Talking Trees

The last time we had a free blog I put up the rough draft for my English essay. After handing it in I got an A. I promised that I would post the rest of it so here it is in its entirety.

The kitchen was filled with warmth and laughter, the warm light of glowing candles gently spilled into the soft yellow light coming from the hanging lamps over our heads. Jazz music drifted soulfully into the kitchen, were my uncle, brothers and I sat eating our grilled cheeses while munching on chips and guzzling down soda, with the exception to my uncle who was drinking ‘Green Drink,’ as we called it.

Outside the harsh wind wrapped itself around trees howling cruelly at them, causing them to creak as they swayed and scratched at each other. This sent chills down the spines of my brothers and I.

“Uncle Dean, what is that?”

“Yea, why did it start doing that?”

The wind had actually started to fly around the kitchen taking papers and napkins flying with it, still howling. My brothers showed their fear but I had to play the part of the big sister.

“It’s just the wind going too fast through the trees you guys. It just makes that noise!” I yelled over the wind while closing the window, allowing the papers to flutter to the ground but doing nothing to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think that it’s the wind at all, I think it has to be; he-who-must-not-be-named!” My uncle said this with such conviction and urgency in his face that my brothers and I actually got goose bumps. As soon as he said this, the wind stopped its screatching.

For a brief second there, I thought that some hideous monster had heard us talking about him and was getting ready to barge right in and take us all. That is until the wind picked up again bringing my imagination back down to earth. The same question came from all three of us.

“Who is…he-who-must-not be…said, heard of… or whatever?”

My uncle responded with the same cool conviction he had only seconds earlier; “Ah, if you want to find out, you will have to read one of my favorite books of all time. One I was planning on reading to all of you tonight.”

I gave a second thought as to whether I wanted to know who he-who-must-not-be-named was or not. When you read anything with Uncle Dean, it became a ritual. He made the biggest deal ever out of reading. The bad part was he always passed the book. He would read a page in less than a minute giving each character his own voice and personality; he really got into it and made it fun to listen to. Then he would pass it to you and wait for you to struggle through the whole next page. He seemed to absolutely love it, but for me the entire experience was horrific.

Of course my brothers where all for it, and ready to find out who good old no-name was. They had no problem with listening to my uncle read. With the two of them being too young to read, they didn’t have my problem of hopeless word stumbling.

I knew my uncle viewed us as his own kids, and it wasn’t very often that he had the chance to come over to baby sit us. (My parents rarely went out) He had also brought us one of his favorite books, and coming from him, a man who loved books likehe did, that was a big deal. So to humor my brothers and make my uncle happy, I decided I would sit down for the book that night. There was also that little question still tucked into the back of my head, “Who was you know who?”

The rest of that afternoon flew by and night fell fast as it does in late October. We all crawled into my parents queen sized bed and piled on the huge fluffy green blankets. My brothers and I played that game where you kick your legs back and forth really fast under the covers to make the little electric sparks while my uncle went to get the book.

When he came back, he was carrying something that I at that at my age level could compare only to a Bible. The thing was HUGE! I was used to reading things that where half the width of my finger. There was no way I was going to help read that thing. Just before I was about to jump out of bed, my uncle gently laid the book down on the blankets.

He put on a voice that was remarkably like Robin Williams and said; “Here you go boys and girls, my favorite book, Harry Potter, and the Sorcerer’s Stone!”

His whole face was smiling from his eyes all the way down to his teeth. There was no way I was going to be able to leave now, I would be sent on a guilt trip. My brothers clung to either side of him as he opened the book while I hung back and reviewed the cover as he read the authors name and dedication, all that boring stuff.

I picture of a nerd on a broom, a unicorn, castle with a three headed monster in it, some shiny stars, an owl, key and a man with a hood and beard! Surely this had to be him, he-who-must-not-be-named, this was what I would focus on as the book played out. I had a face; I just needed a name and an explanation for why he didn’t have one right now.

“Now, this book is about witches, and wizards, strange creatures, and most importantly magic!” He went on in his Robin Williams voice. “If at any point in time you get scared, just let me know and I will stop, but I don’t think you’ll find it scary. That is except of course until we get to you know who!”

He deepened his voice at the words; you know who and raised his eyebrows up and down crookedly. I started to think; magic, wizards, these were things I believed in. Witches I could do without, but the anticipation was getting to me. I wanted to know who ‘he’ was, and I now wanted to know more about this books magic and the guy on the cover.

My uncle returned to his normal voice and began reading; “Chapter one, ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Private Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

By the time he finished the first page, my brothers must have asked him ten times if one of the Dursleys was you-know-who or not, and my uncle told them that they were not and we would know when that part came up. As he turned the page, I expected to be given the book so I put my hands out which he seemed not to notice and read on.

“They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.”

I wasn’t going to have to read this time! I was going to get to listen to the entire thing and learn about who all these people were and what their magic was. I laid back down and pulled the covers around me so I was no more than a small head sticking out of a cocoon. A caterpillar wrapped up in the story, I hung onto my uncles every word and let the book unfold before me.

We went through chapter after chapter. By the time we were in chapter three my brothers where both out cold. One of them was drooling onto my uncle shoulder and the other snoring so quietly it was almost a purr. I had been forcing myself to stay awake because my head was spinning along with Harry’s as we were introduced to the Wizarding world at the same time. Then finally 54 pages later, the moment had arrived.

“Gulpin` gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was a wizard who went…bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…” My uncle read Hagrids words in his Scottish accent, and a few lines later, his name came out.

Voldemort! Finally I knew who this guy was, and why he was called he-who-must-not-be-named, people were afraid of him, heck I was afraid of him and I didn’t really even know about him.

With it being midnight and all, my uncle said he had to stop reading for the nightbecause it was way past my bedtime and he didn’t want to get me in trouble. Sleepily I agreed only after he promised to read more to me the next day.

We all overslept that morning and just after breakfast my parents arrived back home from their mini vacation. The rest of that morning was spent talking about their trip and before long it was time for my uncle to go. Before he left, he pulled me aside and slipped something into my hands. It was the book, and it was surprisingly light. He told me I could keep it for as long as it took me to read it. I felt honored and promised to start reading it right away,which I did.

It took me almost an entire year to read that book, and I loved every second of it. The more I read and further I got, the easier it became to read the words. I also found it much easier to read it all in my head instead of out loud. I went on to read all of the books and became a huge Harry Potter nerd. Slowly they helped me to catch onto reading, I branched off and read other books about magic and then worked my way into adventure and intrigue nowI pretty much read everything.

I never gave my uncle his book back, and he never asked for it. It is now a part of my glorious Harry Potter collection. Looking at the cover sometimes reminds me of the day I actually started to like reading. That was the day my uncle took a different approach on teaching me without even trying, and that is something I am truly thankful for.