Bob Bounces Back

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Bob bounced before breakfast. He bounced after breakfast. He bounced so much that the grass remembered the shape of his feet. But this morning, something was different. This morning, Bob bounced higher than he ever had before — and kept going.

Up he went, past the top of the garden wall. Up past the tallest sunflower. The wind tasted cold and bright, like biting into an apple. “Whoa,” said Bob. Just that. Just whoa. Then he started to come down — but not where he expected.

Bob landed with a BWONG in the middle of the Old Hollow Tree. It was dark inside. It smelled like rain and old wood and something alive. Leaves clung to his arms like small green hands. “Well,” said Bob. “This is new.”

He tried to bounce out. Too narrow. He tried to climb out. Too slippery. He listened. Somewhere above him, a bird was singing — bright and fast, like a secret in a hurry. Bob looked up. There was a crack of light, far, far above. He had an idea.

Bob began to explore the hollow. He found a rope of twisted roots along one wall. He found a ledge of hard bark, just wide enough for one foot. He found something else, too — a yellow button, shiny and round, wedged in the bark. He tucked it in his pocket. You never know.

“Hello?” called a voice from above. Bob looked up. A small face peered down through the crack of light. It was Pip — the sparrow who lived in the garden. “You're in the tree,” said Pip. “I know,” said Bob. “Did you mean to be?” asked Pip. “No,” said Bob. “But I'm exploring anyway.”

Pip dropped a long thin twig down through the crack. “Grab on. I'll pull!” Bob grabbed the twig with both hands. Pip pulled. Bob rose a little — then the twig snapped with a sharp crack. Bob dropped back down. His heart dropped with him. The crack of light felt further away now.

“The root rope,” Bob thought. “And the ledge.” He grabbed the root rope. It was rough and real under his fingers. He placed one foot on the bark ledge. He pushed off the wall — not a bounce, exactly, but almost. Up one metre. Stop. Breathe. Look for the next ledge.

Hand over hand. Foot by careful foot. Bob climbed like something that had never climbed before but had decided, right now, to be good at it. The dark smell faded. The air grew cooler. The light grew brighter. He was nearly there. Then his foot slipped.

Bob grabbed the root rope with both hands. He hung there, swinging gently in the dark. Below him: nothing but shadow. Above him: the light. His arms ached. His hands burned. “Bob!” called Pip. “I can see your head!”

Bob looked up. Pip's little face was right there — just one arm's reach away. “I can't hold on much longer,” Bob said. “Yes, you can,” said Pip, very quietly. “You're still holding on now, aren't you?” Bob looked at his hands. He was.

He reached up with one hand. The yellow button fell out of his pocket — and wedged perfectly into a gap in the bark. One tiny foothold, right where he needed it. Bob pushed. Hard. Fast. Brave. His head burst through the crack of light into the open sky.

He lay on top of the Old Hollow Tree, flat on his back, staring up at the wide blue morning. His chest went up. His chest went down. The sky was enormous. “You did it,” said Pip softly. “The button did it,” said Bob. “I just had it in my pocket.”

“You kept it,” said Pip. “That's the same thing.” Bob thought about that for a long time. The garden spread out below them — the sunflowers, the wall, the grass with its familiar dents. It all looked different from up here. Smaller and bigger at the same time.

When Bob finally bounced back down to the ground, his feet hit the grass with the old familiar sound. But before he bounced again, he stopped. He looked at the hollow tree. He looked at the sky. Then he reached down, picked up a small smooth pebble, and tucked it in his pocket. Just in case.