Remember Me In The Woods

The first time I went, we walked hand-in-hand through each cul-de-sac in my neighborhood. Sweat dribbled down our foreheads as we burned up from the hot summer sun of 2009. As we turned the corner of the last street, I saw some trees lined up along the side of the road.

“What’s that Grandpa?”

“That’s where the bears live,” He smiled and said.

Frightened, I clutched his arm. He loved scaring me.

“Go grab some leaves and acorns and place them in the hollow tree trunk.” He instructed. “That way the bears have something to eat and won’t eat you.”

I frantically scooped up as many leaves and acorns as I possibly could and threw them in the old, rotting tree trunk. I hesitantly peeked behind the trees. It was a small woods— so small, you could see the end of the street clearly. As we started to walk in, I squeezed my grandfather’s hand tightly.

“Tito?” I nervously asked. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” He simply responded.

Every time we returned to the woods, the leaves and acorns were gone. I still don’t know what happened to them. Maybe my grandfather came back every day to scoop them out. Maybe the wind or the rain washed them away. Maybe there were magical invisible bears coming to eat them. Or maybe it was not as fantastical as I thoughts and squirrels simply shoved them in their cheeks to eat later.

Every day, we continued to walk through that wood. It was on those walks that my grandfather gave me all the best advice. “If you want to become a millionaire, just make a million friends. Your real friends will never hesitate to loan you a dollar.” I still don’t really know what that means.

Every time we walked through the woods, the trip was longer. I felt as though we spent hours each day, walking through the treacherous 70-foot trek— coming in with the bright sun burning our faces and walking out into the moonlit night.

“Let’s head back home chiquita. It’s time for dinner” He instructed. 

“Tito, we came after lunch. It’s only been a few minutes!” I whined. 

“Time flies, doesn’t it?”

It was devastating every time he had to fly back home to Mexico. Although I visited him a few times a year, it felt like an eternity apart.

“Don’t leave Tito” I begged.

“No te preocupes chiquita, I’ll see you soon”

“But I want to see you every day” I insisted. Stalling, trying to get him to stay. 

His response always struck me with its simplicity: “I’m always here, even if you can’t see me. Whenever you miss me, go back to our little bear trail and remember everything I told you. Remember me in the woods.”

Strike Out,

Written by: Emma Sofia Griffin

Edited by: Jane Dodge

Graphic by: Aisy Nix