Fallen Leaves - Tyson Matthews

The trees are red; the wind is cold. I want to go inside, but Daddy said I have to stay outside until he’s done raking leaves. He rakes them, and then puts them into this big dish with wheels, as tall as three of me–he calls it a trailer, but it looks like a big dish to me. I want to see all the leaves in the big dish, but I’m not three of me high. Daddy spends a lot of time doing dumb things. He says this is something you have to do every year, but why not wait and do it next year? Why rake leaves at all? 

Daddy's a fisherman, and that’s why he’s not very smart. I said that to Mommy once, and she said that there can be smart fishermen, and she’ll tell me the next time she meets one. I’m still waiting for that. I think Daddy’s not smart because he’s a fisherman. If he weren’t a fisherman, he’d probably be a doctor, but he’s not a doctor because he’s a fisherman, and now he’s dumb raking up leaves in his big green boots.

I think Daddy does a lot of things he doesn’t need to, and I think Mommy thinks so too. He doesn’t do them for fun; raking leaves isn’t fun. He should play in the leaves, but Daddy’s dumb, and he doesn’t like fun. One thing I know is I don’t want to be like Daddy. I want to be a doctor, and if I’m not a doctor, I want to have fun. Maybe I’ll be a fun doctor and help people like Daddy. I love Daddy, but I don’t want to be like him. The only smart thing I ever saw Daddy do was make a cover for his big dish. It’s almost the same size as the dish, but it falls in and squishes the leaves so that they won’t get out. I heard him tell Mommy this, and he was really excited. Fishermen must really hate leaves to be so happy about squishing them. Maybe the leaves hurt the fish, and fishermen love fish, so that must be why. 

It’s getting colder now. I want to see the leaves in the big dish, so I go over to the big dish’s wheel. Over the wheel is some shiny metal, like a step that I’m able to climb onto. Up on the shiny metal now, I still can’t see inside the big dish. With my hands up, I can just barely grab the top, and I try to pull up, but I can’t. I try again, jumping as I pull, and I get my arm up, but now the top of the big dish is pressing under my arm. I get the other arm up and wiggle forward to get up more, wiggling more and more–I feel like a monkey worm. I have my eyes closed because I’m wiggling so much, and the top of the big dish is pushing into my belly and starting to hurt. I want it to stop, so I wiggle and push as much as I can, but I wiggle too far and fall in. The hurting’s gone, but I can’t see because I’m covered in leaves. I open my mouth to yell, right away, leaves go in, and I can’t make a sound. I stand up and try to climb out, but then I remember it’s three of me high. I feel around for a shiny step like there was outside, and I can’t find one, so I lie back down. The leaves are like a blanket, but not one that makes you warm. They make you itchy and dirty instead–they’re not a very good blanket at all. I shouldn’t have tried to see the leaves. 

A while ago, I heard some sounds, and then the leaves started pressing down on me harder. I can’t stand up anymore, and air is hard to get. I hear Daddy’s truck start up and leave. He usually goes into town after raking leaves and sometimes takes me with him, and gets me a treat at the store. He must have thought I went in with Mommy, and Mommy probably thinks I went with him. Mommy’s going to be mad at Daddy when she finds out he squished me like a leaf in his big dish. I wish Daddy didn’t make this cover. It was his only smart thing, and now he’s done something stupid with it. I know he didn’t mean to, but he’s squished me like a leaf, and I’m not a leaf. 

I can’t see, and I can’t open my mouth without leaves and dirt going in. It feels like little leaves are up my nose and in my neck. They're choking me, and every time I cough, I have less air. I feel bad for the leaves, and I hate them at the same time. It’s like I’m turning into a leaf. First, I was a boy, then a monkey worm, and now a leaf. I’m a leaf full of leaves, and I want out. I want to see Mommy again, and Daddy too, even though he squished me and turned me into a leaf. I’m not scared, but I want out. If I get out, I’m going to chuck Daddy into the ocean and turn him into a fish, but I’ll get him back out with his fishing rod–hopefully that doesn’t make me a fisherman. I’ll have to ask Mommy first; maybe she’ll help me do it. 

Air is almost gone. I shouldn’t have tried to look at the leaves in the big dish. I did it for fun, but I didn’t need to. Am I like Daddy?