Twopig
On October 28th, the Twopig Municipal Council sentenced Gordon Greene’s oak tree to death. The decision did not come as a surprise to the 34 attendees, which was the entire population of Twopig, Nova Scotia, except for Mrs. Campbell, who was bedridden with pneumonia, and John Hooper, who was afraid of leaving his house and had become a shut-in. Gordon wasn’t surprised either, even though the tree was the most striking part of his small yard. His great-great-great-grandfather had planted the tree to commemorate the construction of his house, a bright blue clapboard structure right on the bay that Gordon had been born in, still lived in, and, he suspected, would die in.
The meeting of October 28th was unlike any council meeting Gordon had ever been to. Two evenings prior had been the funeral of Peter McKinley. Twopig was not unfamiliar with funerals, as the town’s population skewed older. However, Peter McKinley had been only eleven when he died, after he fell from Gordon’s oak tree on October 22nd. Before that, he was a perfectly normal child, one of only three children left in Twopig. Gordon wasn’t too familiar with Peter, although he had seen him around town with his mom, Shawna, several times. Most of the things he knew about Shawna McKinley were bits and bobs of gossip, mostly recited to him by Margie from the post office. He remembered how Margie shook her head when Shawna had gotten married to Travis McKinley at eighteen.
“Mark my words,” Margie had said, absentmindedly rearranging a display of yellowed postcards showcasing the beauty of Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore. It looked as if a dense smog had settled over the scenes of deep purple lupins and picturesque lighthouses. “We’ll soon find out Shawna’s four months along.” Sure enough, two weeks later, Gordon watched Margie tutting in triumph as she sorted baby shower invitations from Shawna and Travis into various bins for delivery.
Gordon had not gone to the baby shower, claiming previous plans. In fact, he simply didn’t want to go. Baby showers weren’t really his thing. In general, social things weren’t really his thing. He still went to the monthly council meetings, mostly to ward off rumors. The only reasons someone from Twopig would not go to the meetings would be in the case of illness, grief, or some other equally debilitating circumstance. In other words, the stuff rumors were made of.
Shawna had come to the council meeting on October 28th. She looked the part of a grief-stricken mother, her petite frame clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and grimy jeans. Her unwashed black hair was pulled back in a severe bun, which only seemed to accentuate the dark circles under her eyes. She sat quietly in the back, alone. Gordon sat in the front of the room, even though he usually sat near the back. He was grateful that they always set up more chairs than necessary.
Gordon had made sure to arrive only a few minutes before the meeting was supposed to start to ensure he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Councilman Ross, the recently elected president of the council, liked to start things on time. As Gordon took his seat, he locked eyes with Councilwoman Eileen McKinley, Shawna’s mother-in-law and Peter’s grandmother. Incidentally, she was also Gordon’s lab partner in ninth grade biology class. Councilwoman McKinley was sitting behind the rectangular folding table at the front of the room with the other four councilors. Her glare froze Gordon to his seat. He shifted his gaze to the clock above her head, watching the red second hand inch closer to the 12.
At 7:00 on the dot, Councilman Ross called the meeting to order. “A few items of business on the agenda today,” he said, taking a printed agenda out of his manila folder. “First, we have a couple of announcements. Then, we’ll have Don Buchanan from the Twopig Salmon Fishing Museum and Educational Association give some updates on the acid rain mitigation project.” He paused. Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And then there’s the matter of the tree.”
“We can skip straight to the tree,” Councilwoman McKinley said. “I’m sure there are some here who may need to be other places.”
A few members of the audience turned around to look at Shawna. “Poor thing,” Sylvia Duncanson whispered loudly.
Councilman Ross pursed his lips. “Of course. We can start with the tree.” He paused awkwardly. “As you undoubtedly know, Peter McKinley passed away last week after falling from a tree on Gordon Greene’s property. Now, Councilwoman McKinley has put forth a motion to recommend that Mr. Greene cut down the tree, as it poses a threat to public safety.” Councilman Ross looked at Gordon. “I want to reiterate that this is only a recommendation and that the council cannot compel Mr. Greene to cut down his tree. But, uh—” He gestured to Councilwoman McKinley. “Do you want to say a few words?”
“Gladly,” she said, entirely devoid of gladness. “I first want to say that we appreciate the support from the community during this time, and thank you to everyone who attended the funeral. It really meant a lot to us and Shawna.” Gordon had gone to the funeral but he had a feeling Councilwoman McKinley’s thanks did not extend to him.
“As many of you know, Travis is working out at the Pacific Oil refinery in Alberta and unfortunately, he had to head straight back to work after the funeral.” Councilwoman McKinley took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “However, he did send us a message he asked me to read aloud tonight.”
The room was silent as she unfolded the paper, smoothing it out on the table.
“Hi everyone,” Councilwoman McKinley began. “Thank you for all the support over the past week. Shawna and I have been truly devastated by our loss but it was comforting to see so many people at the funeral. Peter was truly the light of our lives—” Councilwoman McKinley paused to gather herself. Councilwoman Fournier, seated next to Councilwoman McKinley, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. A few sniffles and sighs could be heard around the room. Gordon felt numb.
Councilwoman McKinley took a deep breath before she continued. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay in Twopig long because of work but I hope to be back for the holidays and look forward to seeing you all then.”
There was an awkward pause as everyone tried to figure out whether there was more to the letter.
“Thank you, Councilwoman McKinley,” Councilman Ross said. “Do you have anything else to add?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, looking pointedly at Gordon. “I believe that tree should be cut down. The sooner, the better. It is obviously a risk for the children in our community.” Turning back to the room, she continued. “Honestly, it should have been cut down a long time ago. The tree may be on Gordon’s property but it’s still a public safety hazard.”
Councilman Ross raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Greene? Do you have a response to that?”
As all eyes in the room fell on him, Gordon felt blood rush to his face. He did not anticipate having to speak out loud at the meeting. He stood up slowly, clasping his hands in front of him.
“I—” He paused. “Well, first, I am truly sorry about the pain this tree has caused the McKinleys. But with that being said—” He looked down at his feet. “It’s a perfectly healthy tree.”
“But surely, it posed a risk to Peter,” Councilwoman McKinley said.
“Only because he was climbing it,” Gordon replied quietly.
“And why didn’t you stop him?”
“I wasn’t home. I was at the post office—”
“Well, wait, just a minute,” Councilman Pye cut in. “It’s not Gordon’s responsibility to look after Peter or any other child, for that matter. Especially one that comes onto his property.”
“What, just because he doesn’t have any children himself?” Councilwoman McKinley sneered.
Councilman Pye raised his eyebrows. “Well, no—”
“I’m not saying it’s his responsibility.” Councilwoman McKinley’s voice grew louder. “I’m just saying that my grandson died after falling from that tree and you would do well to remember that.”
The other council members were silent.
“Besides,” Councilwoman McKinley said, summoning a large sigh. “Leaving the tree up would be a horrible reminder of such a horrible event and would constantly remind the entire community of our loss.” No one brought up the fact that Gordon lived on the far side of the bay, away from the rest of Twopig and where no one had any reason to go. “Anyone with a heart would certainly be reminded of this tragedy whenever they saw that tree,” she said, pointedly. “I think the public works department should cut it down.”
“I don’t know whether that’s feasible,” Councilman Ross said. “It seems like a misuse of town resources.”
Councilwoman McKinley turned to him with an icy glare.
“What I mean to say,” Councilman Ross said quickly, “is that the public works department is really only supposed to take care of public property. Since this is private property, I’m not sure we can ask them to do such a thing.”
“Well, why don’t we ask them?” Councilwoman McKinley said. “Bill? Bill, are you here?”
The crowd turned around in their seats to look at Bill Sloane, who raised a feeble hand. Well into his 70s, he was certainly too old to run the public works department but since its only employees were his son, Bill Jr., and son-in-law, Keith Mackenzie, no one said anything. Twopig was much too small to have a three-person public works department but no one said anything about that either.
“Bill, would the public works department mind terribly?” Councilwoman McKinley said.
Bill shrugged. “Well, if it’s alright with Gordon.”
“Gordon?” Councilman Ross said. “Is that okay with you?”
Everyone in the room was staring at Gordon. Gordon felt frozen, like the time he was young and had been dared by the boys at school to jump naked into the pond by the church in the middle of January. He remembered how they used James Fournier’s dad’s ice fishing kit to cut a large, Gordon-sized hole in the ice. He remembered entering the water, the sound of the boys’ laughter cutting through the numbness because they couldn’t actually believe he was dumb enough to do it. He had felt so naked, even after he hauled himself onto the ice and put his clothes back on and walked home, alone. He remembered feeling that way for the rest of the day, even after he had come inside. His mother had both laughed and scolded him and told him he could’ve died before making him sit next to the radiator until supper to warm up.
“Gordon?” Councilman Ross said.
“Sure.” Gordon said weakly. “Fine.”
“Great. It’s settled. We can send the public works team over there next week,” Councilman Ross said. “Now, let’s move on to announcements.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon saw Shawna get up and leave. Gordon sat through the rest of the meeting, his mind buzzing. The dare had been to submerge himself fully in the water. As he had sunk down, he opened his eyes. The boys had become quiet blurs, pink cheeks blending with brown hair blending with red, green, and navy blue knits. Everything was in motion, even though he knew everything was still, the boys leaning over the hole and watching Gordon with gleeful, bated breath. When he came back up, he pressed his hands on the underside of the ice. The bumps and pocks had been rough against his hands, a feeling that anchored him through the numbness.
Through the fog, he heard announcements about charity cribbage night and a church bake sale and then the presentation by the man from the Salmon Fishing Museum and Educational Association. He talked about the acid rain and how it was only getting worse and how it was killing off all the young and unborn salmon, how the salmon numbers were still alarmingly low so there would have to be additional restrictions on commercial fishing for the rest of the year. None of this came as a surprise to Gordon, nor to anyone else. They all politely waited for the man to finish his presentation before clapping quietly and turning to planning for the charity cribbage night.
Gordon saw Margie’s car pulling up the gravel driveway shortly after 11 am on the day the tree was to be cut down. He went out to the yard to greet her, pausing in front of the tree. The branches were almost bare, revealing the expanse of the bay, with the colorful houses of Twopig dotting the opposite shore. Gordon could still pick out the exact place where he found Peter’s body. It had looked so fragile, lying among the scarlet leaves, his blue eyes still open. Gordon wondered if Peter had climbed up for the view, to be able to look down on it all for once. Maybe Twopig looked different in free fall, perhaps the only situation where it would appear to move at speed.
The sound of Margie’s car door slamming brought him back to the present moment. “It’s a real shame what they’re doing to this poor tree,” Margie said, walking over to him. She held up a Tupperware container. “I brought your favorite chocolate chip cookies.”
Gordon managed a half-smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
“You know, the only reason Bill said yes to this is because he and Eileen go way back. Plus, I heard that Bill Jr. is thinking about going out to Alberta and getting a job at the refinery where Travis works,” Margie said. “I imagine a good word from Travis might help him out.”
She stood next to him. The two of them stood there silently, their breaths producing small puffs of vapor. Gordon watched one of the last leaves, dry and curled in on itself, drop off the tree.
“Do you remember when you and Alan Kraft wanted to build a treehouse up there?” Margie asked, pointing at the top of the tree. “You two had pieced it together on the ground with plywood and old nails from Mr. Kraft’s shop and planned to hoist it up into the tree with ropes.”
“I do remember, but I didn’t know you did.” Gordon tried hard not to think about Alan too much.
Margie shrugged. “I had a crush on Alan that summer and brought over lemonade a few times.”
Gordon chuckled. “Is that so? How old were we then?”
“Couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen.”
Older than Peter will ever be, Gordon thought. He tried to banish the thought as soon as it arrived.
“That was the last summer Alan was around,” Margie said. “Then he left school and was either salmon or lobster fishing for half the year. And then he was gone.” Gordon glanced over at her. Her gaze was fixed on some distant point on the horizon. “The sea took him in his prime.”
Gordon nodded silently.
“They’re always leaving, the young men in this place. Since it can’t be fishing now, I guess it’s Alberta.”
“I suppose so,” Gordon said noncommittally.
“And Alberta’s so different. Before, you knew exactly who these men were hanging around with. It’s a boat in the middle of the ocean—where are they going to go?” Margie shook her head. “But now, it’s anybody’s guess. I read an article in the paper about how these towns are all young men. And you know what that means—all sorts of booze and drugs and girls.” She shook her head. “And you wonder why Travis McKinley came home just long enough to bury Peter.”
“Oh, come on, Marge. You know that’s not fair,” Gordon said.
Margie shrugged. “Fair or not, it’s the truth. Nobody would force someone to go back to work so soon after their son died, not even an oil company. That would just be despicable. Plus, think about what would happen if the papers got wind of that!”
“I suppose,” Gordon said, warily.
“I feel bad for Shawna,” Margie said. “Poor thing is really all alone here now.”
“I thought she had family nearby,” Gordon said.
“Not really,” Margie said. “She had some cousins in Sherbrooke, but they’ve up and moved to Halifax. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, she would probably be better off in Halifax anyways.”
“You reckon?”
“Oh, sure,” Margie said. “There’s nothing here for a young person. Just old folks like us and a river full of dead fish.” Margie sighed.
“Tupig,” Gordon said quietly.
“What’s that now?” Margie said.
“Tupig. Frosted over,” Gordon said. “It’s Mi’kmaq.”
“Oh,” Margie said. “I didn’t know you spoke Indian.”
“It’s what they called this place before we got here,” Gordon said.
“Huh,” Margie said. “Never knew that.”
The two were quiet. Gordon’s eyes traced the turns in the tree’s bark, how its ridges stretched out before him. He imagined his great-great-great-grandfather doing the same, wondering if nature would let the sapling or him or anyone in Twopig survive the winter.
He invited Margie inside, where they had the cookies with milk. They sat at the old dining table by the window, Margie rattling off some rumors she heard about the Rosses’ selling their farm and Gordon silently watching the tree. Around noon, the public works truck pulled up the driveway, and Bill, Bill Jr. and Keith Mackenzie piled out. Gordon knew he should go outside and say hello to be polite but he couldn’t bring himself to. He raised a hand in greeting. In his mind, he was suspended in the freezing water, his fingertips brushing the underside of the ice, touching something that would kill him and kill them all.
Sarah Chin is a writer with a day job in politics. Her work has been published in HAD, Epiphany, Anodyne Magazine, Points in Case, The Belladonna, and more. She lives in Chicago, Illinois and can be found at sarahchin.net.
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