you’re going to drop an activity, so you can get your grades back up.”
Aaron said, “Oh, come on! Sports and drama aren’t why my grades have dropped.”
“Nice try. But the twitch in your lip shows you know differently.”
Surprised, Aaron held the muscles in his face as still as possible. When he relaxed again, he felt a movement, and touched a couple fingers to his cheek.
“Weird…”
“Can you tell me a better reason?”
“You’ve said yourself those extra-curriculars’ll help me get into a great school,” Aaron dodged, “They look at more than just a bunch of letters on a piece of paper!”
“You’re not answering our question.”
“And besides, I can’t quit in the middle of the season, or right in the middle of rehearsals. They just made the costumes, specifically for me!” Aaron crossed his arms. “I’m not quitting anything.”
“We’re under no obligation to drive you to these activities,” his father said. “It’s not your choice to make.”
“Now, now,” the mother said in a soothing voice, “I can see you’re both serious about where you stand. But I have an idea that might help…”
The two males groaned.
“Just humor me for a moment!” the mother exclaimed. “You’re unbelievable. Anyway, on one side, you just want the best for Aaron…” she said, gesturing toward Robert, “…and on the other, you believe that what you’re doing right now is what’s best for you.” She indicated Aaron. “Maybe, just maybe, we ought to bring in a third party, and see what he or she has to say.”
“What do you mean?” Aaron said.
His dad’s eyes lit as he jumped out of his chair. “A counselor!” he bellowed. Aaron rolled his eyes.
“That was my idea, yes,” his mother said, “If you’d let me continue…”
“We’ll make you a deal, son,” the father interrupted, “We’ll keep driving you on one condition. Talk to the school counselor for one hour a week about what you want to do with your future. That’ll make you see the truth.”
Julie squeaked, “It isn’t about proving anything, dear.”
“Absolutely it is. He needs to understand what college is all about. How what he does now determines everything to come.”
Aaron raised his hands in a defensive posture. “All right, all right. I got it.”
“I’m going to talk to the faculty each week.” Robert pointed at Aaron, his fork a sharp talon. “You skip one time, and you’ll be focused on homework for the rest of your high school days.” He stabbed a chunk of lasagna.
Aaron shook his head. Several moments passed.
Katie whispered, “Is somebody in trouble?”
“No, sweetheart,” her mother replied as she stood, “I think Robert wants to watch the ball game.” Aaron’s mother patted him on the shoulder, said “We believe in you, dear,” and followed her husband to the living room.
Aaron slouched, eyes locked on the ceiling tile. “What’s to believe in?” he mumbled.
For a while, he just listened. Frantic play-by-play and the shouts of officials met his ears from several rooms over. Aaron dragged himself out of his chair, down the hallway and through a door into the garage, where he retrieved his basketball from an old cardboard box. He stepped outside, into fresh air, and breathed. Familiar spectacled eyes peered over a tall hedge at him, and Aaron smiled, for the first time that day.
Leaning on a cane, a leather-skinned man slowly crept around the hedge and beamed to the boy a grin full of youthful spirit. “Care for some one-on-one, kiddo?”
“Hiya, Mr. Bullworth,” Aaron said, dribbling a few times. “Good to see you. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, I’m still alive. Each day is a new blessing.” The neighbor glanced at Aaron’s feet. “Did you get new shoes?” The teen looked down at the spotless white high-tops.
“Got ‘em for my birthday, a week ago.”
“Well, happy birthday, kiddo!” He shook the teen’s hand. “My God, that makes you twenty-some, by now, eh?”
Aaron laughed.
“Or so you’d think, as much as you’ve grown.”
The teen dropped his gaze, casually noticing the brown, beaten texture of Mr. Bullworth’s shoes. The sole of one flapped a bit against the old man’s foot with each step.
Aaron asked, “So what’ve you been up to? You wanted your house painted, for a while, there.”
“Not within my means right now,” Mr. Bullworth became sober. “Social Security’s all I got. Those damned investments of a few years back, they just didn’t pan out. It’s a wonder a man can shell out what it takes for a book of crossword puzzles, nowadays.”
“I’m…sorry to hear that, Mr. Bullworth,” Aaron lied. Each time the neighbor told this story, it further cemented Aaron’s perception that he’d dug his own hole, and should be the one to get himself out. The teen caught his lip twitching again.
“Oh, don’t be. Let’s not talk about that. Say, did you get the role you wanted in that play?”
“The lead.”
“Holy cow! That’s even better than you expected, isn’t it? Well, it seems like each new day’s a blessing for you, too…”
Aaron set the basketball down. They moved to lawn chairs, and chatted for a while. The subject wavered, from the late Mrs. Bullworth, to the travails of high school physics class, then to the history of the dairy industry and the old man's forty years of work within. Aaron listened, riveted, even as Mr. Bullworth dropped well-timed tidbits about financial regret and loneliness. As the setting sun cast a purple hue over the town, the neighbor repeated his usual vociferous invitation to play cribbage at his home.
“Actually, I’ve got to get started on homework,” Aaron replied, “The folks are piling on the pressure.”
“A whole week’s worth, in one night? Good luck, kiddo!”
As Aaron headed toward his garage, Mr. Bullworth called once more in a cracked voice, “Please, do come over sometime.”
“I will, Mr. Bullworth, I will.” Aaron entered his home.
Staring after the young man, the neighbor removed his glasses and rubbed the soreness out of his eyes, a little moisture coming to them as he shuffled back around the hedge.
CHAPTER THREE
The next day, Aaron knocked on a wide door with large block letters reading ‘Student Services.’ “Come in,” a pleasant female voice rang. He entered. “Are you Aaron? Mr. Fry is ready for you,” said the secretary. Near a second door stood a rotund man whose green sweater contrasted with his shock of bright red hair and beard.
Mr. Fry smiled, shook the teen's hand with vigor, and said, “Nice to meet you, Aaron.” Warmth saturated his voice. For an instant, Aaron felt an energy from this man, a foreign sense of being cared about.
He managed a nod, and at Mr. Fry’s prompt, slunk into a private office. Fry followed and plunked down on a wheeled chair. “Give me one moment…” He began typing, fingers flying.
Aaron glanced about the room. A pair of posters displayed motivational clichés underneath beautiful photographs. Several decorations sat in a neat row on a shelf, from a hand-crocheted gay-pride rainbow to a lemon-yellow origami sunflower. Unable to tell whether this person was the intellectual type or a neo-hippie, Aaron ignored a rising squeamishness.
Ride it out. What can he possibly say to me?
“Your information is in.” Mr. Fry swiveled toward Aaron. His smile disappeared. “Now, answer me this. Are you serious?”
Aaron arched an eyebrow. “Uh… About what?”
“Anything.”
Tension hung. “Not really, come to think of it. But why?”
Mr. Fry smirked. “I’d like to get to know you, Aaron. But I’ve never believed in beating around the bush. I’d like to know what drives you. What do you really want out of life? Don’t worry, we’ll fill in the rest later.”
The teen crossed his arms.
“Not sure what to think of me?” Mr. Fry continued, “Many students aren’t. Many walk right out that door after talking to me for five minutes. Those who stay tend to find me refreshing.”
“This isn’t about you,” Aaron mumbled.
“Ah, you’re right.” Mr. Fry paused. “Your parents are forcing you to be here, aren’t they?”
“Did you talk to them?”
“No, it’s just that I’ve seen your exact demeanor hundreds of times before. Grade issues?”
Aaron lurched. Mr. Fry shifted in his seat, and smiled.
“The administrators let me have a look at your quarterly reports. Let’s start smaller than that, though, and remember, I’m here to help you. I’m not going to tell you how to use this time. We can stare at the ceiling for fifty minutes, if that’s what you want. But in that case, be prepared to end this semester in the exact same position in which you started.”
I don’t really want that.
“Now, what’s one thing you’re serious about?”
Aaron reflected for a moment. “Baseball.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere!” Mr. Fry scribbled on a notepad. “What position you play?”
“Third base.”’
“Ah! A critically important role. Got to have a good arm for third. Good enough to go pro, you think?”
“Not really, no.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m in the drama club.”
“Cool! Now that takes guts, getting up there in front of a huge audience and rattling off a bunch of lines. There’s more to it than that, I know, but you’ve earned my respect, that’s for sure.”
Aaron let out a modest chuckle. He swept his hair back.
“Now,” Mr. Fry continued, “You don’t have to do this out loud. But for one minute, and I’m going to time you on this, shut yourself off from the rest of this world, and just reflect upon what it is about those two activities that drives you. That really makes you enjoy them. If you could do them for the rest of your life, why would you?”
Aaron snickered. “Heh… Okay, Mr. Fry. I don’t get it, but I’ll try it.”
The teen set his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. He imagined himself in the batter’s box, cleats wedged into the dirt, palms chilled by an aluminum bat. The earguards of a yellow and orange helmet muffled the cheers of family and friends. A lanky kid in soiled tan uniform and glove stared him down from sixty feet away.
Aaron’s focus shifted to another image. He sauntered up to a costume rack, wrapped a pinstripe suit around his shoulders, ran a comb through his hair one more time. The artificial smells of cakey stage make-up and aerosol hair spray mingled in his nostrils. For two hours each evening, he was someone else. Laughter reverberated through a packed auditorium.
He heard a voice, felt a hand on his knee. “Aaron, come back to me.”
He opened his eyes. “Whoa…”
“Still got that feeling? Hold on to it for a moment. Is there now, or has there ever been, a moment or happening in your classes that makes you feel that same way?”
Aaron frowned. “There haven’t been very many. History class has had a few.”
“Tell me more.”
“I just really enjoy analyzing the past. It’s like, we’ve lived in so many different worlds over just the past few hundred years, you know? Things change…”
“A different world, just like acting.”
Aaron felt a jolt of energy. He pointed at Mr. Fry. “Right!”
“Aaron, here’s one idea. Take something from history class, a project, a paper, something, and make it your own. Go beyond the minimum, but do it in a way that you enjoy. That way, you have the power. You might find that that effort pays you back in the long run.”
Aaron smirked. “Okay…I’ll try it.”
For the remainder of the hour, the two discussed Aaron’s desires and goals with light hearts. The teen almost regretted the sound of the bell.
Mr. Fry doesn't preach at me like so many other bags of hot air. It would be nice if life was like this, if it was just about making myself happy, for once.
He strolled to his locker. Ben Weathers stood nearby, digging for something.
Aaron said, “What’s up, bud?” They bumped fists.
“Not much, ‘cept Mrs. Galley’s gonna have my hide again. My French workbook keeps falling off the face of the earth.”
Aaron smirked. “Sacre bleu!”
Ben mocked, “Mon dieu, mon ami!” following up with some European half-grunt, half-guffaws.
“Like we care about French.”
“You don’t! You’re taking German. Anyway, I didn’t see you at study hall this morning.”
“Counseling appointment.”
“Mr. Fry?”
A vision of beauty snuck into the corner of Aaron’s eye, and yanked his gaze away from stubby Ben. Melissa Parker, five and a half feet of flawless skin and perfect curves, weaved her way through other students, approaching in slow motion, her hair a downpour of glittering gold.
Ben continued, “He can be kinda weird… Aaron? Yoo-hoo.”
Aaron stared, droopy-eyed, an involuntary half-smile pasted on his face.