Eldred Bird - A Family Thing
430 Words
“Lower the drawbridge!” Owen skittered across the low-hanging tree limb and latched onto a dry twig. He snapped it off and waved it in the air like the mighty sword Excalibur.
“Get out of my castle and don’t come back! No? Then prepare to fight!” He lunged forward, swinging his weapon at the branches blocking his path across the arboreal bridge. With each thrust and parry, he advanced, vanquishing foes. When he reached the end of the limb, the brave swordsman leapt to the ground, rolled in the grass, and sprang back to his feet. He spun around on one foot and kicked at the air.
“Into the moat with you, scoundrel! The crocodiles will finish you off!” Owen continued his advance through the autumn leaves—running, tumbling, and plunging his wooden blade into the bushes and tall grass. People driving by on the narrow country lane appeared oblivious to the battle raging just off the pavement—Owen was equally oblivious to their presence.
He continued to cut a swath through the invisible army until he reached the driveway, then doubled back toward the house where his father stood peering out of the big picture window. Owen stopped, grinned, and waved at him before running back to the shade of the large tree.
“There’s something wrong with that boy.”
“Why do you say that?” Owen’s mother looked up from her book. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s running around the yard yelling and poking things with a stick.”
“So?”
“So, the neighbors are going to think he’s crazy.”
“He’s not crazy, dear, he’s just playing.”
“He’s talking to himself again. Why can’t he just play videogames like the other kids?”
“He’s not like the other kids.”
“That’s what I’m saying. He’s not normal.”
“Okay, I guess it’s time I told you.” She closed her book, set it aside, and patted the couch cushion next to her. “You’ll probably want to sit down for this.”
“That sounds ominous.” Owen’s father melted onto the couch and faced his wife. “There really is something wrong with the boy?”
“Yes.” She took his hands and stared deep into his eyes. “It’s genetic … something that runs in my family. My father had it, I have it, and I’m afraid I passed it along to our son.”
“Is it serious?”
She lowered her head. “Very.”
“Can it be cured?”
“No, it’s something he’ll have to learn to live with.”
He gripped her hands tighter. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t really know how to tell you this.”
“Just say it straight out. I can take it.”
“Okay, here goes nothing. Owen has …” She took a deep breath. “An imagination!”
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