Sometimes it feels like I'm sitting at this window forever. Not that I mind. I like the window; I like its shape, and the way it opens up the world. The garden is only a footstep away. I can see the roses that Dad planted the lawn with its smooth slope down to the Rockery. The pond where Jimmy sits poking the frogs, he likes tormenting them. Eliza is playing with a ball, she's aiming it at the wall, and every so often Dad pulls a face. She must have fired it close to the bathroom window. I watch them all and I smile. My family, they're great. Then of course there's me Billy Shaw, (I joke that it should actually be Billy Sore, but my mum says that's not funny). Life's not so simple with me around. I can't do much. Well actually that's a lie. I can do plenty in my head, it's just I'm not that mobile. I'm also in pain a lot of the time. You see I have this skin thing; I was born with it. They call it EB for short, which is just as well because I can't pronounce it's real name. My tongue just won't fit around the words. Anyway, it means my skin blisters at the slightest touch. Mum has to change my dressings every day because of infection. It's hurts a lot, and sometimes I scream out. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me; it's just something that has to be done. A part of the morning routine. Everything has a routine in our house, but I guess that's just because things need to happen. Life goes on. So you could say my staring out of the window on a Sunday afternoon is just a part of that same string of events that is my life. I could go outside I suppose, but the sun hurts my eyes. And anyway, if I did, I'd miss Tat's visits.
Tat. She's a strange one. I can't remember when she first showed up. I've known her for so long that I just expect to see her now. She's not what you'd call normal, with her wild thatch of red hair. All sorts of creatures live in her hair, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's small and wiry and she springs through the trees almost as fast as the wind. She looks a bit ragged and scruffy, but that's what you'd expect from a wild girl. She comes from the First Forest, a place beyond our world. She says it's a magical place, a giant wood filled with enchantment. I'd like to go there some day, and she says I could, but I'm not so sure I'd be able to. She says if I think really hard I could almost be there, that it's that easy. You just step over from one world to another. I wish it was! I almost feel like I know it though. I can picture it so well in my head. The tall spindly trees like giant's legs, the emerald green of the forest floor, and the flowers. Tat says there are flowers of every colour, beautiful purple daisies, silver and gold buttercups and even spotted roses. Can you imagine that? Of course I haven't told anyone else about Tat's visits. They wouldn't believe me. I know they'd think I'd made her up to amuse myself, to wile away the hours. But it's not true. She's as real as you or I, it's just she comes from some place else. Except that today she doesn't come at all. There's no sweetsmell of honey, or the faint breeze that she brings with her from the First Forest. And although I know she has a life outside of here, it's weird that she hasn't showed up. See she always appears at the same time on a Sunday, five minutes after three, time for afternoon tea. She likes my mum's homemade scones. She likes most things.
Now I'm not one for panicking, or worrying. Having EB makes you appreciate the little things in life, and well, I just like to get on with things. But I must admit I'm starting to think something is wrong. Tat just wouldn't disappear on me like that. We're pretty good friends, she'd tell me if she were going away. I know she would! Thing is, I don't know how to contact her, other than thinking about her really hard. That usually does the trick. But if something is wrong, then she wouldn't be able to hear me, so there's no point. I close my eyes. If only there was a way to reach the First Forest? I've pictured it so many times. A large open glade, filled with sunlight. A cluster of trees, and eyes peering from corners, from cracks and holes in the wood. What sort of magical creatures would live there? I have my theories. I can imagine all sorts of curious looking birds, with great fan like wings and musical voices. They'd have strange names too, like Mucklebeak and Thornyfoot. Then again, Tat's Tat Rootwhistle and you can't find a much stranger name than that. I bet the Forest would smell nice too. Not your usual woody outdoors smells, no this would be different. It would be herby almost but sweet like mint, the kind of smell you long to pop into your mouth and taste. The wind would be gentle, like a fairy tickling your nose. You'd feel it tap-dancing upon your head, making a mess of your hair. Yes, it would send a shiver up your spine. I can feel it now. I can feel the slow crawl of excitement as it moves up my back; the breeze gives my cheek a dry kiss. It's comforting. I open my eyes, and bingo. I'm here! I'm really here, in the First Forest. Sitting on a pile of twigs. But the pile of twigs is moving, shifting under my legs. It's weird, I can't feel it as such; it's like being here, but not really being here. Its like my mind has escaped my body and brought me to this place.
"Would you please get off me!"
I rise, floating upwards. I'm not in control of my body, or this new shape. It's going to take a while to get used to moving around. But I'm not moving in the normal sense of the word; I'm almost flying!
"I'm sorry," I say, warmth fills my throat. At least my voice sounds the same.
"That's what they all say. But it's too late by then, I'm already half way to being flattened."
"What are you?"
I look at the strange collection of sticks, at the conker, which appears to be a head.
"What do I look like?" The little voice replies.
"Some sort of stick man?"
"Hooray, give the boy a medal. He's got it right. I'm a man, made of sticks. It's not that difficult is it?"
"I'm sorry." I say again.
"The problem with your sort is that you don't really look at anything. You see a pile of sticks and so you stamp on them. Like the way they sound when they snap do you? You wouldn't like it if it were your arm or leg!"
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologising." He snaps. "Whilst we're on the subject, who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I'm Billy, Billy Shaw, and I'm looking for my friend Tat Rootwhistle."
The stick man cocks his head on one side.
"Tat Rootwhistle eh?"
"You know her?"
"Of course I know her, everyone knows who Tat is!"
I'm about to say sorry again, but I stop myself. My body is bobbing up and down in the air like a balloon.
"Am I really here, in the First Forest?"
"What do you think?" The stick man sighs, "there are trees, and flowers, look around you."
"Yes I know that. It's just, well I'm not quite myself."
"You're in spirit form. That's how you're able to visit here."
"So I've left my body back home?"
"In a way." He grins, "You don't look too happy up there."
"I'm not!"
"Well just think yourself to the ground. That's all you have to do. Imagine you're standing still and it will happen. Goodness do you people have to be told everything?"
I have to say it sounds easy enough, and to be honest, it is. Once I get the hang of the fact that everything I do is a thought in my head. I can move almost normally.
"So do you know where I'll find Tat?" I ask.
The stick man shakes his head, "I don't, but I know someone who might be able to help you."
He starts off in the direction of the trees.
"Hey, wait a minute." I say, remembering to send a message to my legs to scramble after him.
We've been walking for quite a while now. The stick man is only small, about the size of a rabbit, but he can move fast. His strides are jerky, and he rocks from to side to side. I find that I can keep up if I tell myself to glide. It's almost like being a ghost, not that I'd know what being a ghost is like. But I imagine that's how I must look.
"I've told her before about wandering off, about sticking her nose into other people's business."
The stick man mutters away to himself.
"You think she's in trouble?"
"Oh Tat, you silly, silly girl." He tuts, completely ignoring my question, "I wish you'd listen to me."
I fall behind, and leave him to his grumbling. He's not the friendliest sort, but I reckon he has his reasons. Can't be much fun if people keep trying to step on you. I suppose it must be difficult when no-body notices you're there. In my case it's the other way round. Everyone notices me; they can't help it because I look different. Sometimes that's hard, but I'm getting used to people staring. They call us butterfly children, children with EB. I like that. It sounds nice and today I'm feeling pretty much like a butterfly, floating around, twisting and turning and dancing between leaves. It's a good feeling.
"We're here!" The stick man yells. He's slipping down a mossy bank, heading for the stream.
"Where are we?"
"At the babbling brook."
"Oh."
"Well are you coming or not?"
I nod. What more can I say?
The brook as you might have guessed is magical. It's talks, well it babbles to be more precise. It, which is a He, is very friendly. His voice reminds me of my grandad's, all soft and wrinkly around the edges. He doesn't seem surprised at Tat's disappearance. Instead he sighs, and I watch as his waters spiral and ripple into a picture. It's as clear as looking into a mirror.
"You're right, look, she's in trouble and she needs your help."
The stick man grumbles, and the brook tells him to be quiet.
I peer into the waters, careful not to get too close to the reflection, which keeps breaking apart.
"Where is she?" I ask.
I can see she's trapped, her leg, caught on something. Her face is very pale, the usual fiery glint gone from her eyes. She's leaning against a tree, and there are dirty tearstains on her cheeks.
"She'll be over the other side of the river, probably to the West near Soulless Plains."
Says the stick man.
"I told her to be careful, not to wander too far."
"Nagging will do no good." Says the brook. "You have to rescue her. There's nothing I can do from here. I'm helpless."
"Well what can I do?" Whines the stick man.
I was going to ask the same thing, but hold my tongue; after all I'm not made of sticks.
"You can show the lad here how to find her."
"And when I do, what if I can't help?" I ask.
The brook's waters bubble and then return to silvery stillness.
"There is always something you can do. You should know that."
We set off on our journey travelling through the heart of the First Forest. The stick man's stiff little actions leading the way. I try talking to him, and after a while he seems to cheer up. I suppose it takes time to trust people. I wonder what my mum and dad are doing right now. Will they be wondering where I am? I must have been gone for a couple of hours. Oh dear. They'll be worrying. Mum will probably be doing her nut. She's bad enough anyway, but with me having EB, well it just makes her that bit more protective.
Its strange this flying business. I'm not tired at all. I suppose if anything my head feels tight from all this thinking– thinking about keeping off the ground, thinking about gliding in the right direction, thinking about not crashing into that tree. But I'm doing okay. I'm rather pleased with myself. I wish Tat was here because she'd be pleased too. I think she gets quite angry with me because I often don't feel like doing anything. I tell her she doesn't understand what it's like, and she just wags a finger at me and says ‘stop being such a baby'. She's only trying to make me feel better.
"That's my job done!" The stick man says stamping both twig-legs into the ground.
"Is this it?"
"Sure looks like it." He points down the slope.
I follow his gaze and that's when I see her, still slumped against the tree trunk.
"Tat, tat!" I yell.
I swoop down towards her, enjoying the fast rush of air against my cheek.
"Billy?"
She looks up; her eyes are huge and red-rimmed.
"Billy is that really you? What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you silly."
She tries to smile, "I'm a bit stuck."
"I can see that."
"It's my leg. I was about to climb this tree, but I slipped, the bark was a bit damp and well the next thing I know my leg's stuck down some kind of hole. But it feels like something's cutting into my ankle. I was afraid. I thought I'd be stuck here for days."
"Have you tried moving it?"
"I've tried everything." She sighs, "It's useless."
"Let me see." I push my head close to the ground, it's almost as if the soil is gripping on to her foot. From what I've seen so far, nothing would surprise me with this place.
"It looks like the earth is clutching your leg."
"It feels like it's trying to pull me under."
Her eyes well up, "I was only going to do a bit of tree-hopping."
Tree-hopping is Tat's favourite pastime. She springs from branch to branch like a trapeze artist. I've seen her do it my garden and boy is she good.
"Don't worry I'll get you out of here, I promise."
"But it hurts, it really hurts."
I smile. "I know. But you know what you'd say to me don't you?"
"Stop being such a baby," she smiles, "yes I would."
"Wait there a minute." I say. "I think I've got the answer."
I soar back up the hill my nose almost flat to the ground. I'm looking for something that I know will help. It's not too long before I spot it.
"Stick man!"
"Oh not you again." He shakes his head. "I thought I was rid of you."
"But you can help, you can save the day."
"And what if I don't want to? Can't a poor old group of sticks be left in peace for just one moment? I've done my bit, I brought you here, and anyway what can I do, I'm made of sticks remember?"
"There's always something you can do." I say, remembering the Brook's words to me.
"That's easy for you to say."
"Don't you want to be a hero?" I whisper.
"I want to be lots of things, but it never happens."
I tell him the plan and he sighs and whinges in all the right places. Deep down I think he's delighted to be asked, but he'd never let on. We go back to Tat, who has a terrible giggling fit when she see's him. It doesn't go down too well, but he's a generous sort despite appearances. He wriggles down into the soil, brushing her leg until I can only make out the tip of his conker head. Then after much‘hrumphing' he turns on his side his arms out-stretched pushing the soil further apart. I can see the gap; it's only there for a second so I have to move fast. I grab Tat's leg and pull. She falls back against the tree. There's a squeal and the muffled sound of shouting.
"We did it!" I say.
"Yes we did," grins Tat. "Thank you both so much."
"But what aboutÂ…..?"
I look at the patch of soil where her foot was stuck.
"Where's he gone?"
Her mouth drops, "He'll be stuck inside, just like I was. The soil will have dragged him down."
"But we can't leave him there. We've got to try and get him out."
I begin clawing at the ground, but it's solid like a brick.
"I don't understand, one minute there was a hole, now nothing."
"This place is alive Billy." She kneels next to me, her tiny fingers stabbing at the earth. "I don't think this is going to work," she says.
There's a thundering sound from above, a sound like the sky is about to crack open. It reminds me of the aeroplanes that fly over our house back home, and so I look up but there's nothing there.
"Leave the Stick Man." A gruff voice says. It comes from behind, shaking the fat bark of the tree trunk.
"Is that the tree talking?" I whisper.
Tat shrugs, her eye's look like they're about to pop out of her head.
"I said leave the Stick Man. He's safe, he's with me, deep beneath the earth in my roots. He'll be fine, he'll be born again as part of me, part of this tree."
"Is he really all right?" I ask Tat.
"Well he did come from a tree in the first place. So I suppose he can't be any real danger."
I nod, not that I'm convinced but what can I do?
"I say we leave. The trees are the oldest most respected beings in the forest. They wouldn't hurt anyone." She smiles, "honestly. I'm sure he'll be fine."
She takes my hand and we're off, and I have to say I'm glad. That talking tree was starting to give me the creeps.
Tat recovers fast. She's so full of beans sailing through the trees, springing from branch to branch as if her knees were made of rubber bands. I follow, gliding this way and that, curving and twirling to avoid branches; skimming the forest floor, and diving towards the stream that moves like a snake below us. It's so exciting. I really am a butterfly, beautiful and fragile. I'm a soaring, spinning boy dancing through the heart of the forest. Nothing can stop me. Nothing can hurt me, and that's a feeling I want to hold on to.
"You should be going home soon." Tat says.
"Home." I let the word tickle my lips.
I hadn't thought about it. I'd lost myself for a while there, but I know that I can't escape forever.
"You can always come back," she grins. "Whenever you want to. You've proved how easy it is today."
"I know." I smile.
I'll be honest, I'm not sure if I want to go back home. Part of me likes this new shape, likes being without pain for a while. But then I'd miss my family, and there are so many other things that I enjoy.
"I'll come and visit you, soon." Tat says.
"You only come for my mum's scones." I laugh.
"Mmmmmm scones!" She licks her lips. "Well they are very nice!"
We say our goodbyes quickly. Tat does that thing where she wrinkles her nose and waves. I'm not sure what I expect, or how hard I think going back will be but it all happens fast. One minute I close my eyes, then I open them to find another pair of eyes hovering above me. Perfume fills my nose, and it starts to twitch.
"Mum?"
"Oh Billy, you're awake, I was getting so worried."
And then to my dad, "John, Billy's awake, he's okay."
"Well of course he's okay." My dad comes into view.
His broad sun tanned features relax into a smile.
"You had us going for a bit there son. We couldn't wake you! We wondered where you'd gone to?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He shakes his head. "You and that over-active imagination."
I look out of the window. The lawn is shaded now the sun has gone in. The roses are bowing their pink heads; up and down they jig on the gentle breeze. I think I see something out of the corner of my eye. Yes I do see something. Its quick and nimble, and it's heading for the bush at the end of the garden. It can't be, but it is. I don't believe it! There's a little stick man on the grass. We have a stick man in our garden!
I start to laugh.
"What is it Billy?"
Mum's got that look of worry in her eyes.
"Just a private joke." I say, although I can't wait to tell Tat. She'll think it's a hoot. But then life is, sometimes. This window is my favourite spot; it opens up into my garden, and into other worlds too. Worlds that I can return to any time I want with a little imagination.
THE END.
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