When I was younger, my backyard was a strange and fascinating world. It had a large expanse of grass, dotted with dandelions in the summer and daffodils in the spring, and a blueberry bush that turned the hands and lips of all of my cousins purple every August. But the most prominent feature of the yard were the trees.
With me being only 5 or so, a small child with a wild imagination and a crippling fear of the dark, the dark green conifers that edged the yard were often regarded as “too scary to investigate further”. Of course i wanted to explore them. They were too large to ignore completely, but the fact that they had grown so close together that no sunlight could reach through the branches to the ground below always held me back. You must remember; at this point in my life I wouldn't even think about going anywhere if i didn't have at least enough light to color a picture by, especially if I was alone. Standing at the edge of the yard, I could only see so much by peering in through the branches. So I had dubbed the trees as “off limits”. That was, of course, until I met Carl.

Growing up, I didn't really have that many friends. I was what some people might call a “solitary type”. I mostly did my own thing in school. I played by myself, I ate by myself, and I didn't have any friends over at my house. And you know what? I was ok with it. I knew that the other kids didn't like me, and at first i was upset. Why didn't they want to play with me? What was it about me that they didn't like? But after a while I began to realize that my own company was pretty nice. I didn't have to argue with anybody, or share my colored pencils, or talk about the latest game of tag that was being played at recess. All I had to do was whatever I wanted to do. Which was mostly reading. Or drawing. Or spacing off into my own little world of nothing in particular.

Even so, there were moments where I got lonely. To cope with the habitual emptiness, I came up with countless imaginary friends. Even before i started school, I always had one of my “invisible buddies” following me around. They were mostly “single moment friends”, beings that I would make up on the spot to play with, and then cast them to the wind when I was done, But there were a select few that eventually became permanent residents in my young, developing mind.

One of them was a green alien named George. George came to me when I was very young. I had won this big, green, blow-up alien at the fair once, and for some unknown reason, I named him George. I adored George. I did everything with George. I truly believed that George was real, and that he was somehow trapped in his green form, and had to rely on me to show him the world. And of course, being quite the rambunctious child, I wasn't always careful with his fragile plastic body. The day that George popped, I went into a dark secluded cloud of misery. I didn't know how i would go on without George. And that is when Carl came to me.

The very first time that I saw him was on a clear summer day. I was out playing in the yard, and for some reason, I felt a very strong urge to peer through the branches of the Trees into the darkness. I got up, and ever so slowly, inched my way to the border and looked in. What I saw changed forever changed the years of my childhood.

It was a Giant. He was covered, head-to-toe, in brown and white furs and animal skins. He had long, black, matted hair that stuck up in every direction, and a short beard that was full of leaves and twigs. his nose was crooked, his hands were scared, and his eyes, well, his eyes were that saddest things I had ever seen. Large and pale ice-blue, they spoke of past neglect, mistreatment, and a life of hiding from “normal people”. He was sitting on the ground, weaving a  basket out of ivy and bird feathers. Even though his hands were large and calloused, they spun and twisted like a pair of dancers on a stage. I stood, mesmerized, watching him until he finished the basket. He inspected it, turning it in his hands. I guess he didn't like the outcome, because with sudden and terrifying force, he hurled the basket far away from him into the darkness of the Trees, scowling fiercely.  It was then that he looked up and noticed me.

I ducked out of sight. I didn't want to be caught staring, as staring is rude. Especially if you are staring at an angry giant. I stayed there, crouched down in the grass for what seemed like years, waiting for him to move off so I could get up undetected. But not a single sound came from the darkness; not a rustle, not a crunch. I peeked through the branches, and was met with a surprise. He was gone, without a sound, and in his place, laying on the ground, was a single, perfect blue feather.

Over the next few weeks I gradually lured him out of the deep dark. I never could get him to come out all the way. He always stayed with his face in the darkness. I guess the light bothered his eyes. He taught me lots of things, though; like how to sit quiet and listen to the trees, and how to weave baskets. Learning was hard. One, because I was an impatient 5-year-old, and two, because Carl couldn't speak. I eventually taught him how, but for a long time our communication was lots of gestures, arm waving, and drawing pictures in the dirt. We became fast friends. Every day I would run out to the yard to see him, eager to learn something new. I think the most important lesson he ever taught me was to not be afraid of the dark. He showed me all of the wondrous things that the Trees had to offer, and I soon was walking with him under the canopy. I even built a small fort in the depths, and spent many a day there with Carl. He truly was my best friend, and I loved him dearly.

Carl and I were friends for many years, right up to about the time that I started 3rd grade. It was then that I started making real friends, and soon I began to spend less and less time with Carl. After a while, I stopped visiting him altogether. In the back of my mind, though, he was still my friend, and he would always hold a special place in my heart.

As time went on, I grew up, and eventually I forgot about George, and Carl, and the wonders of the Trees. I spent most of my time either with friends, or inside. I didn't have time for imaginary friends. My world had changed, and I had changed with it. Honestly, I hadn't thought about Carl at all until I wrote this essay. I think it might be time to return to the Trees, walk in the darkness, and search for signs of my gentle, silent Giant.