The Fire Trail

By Chris Johnson

'The Fire Trail' is a fun, magical realism children's novel about the natural world and humans effect upon it. It is hoped that the story encourages readers to appreciate the natural world, our history and to think about issues more deeply. It is further hoped, above all, that readers will wonder in amazement at our world and the possibilities f

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Johnson
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9783748740919

Chris Johnson

Chris Johnson is a professor of English literature, specialing in Canadian drama and theatre, at the University of Manitoba. He recently co-directed Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead with Margaret Groome for Stoppardfest 2007. Johnson was one of the first writers to bring the work of George F. Walker to critical attention, and he continues to write and give papers on Walker and dark comedy in Canadian drama.

Book preview

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The Fire Trail

Chris Johnson

Chapter One

I had not been looking forward to this day. There were better ways of spending lunchtime and I still didn’t know what I was going to do. Seeing the school counsellor was bad, but it would be much worse if my class found out about it.

Nobody saw the school counsellor. The school counsellor was some mythical beast that lurked behind the door marked ‘School Counsellor’ in the admin building. Only loonies went there. Straitjacket cases. Nut bars. How could I do this: Spend half an hour’s lunch as usual with Zach and Max, disappear for half an hour, then reappear at the end of lunch? It couldn’t be done, but somehow it had to be.

I joined the line at the canteen. Things were getting desperate. I didn’t even know what I wanted. Zach and Max were talking to me, but they may as well have been in a fish tank. My mind was elsewhere, and my stomach? I didn’t even want to think about my stomach. I felt sick.

Sick! Yes, I could pretend I was sick. Say I had food poisoning and needed to go to sick bay.

I approached the canteen counter.

Anything rancid, festering or rotten today?

The canteen lady stared strangely at me, then looked annoyed. Mrs Firenze, the canteen manager suddenly intervened to defuse the situation.

You don't want me telling your mamma you're bothering the canteen staff do you Andy? she warned and handed me my usual.

No, Mrs Firenze, I humbly answered, then brightened things up by adding, Will Tony be back at school soon?

Tony had hit a tree on his motorbike. I’d been with him at the time. An ugly scene. He was lucky to get out of it with just a broken collarbone.

No. Not soon, replied Mrs Firenze. Maybe in a week. Maybe longer. He’ll be happy knowing you’ve asked about him.

Well, I’d better be going. Bye Mrs Firenze. Should I have said ‘ciao’ I wondered as I walked away. No, surely not. Only if you’re Italian. It also just occurred to me that a good nickname for Tony Firenze would be ‘Frenzy’. He might like it. It was a good description of how he acted on a rugby field.

Zach, Max and I sat under our usual tree in the schoolground. The Peppermint Tree. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes until I see the counsellor. ‘Can people get food poisoning in fifteen minutes?’ I asked myself privately. I had no idea, but food poisoning was all I could think of. I had to go with it.

I took a few bites. Zach and Max were talking about the new girl, Alisha Mackenzie. She looked lonely sitting by herself.

I hope we never move, said Zach. I couldn’t handle it. Imagine trying to make new friends?

Yeah, agreed Max. My sister changed schools once and she said it’s horrible.

Yeah, it’s worse for girls, I said. Why did I say that? Why was it worse for girls? I didn’t have a clue. Maybe I was sick. Do you say dumb things when you’re sick?

Sick! Food poisoning! Hell! Right, there was no time for a slow build-up, it would have to be a violent, sudden attack of food poisoning.

I pulled a sick face, held my stomach and added some moans along with dry retching.

Zach and Max looked concerned.

What’s with you? asked Zach. The new girl doesn’t look that bad.

Yeah Andy, chimed in Max. Have you looked in the mirror? You’re no oil painting.

It’s not the new girl, I spluttered. I’m sick. Food poisoning I think. I’ve got to get to sick bay. Maybe I wasn’t the best of actors, but it seemed to work.

Sensing adventure, Zach and Max both got up. We’ll come with you!

No, I said, walking off, trying to look really ill, I might throw up on you.

That seemed to satisfy them. I was free to see the school counsellor. What kind of freedom was that? At least no one would know. But what if I had to see the counsellor again next month? Next week? Tomorrow? The food poisoning routine probably wouldn’t work again. Why did I have to go anyway?

****

I knocked on the school counsellor’s door. It sounded like a judge banging down his gavel.

‘Andrew Morgan,’ I imagined some crusty old judge saying. ‘This court has decided that you're completely crazy. Do you have anything sensible to say before I pass sentence?’

‘Sensible?’ I queried. My chance to say something memorable had passed and all I’d managed was ‘sensible?’ I somehow doubted if that would find its way into a book of quotations.

‘Very well!’ boomed old crusty, ‘I sentence you to……’

Hello! You must be Andrew Morgan. I’m Miss Fenton.

I looked up. Miss Fenton was beautiful.

Come in Andy. Sit down.

I sat down in a big, soft chair. Miss Fenton closed the door and sat opposite me.

Strange thoughts entered my mind. ‘I wonder if I’ll end up marrying her.’ ‘Maybe I should do something heroic.’ ‘Maybe in our next game of rugby.’ Maybe I really was crazy.

Don’t you have a couch? My first words to Miss Fenton and already marriage seemed out of the question. No, my case of insanity was too much for a chair. I had to have a couch. She must think I'm really cuckoo.

I’m a counsellor, not a psychiatrist, she reminded me in a half joking way. Do you know why you’re here?

Yes, I answered meekly, my spirits crushed.

Can you tell me why? she prompted. She shouldn’t have had to ask this question. I didn't feel I was functioning well in here. 'This could turn out very bad,’ I thought. If I wasn’t careful she’d be ringing for the men in white suits.

Because my parents think I’m nuts, I finally replied. I’m not though. I know I’m not. Ask my teachers. Ask any of my friends.

What makes you think your parents think you’re nuts? she asked, relaxing back into her chair. This wasn’t a harmless chat. This was tactical. Was she relaxing because she felt relaxed or was she trying to get me to drop my guard? It was like a minefield. Everything seemed to have double meanings.

You tell me, I answered defiantly. That showed her. I wasn’t going to be a pushover.

No, you tell me, she countered firmly. I didn’t seem to be able to stand up to her.

Because they think I have imaginary friends, I finally answered.

Imaginary animal friends, she added, as if that was worse.

I sat in silence, unsure as to what I should say. A voice inside me said to deny everything but that wouldn’t work. There was proof at home in my diary. If only I hadn’t written about it, this whole counsellor thing wouldn’t be happening. Everything would be normal. Or as normal as it can be when you really do have talking animal friends.

Can you tell me about them, Andy? she asked, relaxing further back into her chair. How relaxed was she going to get? I started wondering if school counsellor might be the job for me.

I didn’t answer. She started talking again.

You know, I used to have imaginary friends when I was about your age. A little younger perhaps. And not only me. She drew my attention to some books on her desk.

Alice in Wonderland. The Wind in the Willows. Winnie the Pooh. These are classics, but there are countless other tales, too, of talking animals interacting with people. Of course, these stories are fiction, but who's to say it can’t happen just because it may never have happened before?

It seemed Miss Fenton was about to launch into a lecture. She went on, "You’re not nuts if you’re inventing friends, animal or otherwise. It shows that you have an imagination. However, as we get older, as we enter our teenage years, it’s often a sign of