Part 1. The Tall Trees Under Which, We Grew

(Authors Note: Since this is an unconventional kind of novel, I have decided on an unconventional style of wtiting. Through the course of this book, I shall alternate POV, prose/peorty, and a few modern writing styles known to most users of the internet. I do this, not to confuse the reader, but to add greater scale and scope to the story and because this is an experimental novel and because, quite frankly, I was never the sort to go in for convention anyway. In addition, chapter lengths will likewise be unconventional. Some will be long, others, quite short depending on what needs to be said. Again, as this is an unconventional form of Novel...a novel kind of novel, I think I can get away with it. Enjoy and please, contribute. C. J. Oakes)

Chapter One: The Cockroach and the Crawfish

Andy Foster picked up a newspaper first thing every morning. He liked the local paper. It carried the usual assortment of political punditries, local happenings, and world news, but it also carried a segment from a bygone era. It was a throwback to all so-called good journalism today and he was sure that someone had to fight long and hard to get the editorial staff to approve it, but there it was every day, like the sunrise, on page three of Section C: The Poem of the Day.

It was really nothing more than a showcase, a feel good public relations piece for the paper, but for Andy, it was like a cool glass of homemade lemonade on a hot, August afternoon back home. His mother used to read poetry to him when he was growing up and while he had strayed from that path as an adult, he was finding a certain joy again in reading page three, Section C. Today, however, particulary struck him, for it could only have been written by someone from back home. Only a certified Coon-Ass, as Louisiana Cajuns are known in slang, could have come up with something as odd and yet, still so thought-provoking as today's peom.

Andy kicked back and read.

The Cockroach and the Crawfish

By C. J. Oakes

The bag was dragged to the cooking pot
and each small, red creature knew of its lot.
The Boiling water, so strong and so foul,
The first to enter did wail, scream, and howl.

But one escaped, he knew not just how;
When the bag flew open, he slipped out and now,
began to scurry off to safer land
hoping to avoid the hot cauldren's hand.

He skipped across a surface of "rock,"
as a cockroach appeared and started to mock;
For the roach was awaiting a morsel or scrap;
The thing that the humans would all call "L'agnappe."

For anything living the roach could not eat
and waiting for discards, he would take a seat.
But this one would threaten the entire feast;
The roach had to stop this tiny red beast.

So quickly he scurried out on the dance floor
as the crawfish made way for a wide open door;
And raising a ruckus, he started to point
at the crawfish a'trying to leave the joint.

But a lady, on seeing the helpful cockroach
screamed and retreated, but a man did approach.
And raising his foot high up in the air,
he crushed the cockroach with nary a care.

On reaching the door, the crawfish did bow,
and honor his friend for helping him wow
The crowd, so that they, never saw twice,
The fish leave the door, for the bug's sacrifice.

Oakes, huh? Andy thought to himself? Not a cajun name. He wondered who this guy was who had obviously, like himself, located here from there. Clearly, the guy had lived a considerable time in Louisiana, but what had made him come to Lubock? Was it the hurricanes, Rita and Katrina in particular? Or was it a woman? It's usually a woman.

Andy was intrigued. He loved the poem and he wondered if the writer had anymore like it? He decided that he would try to look up the author and meet him, if he was willing. The two might have much in common.

(Authors Note: This is the end of Chapter One. What do you think? Should the two meet? Will they become friends or enemies? Why? And why did each relocate to Lubbock, Texas from somewhere in Louisiana? Where in Louisiana? Send any input/suggestions you'd like. For what shoud be obvious reasons I cannot incorporate all ideas, but I will use as many as possible. Thank you. Jeff)

Dedication and Prologue

This book is dedicated to my Mother, Betty Oakes, who at just 4'6", was the tallest tree I've ever known.

PROLOGUE

As the sun set over West Texas, Andy Foster wondered if he'd made the right decision coming here. Sure, there were plenty of jobs and the economy was rolling, unlike in the rest of the nation, and there was much in the city to keep a single man entertained. Life was buzzing with everything his previous home lacked. A city on the grow, there were museums, nightlife, and dining establishments aplenty. There was a strong contrast between liberal and conservative, religion and agnosticism, tradition and change. Lubbock was a city of contrasts, all vividly painted onto the landscape like the old west cowboy paintings on the old downtown buildings. It was an exciting place to be. Still, always present in the far reaches of his thoughts were the groves of live oaks he had left behind, the lazy summer days fishing on the bayou, and of course Jill.

Andy had known Jill all his life, as he had known the pecan orchards with their succulent fruits presented every season without fail. He had known her since her first puppy, her first kiss, her first love, and her first car. There was not another person alive he knew as well and she could make the same claim. But she was only a friend, there could never be anything more; this he knew. Still, it felt as if he'd left a part of himself behind.

Of course, Andy also understood that he could never have a real relationship as long as she was around, for every time he did meet someone he could form a passion for, the one-to-be would "pick up on vibes" that supposedly he and Jill shared. The one-to-be would always find some reason to break up with him, telling him, as if someone had wispered into their ears the same script, "It just wouldn't have worked with us anyway. You should be with Jill."

Every time he heard those words, Andy just had to wonder if all the old legends were true.

In southwest Louisiana, there once lived a tribe of Atakapas Indians. These were the ones who named the primary river, "Calcasieu," which, translated means "screaming eagle." This is particularly odd when one considers that there are no eagles in the entire region. One legend comes down, sometimes ascribed to these peoples and other times said to have come from another source, that the trees are alive. That is to say, that the trees hold a sort of consciousness. As the legend goes, certain trees have the ability to communicate with humans. Of course, humans are unable to talk back, at least not directly, but the trees can, if they choose, make things known to humans by somehow putting thoughts into their heads. As the legend tells it, the trees are very selective in their use of this ability, which accounts for the fact that it is not a well-known occurance.

Andy always remembered his reaction on hearing that disclaimer. Shaking his head, rolling his eyes, he had simply muttered in his usual cynical fashion, "Naturally. Of course. That's obvious." Still, from time to time, the seeds of curiousity planted, he would wonder just how much fact there really might be to the tale. There were even times in his life when he thought he could hear one certain tree wisper to him. When that happened, he simply shook the thought and silently questioned his sanity.

But how does one account for the scores of scripts spoken over the years by ones-to-be? Perhaps they had all watched the same episodes of Dr. Phil. Maybe they all subscribed to the same women's advice magazines. Or maybe, just maybe, they were all seeing the same signs from he and Jill that the two friends were missing.

It didn't matter now. He was in west Texas and she was still in the deep south. That was that and it was time to move on.