A New Friend

A Short Story

Photo by Flor on Unsplash

The poplars tower over the Morning Choice trail in Patapsco State Park, part of a ribbon of green space that cuts through the dense suburbs south of Baltimore. Hiking along the trail, Carl Thompson watches the forest canopy as he passes underneath. He is reminded of the opening titles of Miller’s Crossing; the first notes of Carter Burwell’s soundtrack play in his head. The near constant sound of cars in the Baltimore/Washington corridor is only a whisper this deep in the park.

Carl is with his son Joseph, who, with the energy only a six-year-old could muster, has rushed ahead of Carl on the trail. It’s an unusually cold day for early November. Joseph — puffed out in his orange snow jacket and too big black mittens — waddles along like one of those inflatable mascots that entertain crowds at an NBA game. Watching Joseph brings a smile to Carl’s face. He knows this is one of those moments, the moments he needs to store in the corner of his mind to be pulled out like an old photograph, when, years from now, Joseph is off exploring new worlds on his own.

Joseph reaches a small stream that flows into the Patapsco from the neighboring Rockburn Park. He tosses a couple of toothpick-sized sticks into the water. The sticks spin and twist in the light current as Joseph watches which will make it downstream first. When the race is over, he stomps through the ankle-high water, seeing himself as an angry monster making his way across an even angrier sea.

As Joseph reaches the other side, he notices a fleck of color on the shore. Something is buried along the water’s edge. Using his mittens like garden trowels, he digs in the sand and dirt and pulls out a worn, downtrodden blob.

“Dad! Dad! Look!”

Carl hurries to Joseph, opting to hopscotch across the exposed rocks in the river.

Joseph holds out his treasure. It’s a small stuffed dragon, just a bit bigger than Joseph’s sodden mitten. The creature is layered with dirt but its orange coat peeks through the grime in spots. One of the dragon’s eyes has only loose thread where a button used to be and a wing is half ripped from the body. The poor thing looks like its been through more than one attack on the castle.

“This is like that dragon in the book we read! Can we keep it? It can’t stay out here in the wet and cold. It needs a home. Can we read that book to him?”

Carl stops to look at Joseph. His son’s stocking cap is tilted off to one side, his cheeks are flush red from the cold, and his boots are partially buried in the muck along the shoreline. But his happiness is radiant.

Carl thinks, When did I lose that ability for pure joy?

He snaps another mental photo and stores it away.

“Sure, Joseph, we can clean it up and give it a new home. Mom will be excited to see your new friend! Let’s start heading back, though, before it gets too dark.”

Joseph grins a child’s grin, holding the dragon close to his heart with one hand as he grabs his father’s fingers with the other. Carl helps Joseph balance on the rocks and back across the stream. The poplars continue to watch over the trio as Carl, Joseph, and the dragon make their way back home.