By Jim Doran
I knew the dangers of stopping for a stranded traveler, so I often passed them without a thought, praying for someone else to help. I had lived in Michigan all my life and experienced April snow squalls that formed from nowhere. Such is the way with the Mitten State in spring. A resident may enjoy a warm spring day with blossoming flowers and shovel three inches of snow the next.
Such a wintry squall had descended that afternoon on the suburbs of Detroit when I passed the stranded motorist. The unfortunate woman was standing statuesque next to her Honda Civic, wearing a light chemise and yoga pants. I spied her sneakers on the trunk.
She’s standing barefoot in two inches of snow? Uh-oh.
I grumbled and pulled over. Steeling myself for a gust of wintry chill, I opened my door and got out. I approached the driver carefully, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. She didn’t move or look my way.
I held up my cell. “Do you need me to call a mechanic?”
The gloveless damsel in distress remained silent and motionless.
“Ma’am? Or should I contact an ambulance? Or the police?”
The woman emitted a noise—a whine—and her index finger pointed down. I spotted an object in the snow. Her cell.
Ope, she must be freezing. “Should I dial 9-1-1?”
The finger shook, not at my phone but hers.
I peered at her feet as I approached her, thinking that she might have changed her shoes, then stopped dead in my tracks. Her ankles were dark green tendrils, and in place of toes were umber-colored, elongated roots burrowing into the ground.
What the—was this a trick? No, April Fools’ was three days ago. Was she a wood carving?
No. The figure in front of me took a breath and whined again. Then, her hand fell off!
Wait, her hand hadn’t fallen off, a skin-toned prosthetic had fallen off and lay on the ground. Her real hand was green and made of vines and tendrils.
I examined the stranded woman (was it a woman?) and noticed she wore heavy makeup. She had human eyes though, and they regarded me with desperation.
Huh.
I should’ve called the police, the medics, the press—maybe not in that order. Yet, those eyes pleaded with me. Help me!
I held out my hand. “But how do I help you?”
The wind shifted, and a faint voice came from her phone. “—going on?”
I picked it up, noticing the contact’s name: Rebecca Edelweiss. As I lifted it, the same voice spoke again. “Sonya, don’t leave the car. Michigan’s weather is unpredictable; you could freeze.”
“Um,” I bit my lip. “I think she’s already freezing.”
The woman paused for a beat. “Who is this?”
“My name is Oliver Dash. I found your friend by the side of the road. She’s… uh, rooted in place. Is this Rebecca?”
“Yes, I’m Rebecca. I’ve pinged her phone and have your location. I’ll be there in five minutes. Cover her. Don’t call anyone.”
I took off my coat and wrapped it around the tendril lady. “Sonya, is it?”
Rebecca arrived in four minutes, skidding off the road and parking. Of medium build with dark hair and a round face, she rushed onto the scene, leaving her Ford Edge idling. I was glad to see this rescuer had human hands.
“Sonya,” she breathed. “I warned you about these sudden squalls!”
Throwing her arms around Sonya, Rebecca lifted her. Tendrils and roots emerged through the snow and dirt. She carried Sonya to her car and placed her in the passenger seat.
I wasn’t sure whether to follow, but my curiosity was piqued. Rebecca ran to the other side of the car and hopped in. I approached the driver’s door, still open a crack.
The heat from the car blasted out at me. “Will you explain what is going on here?”
Rebecca removed her coat. “No. Thank you for helping, though.”
“I purposely didn’t dial 9-1-1, expecting you to fill me in.”
Sonya, shivering, flexed her jaw. “T-Tell him something, Reb-becca.”
“Oliver Dash sounds like an alias.” Rebecca placed her coat around Sonya. “He could be anyone!”
Sonya spoke. “He stopped and helped when others passed by. As your best friend, I’m asking you to tell him.”
Rebecca closed her eyes. “Sonya is a verdurian. She has a… condition… where she requires soil and sunlight to live.”
“I’m part plant,” Sonya called out. “I was going dormant when you found me.”
Rebecca sat back in the driver’s seat. “Sonya!”
My brain swirled at the explanation as much as the snow around me. “How is that possible?”
“We must keep her secret for her safety.” Rebecca strapped on her seat belt. “Please don’t tell anyone what you witnessed here.”
Sonya straightened an askew wig. “Ask Rebecca what she is.”
“Will you shut it?” Rebecca swung her attention back to me. “Again, thank you for saving my friend’s life. But please, don’t say or post anything about this.”
Rebecca revved the motor, but I wanted to know more. “I’m glad I stopped.”
Rebecca closed the door, reversed the Edge, and pulled into traffic.
As they left, Sonya flashed me a smile and waved her tendril fingers. They made me think of branches moving in the breeze—a promise of spring.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ooh, i want more of this story!
Thank you. More Sonya and Rebecca stories. Check.
Fascinating story! That took a twist I could never have predicted. Makes you wonder how many other tree people are in our midst!
They’re everywhere.