Natural Connection

Natural Connection

(Everything is quiet. The stage shows a park, labeled with a sign that reads "Lake View Park". Seen in the background, pieces of a forest. On the ground, fallen leaves. To the side, a run-down elementary school. A man and his son are walking on the trail past the park. The dad explains the park's past, and its present.)

Son *sarcastically*: "Wow, this place is...interesting."

Dad: " Yeah, it doesn't shine too much anymore. But when I was little, it was pretty beautiful, especially during good ol' autumn. Oh, the leaves were so cool to me as a kid, changing and all. It was sad when they fell, but besides that, it was pretty beautiful."

Son: "Wow. So, you went here, often?"

Dad: "Yep. I went to this park, this forest here."

Son: "And this school?"

Dad: "Sure thing. Lake View Elementary, named after that huge lake over there, right next to the forest. Not a terrible school, but there was a lot of traffic nearby, which was annoying."

Son: "Why so much traffic? There's not a whole lot around here."

Dad: "The trees. All the trees. For just a park, merely an elementary school playground, there were a ton of trees. Just enough for us kids, but just enough for the lumberjacks too."

Son: "The who?"

Dad: "The paper company. About halfway through my last year here, that forest became more than a playground. It was a "payground", if you will, to them. They came, they took, and they left."

(The dad is overcome with a sense of disappointment, sadness through memory. He remembers what was taken from him. From so many children, people.)

Son: "You cared about that forest, didn't you?"

Dad: "It was hard not to 'care about it'. Everyday, every single day, here, we played. We'd climb the trees, swing around like monkeys, and just have the most free and fun times of our lives. We'd run, sprint, leap and roll all over the place. My childhood, the little world that I created here throughout those trees, that was so important to me. Along with the running around, I also used to sit out there and draw. Drawing was my thing. Back in 3rd grade, I began to color at this park, this forest. It opened up my world of creativity. And look where I am now."

Son: "You just won an art award, like, weeks ago!"

Dad: "An American Art Award. In my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined I'd be where I am today. But this place was my source of potential. It gave me everything I needed to make it, and then, it was taken. The place where it all began, right here, that was taken from me. Us. Everyone..."

Son: "...I'm sorry dad. I'm sorry those paper guys took from you. They didn't even worry what you thought. That sucks. I mean, to me, they are all just...plants. And maybe to those people, they're just paper. I guess some people just don't see that kind of value. They just don't-"

(His dad cuts him off, while in a trance of thought.)

Dad: "-think. What DO they...think?"

Son: "Who?"

Dad: "The trees. If the trees could think, what would they think? What if they do think, but just can't speak? If a tree could speak, what would it say...?"

(The father and son exit the stage, seemingly fading away from the scene. All that is left is the park. The forest. One specific tree stands still, then turns to the audience. Standing next to some patches of dry, dead grass, the tree speaks.)

Tree (slowly): "Again. I wait, again. Every day, again. Again, I watch my leaves fall to the ground. It is that time of year, isn't it? I never much liked going bald. I always preferred my leaves up and beautiful, but hey, you can't control the seasons. The only thing I really like about "good ol' autumn" is the fact that my leaves turn different colors, which is really cool. I just wish they would stay...I wish they would stay, again."

(A second of blank staring and silence, then quickly returning to reality)

*Loving and dreamy-like*

The humans, the little ones (I can never remember what they're called), I love them so much, though. As a tree, those small humans are like presents, almost like "Christmas", as they say. Not one tree in the whole park (unless there are more out there, but I think that's just a conspiracy) doesn't have a special place in their roots for small humans.

(Paces with pent up adrenaline, as children quickly enter the stage. They run around and play)

We thrive on their energy, their excitement, their youth. Their creativity is so infectious, I just wish I could play along with them. Well, in a way, I kinda do. When they play those games sometimes, and they climb up to my branches and hang around, I become a part of their fun.

(The children exit the stage)

Oh, those crazy little monkeys never get old. Oh, uh, I have no clue what "monkeys" are, but I've heard them use that word a lot. It seems like it's a name for a human who likes to jump around, swing from our limbs, and just be wild. Also, apparently they only eat "bananas", which I actually have seen before, half of one laying on the ground as the humans clumsily drop it behind them. Hopefully "monkey" is not an offensive name to them. The last thing I'd ever want to do would be to be mean to those lovely, small humans. Mother of nature, I could just go on and on all day about those little things...

You know, I'm not much. A tree, as "pretty" as we are, doesn't hold much.

(Paper airplane birds are thrown and black beads -bugs- are thrown/rolled from the stage sides)

Besides the ants and birds that crawl and flock upon our trunk, we're really all just...plants. Yes, the "outdoors", as they call it, is a beautiful place. As I've heard from the humans, the whole world is a very diverse and truly mystical land (I just wish I could see it all). But, just not 'here' anymore, you know? This spot...not...not this place. I've been here too long, far too long. My roots are embedded in the soil beneath me, which tie me to the ground, just like those bigger humans tie up- oh, nevermind. I shouldn't say that. That would just kill the mood even more.

(The tree tries to shake his mind and change the subject)

Oh, on the sunlight itself, I wish I had walking legs, just like the humans. More than anything else, I desire to play. I desire to walk. No, run. Run, just like them. Sprint. Leap. Roll. Fall, NO! Not fall-please, anything but fall...Uh, I mean trip.

(New children run on stage and trip (not painfully or hard). They laugh about it and keep playing.)

Trip over the randomly assorted and well-placed rocks in the soil, as if it were meant to be. I don't want to fa-trip to get hurt (I hope the little ones don't get too hurt when they fall). But just to laugh at myself for being so clumsy and reckless. *chuckles* Ah, what a fun time that would be. If I could do everything they do, I would never leave this place, I just couldn't.

(Parents walk on stage)

Parent "1": "C'mon guys, we have to get going."

(They pick up their children and leave. The kids are visibly sad that they are leaving.)

Tree *Struggling to speak*: "It's odd. I find it odd. It feels wrong, almost, that the bigger humans don't do that, what the little ones do. Run, trip, roll, jump, play. What's so different about them? Why don't they like me? Us? Nature? We rarely see them around, unless they're coming to...take.

*Almost angrily*

To pick up the little ones, prying them from their own little world, right in the middle of the real one. To grab with their greasy, dirty hands, and rip the fun right out of their hearts. Oh my, how I wish sometimes that I could just reach out with my branches and stop them. Stop them from stealing away their smiles. Taking, taking them from their happy place in beautiful mother nature. Let them be happy, or else! Or else, I'll...

*Slowly again, remembering his role as a tree*

...sit here. Immobile. Motionless. Miserable. I'll sit here, and I'll watch it all pass by me. That's what "being a tree" is like. Watching. Surveying. Observing. 'You may watch the game, but you'll never have your own turn.' Ever.

*Filled with rage, pacing angrily with various hand motions*

Unless-no-no-I-UGH! Those big, bark-eating, nut-headed, stupid humans! They treat us like a resource, like a product, like we're nothing! All they do is TAKE! Take, take, take, take! They never 'give' to us. They never 'give' to the little ones. They just take. With those tools, oh those dreaded tools. They carry around those big, bulky death machines, those blades, just to take.

*A sad tone*

To hurt. Everyone. Do you know? Do you know why there is so much open land here? Do you know why it's hard to even call this place a forest anymore? To call it my home? My home, that I grew up in, that I literally grew up from. Do you know why? Because. They. TAKE! They took them...my friends. They took them all, my family. My mother.

(A tear in his eye, as his mother slowly walks on stage -this is a memory-)

One day, big and tall, my mother stood. Right here, beautiful and full of life, she stood. One day, seeds fell. To the ground, those seeds fell, right here. And now, here they are. Here I am. I stood right here, and my mother stood right here. For years, growing together, experiencing together, living together...right here. One day, seeds didn't fall. No, seeds fell, but not from the tree. No, once-once those machines started...the seeds fell with the tree. With her. She fell.

(A man with 'chainsaw' slashes at the mother tree, and she falls to the ground. The tree stands still and can't move.)

She fell...on the ground. They...cut, stabbed. They hurt her. They took her, and I watched...

(She is dragged off stage. After a couple of seconds, a singular piece of white paper drops from above.)

Paper, I've heard from time to time, seen here and there, is what we are to them. Sheets of blank nothing, that are made into something. I see the small humans do it, with amazing, bright colors (I learned the names of the colors from the little ones).

*The mood turns from anger to amazement and understanding*

Beautiful colors, just like her, almost. Incoherent scribbles, but maybe it's like their own little language. Their own little creations are so special to them, you can tell. They never let them hit the ground, or rip, or tear. They keep them looking oh-so beautiful. Beautiful...You know, she was beautiful, just the way she was-but-she would have loved those colors.

(As each color is named, that color of paper is dropped from above)

Of course, every fall, we gain new colors (oranges, yellows, reds). Even during spring, we have colors (but those are usually just green). She would have adored those colors. What...what if...she is paper. What if, now, she CAN see those colors. BE those colors. Maybe, out there, she is "blue". Maybe, somewhere, she is "pink" (that's my favorite). Or maybe, just maybe, she's all of the colors. When she stood right here, to me, she was all the colors. Brown and green on the outside, but on the inside, she was every color you could ever imagine. You know, maybe somewhere, she is showing her inside colors, who she really is. Maybe the little ones are noticing her inner beauty, bringing out her "rainbow", and scribbling her true colors.

(He goes up and grabs a piece of paper.)

Maybe, she's...out there still. Somewhere. Not here. But somewhere new. Exciting. Colorful. Mystical. What if she just...moved? Not on her own walking legs, but, why does it matter? Moving position, changing your view, and discovering everything new just seems so worth it, no matter the risk, cause or manner. Maybe, she's safe. Oh, I know where she is: on their laps. The little ones. In their hands, in their hearts, in their own little worlds. Colorful and free, she is with them. Maybe, in their worlds she CAN play. She CAN walk. No, RUN. RUN, just like them. SPRINT. LEAP. ROLL. TRIP. FALL.

Fall...

Fall. Y-you know, the more I think about it, falling doesn't sound so bad. I think-I think I would like to fall. I wanna go there, with them. The little ones. I wanna fall into their hands. Their imagination. Their worlds. Then, I could play, walk, run, sprint, leap, roll, trip, and fall...with her.

(After some time of silence and recollection, a loud screech is heard)

*Suddenly surprised and confused*

AH! What was that? A scream? That sounded like a squirrel just got hit with a rock and let out its final squeal. Like a bunny got caught by a wolf and- wait.

(The tree looks hard into the distant view of the park. He sees little humans, kids, approaching the forest.)

*Laughs and smiles*

There they are. Right on time, here they come. The little ones are here, AND LOOK! They brought the color sticks! They brought...the paper. They brought their smiles and joy (when don't they). I can feel it from all the way over here, and they're coming this way! You know, even if I can't walk to them, thank the sun itself that they choose to walk to me. What a gift...Hey, maybe it's that "Christmas" thing today. It feels like it.

(Two children enter the stage playfully, bundled up from the cold, with crayons and paper in hand. They sit on the ground; one near the truck of 'our tree', and one on the dry, empty spot in the grass next to our tree.)

Oh look at them, just look at them. They're so pure and happy. Cheerful and kind. I could go on and on about them all day! Uh, well, I guess I have been, huh?

*The tree takes a step back and thinks*

What a rabbit hole of thoughts that was. I've seen some rabbit holes around here, and this was MUCH deeper than any one of those. But as long as that road was, so quickly, here I am with a smile on my face. And all it took were those sweet little humans. That's how it always is. As a tree, that's just how it is. Yes, we may have miserable, stuck-doing-nothing lives, but all we can do is look at the good. We're never going to be able to change our own fate. So, we may as well take what we got, love what there is to love, appreciate life for what it is and what is around us, and let life take its course. And maybe, just maybe, one day, I'll be out and about in the world. Maybe I'll get to be free. Maybe I'll get to be colorful, crazy and active. Maybe, I'll get to see mom.

*The children grab their things, and they run off, being called by their parents*

But, until then, I wait. Again. Again, I wait. Every day, again, I will sit here. I will sit here, and I will wait. What for? Who knows. But, I. Will. Wait.

Again.

(The tree steps back, turns, and fades back into the others within the forest, losing its individuality. Once again, the dad and the son come onto stage, back in the same spot they left off at.)

Son: "Dad, they're trees. Trees don't think, or talk, or anything like that. They just...live, and stand there. They're not like us, nothing like us. We're humans, they are plants.

(His father stays silent, thinking)

Son: "...Listen dad, I'm sorry those things were taken from you, but don't get in your head like that. It's kinda weird, actually. Anyways, it's lunch, and I'm really hungry. Could I please have a snack from the bag?"

(The dad gently comes back to reality)

Dad *calmly*: "Yeah, sure buddy.

(He reaches into his bag of items he brought for the trip, and pulls out two bananas. They both peel them and begin to eat. The dad surveys the land one last time)

Dad: "Alright, I think I'm ready to go now. Are you?

Son: "Yeah, I am... Thank you for this, dad. I enjoyed seeing this part of your childhood, this place. It means a lot. It's probably one of the best early Christmas presents I've ever gotten."

Dad *smile on his face*: "Really? Well, good. I'm so glad you liked it all, really. I know I sure loved it, coming back, and showing you."

Son: "You know, it really leaves me thinking..."

Dad *surprised and intrigued*: "Oh? It does? What are you thinking?"

Son: "...about what other cool gifts I'm gonna get!"

*Both the father and son laugh, but the father has a look of unsatisfaction on his face.*

Dad *to himself*: "I wish you cherished this place like we did."

Son: "What did you say, dad?"

Dad: "Eh, nothing. I'm just glad that you're happy. Anyways, let's get back home now. We can't be home too late on Christmas Eve."

(The father and son walk off together, leaving the park, the lake, the school, and the forest behind. As they walk away, a half of a banana remains on the ground, as the father clumsily dropped it behind.)

(Fin.)