@Andrija
The crack of the leaves and the twigs snapping under the weight of each footstep felt louder in the fading light of the afternoon. The shadows lay heavy on the ground, matching the weight of the axes they carried. In the distance the lights shone like little pops of colour. An oasis in the darkness, the festivities had begun. Had the two of them been closer they would be able to hear the merriment inside, just as cheery as the lights no doubt. Her foot slips, the slide is over just as fast as it had begun, still long enough for pain like the strum of a guitar string to reverberate through her ankle. She stops, closes her eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. It’s uncomfortable but not painful. ‘Come on’, she hears from ahead of her, ‘We’re running out of light. Besides, I think I’ve found it.’ Lifting her right foot she gingerly steps forward, bracing herself for the familiar weakness and pain but this time it holds. Letting out the caught breathe in relief and continuing on, it takes her a minute to catch up. Her companion stands alongside a hefty pine tree looking up, one hand clutches the wooden shaft, the other cradles the blade, it lay at just the right angle to catch the remaining light. She looks up too. It was certainly commanding … symmetrical and as the wind moved past it … even musical. It was the kind you’d expect to see on the front of a card. ‘This is not the one.’ Looking away as she says it. ‘Wah-aat!??!’, the word spoken in such a way it seemed to almost drip with incredilousness. She barely notices, her attention taken by the dark crooked shape to their right. She turns to face it. It’s twisted hunched outline stands rooted before them, wearing death like a cloak. The wind blows again but there is no music to be heard this time, it emits only silence. Behind her the incredibility to her statement has continued. ‘Andrija.’ She says softly, without looking away. The gabbering continues. ‘Andrija!’ Behind her the chatter stops. She hears the shift in weight and knows her friend has now turned and is looking at the same thing she is. ‘No.’ Andrija almost pleads. They both stand in its bent and crooked shadow now. ‘Nooo.’ Andrija says again, this time as if out of breath. Lifting the axe she holds in her right hand and levelling it in front of her, SweetPotato nods with force, ‘Yes.’ she says. Andrija knows that tone, heard it all too many times before. There’s no changing her mind and yet Andrija feebly tries. ‘They are going to kill us, you understand that right?’ SweetPotato turns and as she does she points at the tree they’d been standing near. ‘It is easy is it not, to grow tall, strong, beautiful, when given everything necessary to do so.’ She turns and gestures to the twisted shape before them and continues, ‘Is it not surprising then that something might grow gnarled, twisted and bent when not given the same?’ She lifts the axe and extends it out towards the silent shape before them, the muscles in her forearm as bold and determined as she is now. The look in her eyes tells Andrija all that needs to be said about what will happen next. ‘There before you Andrija, is not weakness or ugliness. If we take the time to look, what you see before you is the outcome of a life lived to the fullest with what it had available to it and even now, there is life within its death. I don’t just want you to look at it, I want you to SEE it. The gnarled, bent, twisted and scarred features are a road map of a journey taken. This…’ she says, jabbing the axe in its direction for emphasis, ‘…is still a life. This...’ Another jab of the axe. ‘… is still a story.’ She falls silent, the eyes that held Andrija in their gaze now turn away. Axe and arm slowly lower, as does her voice as she continues. ‘Who we are is just a reflection of the environment we had available to us intertwined with the choices we made as a result. A life should not be revered for what it had in it and therefore how it appears from the outside, but for what it gave, often unseen.’ Andrija turned and looked at the twisted figure just as she’d asked. Even though now dead, things still lived on it, crawling and scuttering over its bent scarred features, skittering in to view and out just as quickly. An entire miniature world living within its cracks. Andrija looked back at her and sighed. ‘Fine, but you’re explaining this to the others. Let’s hope your sweet words are enough.’ Slapping the back of the axe head against her palm SweetPotato grins. They both start walking towards the silent unmoving figure. Axes in hand they lift them aloft almost in unison, a sound like the blast of a worn old horn screeches in to the dying twilight, followed shortly by the sound of a mallet made of meat striking a metal bench. ‘What in the blazes is taking the two of you so long?’ Feedback belts from the drivers seat of the truck he’s been waiting in. He gets no response but finally hears the unmistakeable sound of progress. Feedback stares out the windscreen watching the light fade, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping to the imaginary beat as he hums his favourite tune. He hears footsteps off to the side and looks over. Feedback takes a moment to absorb the scene before him. His two friends shuffle slowly onwards, held upright by unsteady feet, the weight they bare evident in their stuttered gait and the sweat on their skin. Taking in their expressions, one of resignation, the other of determination, Feedback lets out a roar of laughter as big as his personality and slaps the car door. Speaking to Andrija he says, ‘You never had a chance Andrija … you know Sweets.’ Andrija moved as if shifting an uncomfortable weight off the shoulder. ‘Yeah I know.’ Feedback jumps out of the truck and heads to open the tailgate on his old Chevy. ‘Hurry up would you.’ He says, ‘There’s a glass of eggnog in my future … although, there’ll be a little less egg and a bit more nog.’ He chuckles. Andrija and SweetPotato shuffle to the back of the old truck, they look at each other and silently nod. Their muscles tense and strain as they lift the solid weight onto the back of the truck. Feedback stands back and watches. He grabs the hat off his head, scratching. He chuckles again and says, ‘Sweets, what on earth were you thinking?’ She turns to Feedback, her eyes normally blue but currently like steel. Sometimes he wonders if they change colour based on her mood. His friend opens her mouth as if to answer but before she can Andrija jumps in. ‘Don’t get her started Feedback, just get in the truck.’ Feedback closes the tailgate and heads towards the drivers door. ‘Ah well’ he says, ‘I’m sure the others will figure out how to turn that lump into a Christmas tree, even if it only looks like a dead crooked old stump.’ The three of them jump in the cab and set off. The light has finally dipped behind the hills and Feedback flicks on the lights. The coloured Christmas lights strung along the cabin’s eaves glow brightly in the darkness, like a beacon to the three of them. It’s the 1st of December and out here in this quiet serenity they’ve all happily gathered together as they do each year. The others currently bustled together inside the warm little old cabin, eagerly waiting to trim the tree.
