My apartment complex is hidden deep within a thick patch of tropical Florida forest, accessible only by a lone magical road winding under the green canopy of foliage. The combination of the lush vegetation and charming old fashioned little street lights along the road has led to the nickname “Narnia” among me and mine. You’ve got Narnia Road, Inner Narnia, and Deep Inner Narnia. Inner Narnia is where I take my dog to romp and frolic, sometimes throwing sticks for him and sometimes just relaxing on the abandoned couch someone was kind enough to leave there for me. It is peaceful and serene, and semi-private. Not completely private though. For that, Krypto and I must venture into Deep Inner Narnia. We need only push through the outermost layer of trees and suddenly we find ourselves in a private land meant only for us. Instead of the dense and wild brush found in Inner Narnia, Deep Inner Narnia consists of neat rows of pine trees. The ground is covered in a lush carpet of the long pine needles which have fallen to the ground and turned red. The vibrant contrast between the red forest floor and the bright green of the healthy pines in the afternoon sun never fails to make me rub my eyes and nod approvingly. The pine needles on the ground aren’t prickly or sticky, I can lie down on the forest floor and enjoy the plush comfort they provide while gazing up at the cloudless sky. Until summer descends upon Florida, bringing oppressive heat and flooding Inner Narnia with mosquitoes by the legion, nothing can keep me from enjoying the simple solitude of afternoons in the forest.
The outskirts of Inner Narnia carries with it no such guarantees of privacy. Every once and awhile someone will walk by, heading to or from Narnia road, perhaps to the bus stop not far from my sanctuary. If they pass by too closely, Krypto will bark and growl at them, perhaps thinking of Inner Narnia as his territory as much as I do. We’re not the only ones looking for a slice of serenity that only nature can provide, though. The other day I was joined on my abandoned couch by a kid who must be about 18 or 19, who had been passing by before my dog’s protective barks drew his attention.
“Don’t you like white people?” he asked, as Krypto stood guard by the break in the fence that leads to Inner Narnia. I chuckled good naturedly and called my beast back, but Krypto still didn’t trust this newcomer. I hated to have my meditation intruded upon, but I smiled at the interloper as the fur on Krypto’s back rose to attention and he leapt comically back from the new guy. The kid smiled back; the thing about Krypto is that, though he’s a large animal, his goofy ears and deerlike prancing fails to intimidate. He quickly won the dog over with a tennis ball he’d been carrying, though he made it clear he’d need it back as it wasn’t his.
“So, where do you live?” the kid finally asked.
“In there.” I replied, gesturing toward Narnia Road. “You?”
“In there.” He said with a nod. “With my brother. Just giving him time to cool off. He’s mad because his friend got shot by a black guy the other day.”
“Yikes.” I said. I flung an acorn at Krypto, who caught it and tried to eat it. I knew I was going to hear this kid’s story whether I wanted to or not, but strangely enough, it didn’t bother me. Such is the power of Inner Narnia and its cushionless couch.
As we tossed things at the dog, he explained that he lived with his older brother in the same apartment complex as I. Earlier that day, his brother had gotten mad at him and closed his chat with his girlfriend. This was a problem for the younger brother, because he was planning to move in with her and she was about to give him her address. She lives in Ohio.
“Unfortunately,” the kid said “My dad and my brother don’t have enough to get me a ticket, so I’m going the old fashioned way. Just gonna walk and hitchhike my way there.”
“Wow.” I replied. He explained that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d traveled like that. Once he hitchhiked his way to New York, even though his dad called the cops on him. He was only a minor then, and hadn’t told his father he was leaving.
“I told him I left a note, but I guess he never saw it.” He explained. After chatting a little more, I gathered up Krypto to head home. The kid said he’d walk back with us. He clearly loved Krypto, offering him sticks and talking to him the whole way back. When we parted ways to return to our separate apartments, he waved goodbye to the dog.
“Good luck getting to Ohio.” I offered as he walked away. He nodded.
“Later.”
Hopefully his brother had calmed down by the time he returned. If not, I suggest he walk out into the woods, sit on the couch, and toss acorns at a dog. Works every time.
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