I Understand

"Be careful, Timmy!" his mother called out. "I understand," came his faint reply. Timmy's mother worried about his play amidst the field. She had heard stories, myths really, of voices in the field; but that was at nightfall. She was now concerned more that he did not get lost in the unexplored yard. They had lived there for only three weeks. With no neighboring homes in this country life, Timmy's mother was glad to see him leave the house.

"I understand," Timmy mumbled under his breath. He traipsed between the high grass blades, uncaring where his steps fell. He eyed a large tree four hundred yards from the house. He didn't even notice the destruction he left in his wake.

When he reached the tree, he heard his mother's instructions again: "Don't climb that old tree. It's too dangerous. You're too young." "I understand," Timmy caught himself repeating as he had just one hour earlier. Nevertheless, he impetuously scaled the trunk, callously grating its skin.

And so it went throughout Timmy's life. He cared not for the tree, or the field, or the home. His mother's pleadings were always followed by, "I understand." Timmy had learned to roll those words off his tongue like mercury over glass.

Even the young girl could not change Timmy. She met Timmy in the field, but begged him to keep her a secret. She said she lived with the field. Timmy said, "I understand." And although she implored him to be careful with life in the field, Timmy just ignored here pleas. She cringed when he stepped on yet another butterfly; when he peeled the stalks of flora; or when he talked of his aspirations to build more homes in that great field. The young girl exhausted herself explaining the futility of such dreams. Time and again, she wept when he replied, "I understand."

Years passed, and Timmy had become a man. His widowed mother died, and Tim inherited the land. He began fulfilling his dream of developing the field. The old tree was torn down to make way for the cul-de-sac. The field was plowed clear, making way for several lots. Tim didn't even notice that he hadn't seen the girl in quite some time.

One evening, Tim sat on his back porch, admiring his great work. He was so proud that he accomplished what he had set out to do. Suddenly, a hunched figure appeared in the corner of the fenced-in property. She had the face of the young girl he once knew. She had cracked and broken wings attached at her back; and she was crying.

Tim ran to her side, and she lay back in his arms. Confusedly he asked, "What is wrong?" She replied, "I begged you to take care of the land." "I understand," he said, "but what's wrong?" She sniffed, and said, "I pleaded you to leave the tree." "Yes, I understand," he repeated, "but what is wrong?" With her last breath, she whispered, "And I warned you that I lived with the field. But now, the field is gone. And thus am I."

Crushed and broken, Tim died soon after. He could never come to grips with the damage he had caused. He had always thought their lives together were pleasant. He failed to notice the pain he caused her each day. It was too late for the young fairy; and it was too late for Tim. He just didn't understand.