Peculair Pointsetta #9

The foot prints ended suddenly in the snow. The sound of the four wheelers dissipated into the crisp winter air. Jim got to the end of trail first, cutting the engine and staring…at the last impressions of his brother. “They just end here? Huh….” And he nodded silently still staring at the tracks. No other footprints were around, no other sound for that matter. On the east side of the ranch, the trees were few, so there was no sound of ice on the branches clinking or the rustle of birds. Just a tinge of ice build up on the barbed wire on the fence yonder. No cattle either. Nothing but bootprints, that stop suddenly.

We had woken up early, and we had checked on Matt early on. Jim and his parents had thought he was okay, and that a trip to the older ranch house would be good for him, getting out of what they were starting to realize was their oppressive shadow/ influence. Matt was taking his medication regularly and on time. It was all going to be okay.

“Something’s changing Sarah…”

“I know, Matt, I know… that’s high school.”

“No, I mean something’s really changing… I’m different than I used to be.”

“Yeah, dude, It’s called puberty. Your voice deepens, ya get muscles, hair you know where.”

“I know all that, but something different is happening to me. It’s weird…but I think I’m… I’m growing wings.”

“Yeah, uhuh. To go with that angelic smile I’m sure.”

“Sarah…I’m really serious”

I had played that game too. Albeit when I was younger. I would try my hardest to convince my parents that something was eating a biplane we were watching one day. I was absolutely convinced that some blobulus monster, was munching on the plane. I definitely gained their attention, but not their belief. I think my psych textbook would have called it an exercise in defining reality. At the age of six, that’s normal. At the age of fourteen…well that’s another matter altogether. Matt was a good kid, he was just having trouble getting used to high school.

Jim told me his parents were notified by the school nurse, who, for like the 15^th time had treated itching with cortisone cream around his shoulder blades. There was no rash, but his fingernails had broken and gouged into the skin, leaving two crescent slices, with the ends almost meeting his spine. The first diagnosis was obsessive compulsive disorder. But then the shrink discovered why he was scratching. And Matt became more verbal about his believe. And it started spiraling down from there. He never jumped off of the roof, or did anything crazy. He was just firmly resolute in the fact or belief that he was growing wings, and that one day…he would fly.

You can’t just believe things, right? You’ve got to have a base in reality, you’ve got to have facts and observation to back up this belief. Science says so, anyone credible says so. If a child imagines pink elephants on parade, that’s all well and good…but to everyone else there won’t be pink elephants. Right?

Jim said a quiet “shit”.. revved the four wheeler, breaking the silence, and started circling around the bootprints, trying to see if any tracks had somehow caught the wind and blown away.

“Jim, JIM! We’ve got to call your parents…and the police!”

He turned around and followed me back to the ranch house, both of us just trying to figure out what the heck had happened. Where the hell Matt was, and if he had worn his coat..and where the hell he was going.

The footprint just ended so suddenly in the snow…and Matt was just a kid