It was two weeks later, and SR was headed back out to the Stargazing Spot, this time over the "wild way." He'd discovered that seatbelting the sensitive tube of his reflector telescope into the back seat of the vehicle made it possible for him to drive on almost any terrain without fear of damaging the optics. Pur was blaring through the Jeep's adequate speaker system. Months previously, Lester and a couple of SR's other friends had dubbed this group's sound "80's German Butt Rock" after listening to less than ten seconds. In any case, it was music for a good mood: Pur couldn't even make a song about the Holocaust sound depressing. Turning into the field, SR sang along with Hartmut Engler as he finished the last notes to "In Dich" before shutting off the engine. He was smiling. In the past two weeks, he'd briefly been out here on two other occasions. Tonight he had a good three hours to kill. SR had also spent his time at school productively. In two weeks' time, he'd checked out four books on the red fox from the university library and read them all, cover to cover. (A considerable feat for one taxing himself with seventeen credits and sixteen hours of work per week, and whose maximum reading rate amounted to about eighteen pages per hour!) Although all were very detailed as to the daily lives and habits of this feral dog, none of them were very specific in pointing out the exact areas where red foxes could be found. He knew that they were the most widely distributed species of wild canine, with a range covering nearly all of North America, Europe, Asia and Australia. But he couldn't be intellectually sure that what he'd heard two weeks before was actually the elusive vulpes vulpes. Despite all this, the feeling that coursed through his soul with the vixen's whine had never left him. Setting up the telescope was quick work. SR stood and admired the sky. The moon was full and many of the stars were obscured by its bright radiation. Still, some of the brighter phenomena like the binary star in the Big Bear's tail or Andromeda's Galaxy would still be visible. If he were honest with himself, however, he'd admit that this night he hadn't come for the stars. Twenty minutes later, after viewing what he could see (and nearly blinding himself by looking through the telescope at the moon without a suitable moon-filter), SR sat down on the cool grass next to the equatorial mount and waited. It wouldn't be long now. He was sure that if he remained still enough, the vixen in the forest would become relaxed enough to announce her presence. He remained this way, scarcely allowing himself to breathe, for the next forty minutes. It grew cooler, and dew materialized on the outside of the blue telescope's tube. In a short while, SR could hear water dripping off the needles of the surrounding pines. With each passing minute, his mood dropped and his doubt increased. After two hours, the only sound he had heard was the steady drip-drip-drip from the surrounding forest. An owl flew over SR's head, close enough to touch, had he been reaching out for it. In that moment, he snapped out of his reverie. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to a nearby tuft of weeds. Looking upward, he glared icily at the moon. She seemed indifferent to his challenge. Cursing and shaking his head, he hastily rose and began disassembling the equipment. Angry thoughts raced through his mind as he carried the components in two trips back to the waiting Jeep: "Why did I come out here, knowing it was a full moon?" "Why didn't I just save the gas in my car for a worthwhile thirty-mile trip?" "Don't I have more sense than to waste time in the woods while I could be doing something productive at school?" And most of all, "What is up with this damned fixation with foxes?" Try as he might, though, SR was unable to shake to vixen's song out of his head. Starting up the Jeep, he jammed in another Pur CD and skipped to the tenth track, cranking the volume. Having done his best to dig two holes in the dirt road where his back tires had been, he glared upward at the stars overhead as Pur began screaming "Wut im Bauch" through the speakers. SR was already on his feet when the last vision faded from before his eyes. Visibly agitated, he began pacing in the crusted snow around the depression where he had been lying. These were clearly more than simple flashbacks. Stopping abruptly, he turned his head skyward. Leo's mane continued to shimmer with activity. He stood there for a few minutes, wondering. Lowering his head, SR knew that someone or something was trying to tell him something important. What's more, he knew that whatever it was hadn't finished delivering its message. He returned his gaze upward and saw the stars. They waited patiently for him to return to his seat and close his eyes. If they had faces, SR would have sworn that each carried an expression of gentle understanding: Their lips slightly upturned, forming only a hint of a smile, mouths closed in solemnity. Their eyes shone with penetrating love. SR blinked and shook his head, mouth slightly agape. There was no mistaking what he felt: He must continue. Gritting his teeth for the worst he sat back down in the natural recliner. He stole one last glance at the heavens before warily leaning his head back and closing his eyes. And the worst came. SR recognized instantly the scene exploding before his eyes. "Oh God, no! Not again!" were his only thoughts, yet they were powerless against the vision... It was six weeks later. SR was standing alone in the center of the Stargazing Spot, head lowered. He'd already been standing there for a half hour, and the drizzle from the low clouds had matted the top of his brown-haired head. Tears ran silently down his cheeks. He was oblivious to the world around him as his mind recalled the events of the past six weeks.... SR had tried desperately to return to "life as usual" after his last trip to the Stargazing Spot. However, it seemed that the more effort he put into purging the foxes from his mind, the more they resisted and mocked him. They were continually before his eyes during the day, and danced in his dreams at night. Every idle thought was occupied by these four-legged demons. And no amount of Pink Floyd or Pur could still the vixen's whine which continuously sounded in his ears. In a ditch effort to occupy his mind one day, SR furiously cleaned his dorm room. In the process (which didn't take that long-- SR is rather anal), he uncovered a book which he'd brought with him that semester for no apparent reason. It was his first journal. Well, his only journal-- SR meant well, but had never been good at keeping a record of his life and thoughts. He also never read it. Considering it a waste of time to reminisce on the past, he'd always figured there were better things to do. Having completed everything else he could come up with to occupy the time, and having sworn off ever going back to the Stargazing Spot again, SR sat down on his bed that evening and opened his journal for the first time in years. "I WISH I WUZ A FOKS" That line floored him. He had to read it four more times before he would believe that he was actually seeing what he was seeing. He checked the date: "DEC. 27 `82" That would place him in the first grade. He remembered now: He'd gotten the book as a gift from his grandparents that Christmas. Not knowing what it was for, they told him to write the date, then write whatever happened to him or whatever he thought or felt or wished that day... SR huffed at what he saw, then lowered the book and stared at the plastered ceiling of the dorm room. After a few minutes, he had regained his composure. Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. "Tonight of all nights," he muttered. He raised the book again and read the line once more before flipping forward a few pages: "Sept. 16, 1983 Today was boring. School was boring. I went to Greg's house and rode my bike. He had a jump and that was fun. Karen and Missy and me played house. I got to be the cat." SR slammed the book shut. He was not amused anymore. Setting the book on the bed before him, he simply stared for a few minutes, thoughts racing angrily through his mind. Yet he felt compelled to pick it up again. He turned to a later page: "March 9, 1985 Not much happened at school today. Mrs. Iverson's real nice. She let us spend a whole hour reading. I got to read my favorite 'Choose Your own Adventure' book. It's the one where if you eat this cracker a witch gives you, you get turned into..." SR violently flipped to another page. "June 16, 1985 Summer is great! This whole past week I spent playing with my model rockets and reading the 'Chronicles of Narnia.' C.S. Lewis is such a good author! I especially love the part in 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader' where Eustice gets changed..." Another page. "Today was our day to go to the library. I didn't know what to check out, so I settled for one of my old favorites, 'Witches' by R..." Another page. "...the most interesting movie at Chad's house about a boy who gets transformed into this..." Another page. "...wish I could also do..." Another page. "...often imagine that I could..." SR slammed the book and squeezed it in his fists, as if he could thereby rid it and himself of the evil. Letting out a sharp cry, he hurled it against the wall on the other side of the room. It hit with a loud "thunk" and flopped onto the desk below, pages splayed in an unnatural fashion. He didn't notice, however, because he was too busy trying to pull the hair out of his head-- which he'd also stuck between his knees. "NO! NO! NO!" was the only thought in his head for the next minute. Eventually, the adrenaline wore thin, and SR was reduced to sobbing at the sheets between his feet. He remembered why he'd only made an entry every few months. What's more, he remembered why he'd stopped making entries altogether after he reached the seventh grade: These thoughts and desires were not normal. While other boys were having thoughts of girls and baseball, SR was having thoughts of fur and wings. It would be better to stop making a record of this sin, and try to suppress it. In the seventh grade, SR had promised himself that he'd never let himself have another fantasy if it couldn't be real. Until that September night in his dorm room, he'd been almost completely successful. He couldn't keep from sobbing as he forced himself to admit that those feelings, although suppressed all these years, were still there and as potent as ever. That night at the Stargazing Spot he soberly stared long and hard at those shining lights in the sky. When he left, still true to his seventh-grade vow, he had resolved to find out if this fantasy could be real. Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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