Bernadette Gets Stuck

It was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon of "me time," a rare commodity when one shared a house with Howard Wolowitz, two toddlers, and the lingering spirit of a long-dead mother-in-law that seemed to haunt the very floorboards of their home. Bernadette Rostenkowski-Wolowitz had decided that a solo drive through the rolling hills of the California countryside was exactly what her blood pressure required. She had dressed for the occasion in a cheerful red dress with white polka dots that hit just above her knees, paired with sensible black tights and her favorite denim jacket.

The air was crisp, the sun was shining, and for forty-five minutes, no one had asked her where their socks were or screamed because their toast was cut into triangles instead of squares.

Then, she saw it.

Growing near the base of a massive, gnarled ancient oak tree was a cluster of wild roses. One in particular caught her eye—a deep, velvety crimson bloom that looked like something out of a fairy tale. It was perfect. It was the kind of flower that would look stunning in a bud vase on her nightstand, a little trophy of her afternoon of freedom.

"Just one little snip," Bernadette muttered to herself, stepping off the dirt path and trekking through the tall grass.

As she approached the tree, she realized the rose wasn't just growing near the trunk; it had somehow wound its way upward, its stem disappearing into a large, dark hollow about four feet off the ground. The most beautiful blossom was tucked just inside the opening of the trunk, protected from the wind and sun.

Bernadette reached in, her small hand straining for the stem. "Come on, you little beauty," she grunted.

The opening was wider than it looked, a hollowed-out cavity caused by years of rot and wood-boring insects. She leaned further in, her shoulders passing through the rim of the knotty wood. The scent of damp earth and old bark filled her nose. She could see the rose, just an inch beyond her fingertips.

She took a deep breath, flattening her stomach and lunging forward. Her hips slid past the jagged edge of the entrance, and her entire upper body vanished into the dark, wooden cavern.

*Snip.*

Success. Her fingers pinched the stem, and she felt the satisfying snap of the flower breaking free.

"Gotcha," she chirped, her voice echoing strangely inside the hollow trunk.

Now, it was time to retreat. She planted her palms against the internal walls of the tree and shoved backward.

She didn't move.

Bernadette frowned, trying again with more force. "Okay, very funny, Mother Nature."

She wiggled her shoulders, but the denim of her jacket seemed to have hooked onto a splintered piece of wood. When she tried to shift her weight to unhook it, her ribcage pressed firmly against the narrowest part of the opening. She tried to exhale all the air from her lungs to make herself smaller, but the vacuum effect only seemed to wedge her tighter.

She was bent double at the waist, her head and torso completely encased in the dark, dusty interior of the oak. Outside, her flared polka-dot skirt fluttered in the breeze, her black-clad legs and backside protruding from the tree like a strange, fashionable fungus.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the wood.

She kicked out blindly with her right leg, trying to find purchase on the grass to push herself out. Her left foot found the trunk of the tree, and she pressed her heel against the bark, using every ounce of strength in her toned legs to propel herself backward.

The tree didn't budge. Bernadette, however, felt the rough bark of the opening bite into her waist, her stomach wedged tight against the rim.

"Help!" she screamed, though she knew how futile it was. She was miles from the main road, on a trail she’d chosen specifically because it was deserted. "Somebody! Anyone!"

She reached blindly behind her, patting the air where her purse should be. It was lying on the grass, a good three feet away from her dangling feet. Her phone, her lifeline, her only way to call Howard and endure a lifetime of jokes about "The Great Tree Incident of 2024," was vibrating silently inside her bag.

"Howard?" she squeaked, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "If you’re tracking my GPS, now would be a really good time to be a creepy, overbearing husband!"

Inside the tree, a small spider skittered across her glasses. Bernadette shrieked, shaking her head violently, which only succeeded in knocking her glasses askew and scraping her forehead against a knot in the wood.

"I am a high-earning microbiologist," she reminded herself, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and rising panic. "I manage a team of researchers. I have survived the wrath of Penny and the eccentricities of Sheldon Cooper. I will not be defeated by a vegetable!"

She tried a different tactic: the "wiggle and twist." She rotated her hips, trying to corkscrew her way out. The friction of her denim jacket against the bark created a sound like sandpaper. She felt a sickening *rip* as a pocket caught on a branch.

"Great. Just great. This was a vintage wash!"

Minutes turned into what felt like hours. The blood was starting to rush to her head from being bent over. Her hamstrings were beginning to ache from the awkward angle. She tried to relax, hoping that if she stopped tensing her muscles, she might slide out.

Instead, she just felt the heavy silence of the countryside. A bird chirped somewhere nearby. A squirrel chattered, likely mocking the blonde woman sticking out of its front door.

"Go away!" Bernadette snapped at the squirrel.

She took a shaky breath, the smell of the rose still clutched in her hand mocking her. It was a beautiful flower, but it wasn't worth being turned into a permanent woodland installation.

"Okay, Bernadette, think," she whispered to the darkness. "Leverage. Physics. If Leonard were here, he’d talk about coefficients of friction until I died of boredom. If Sheldon were here, he’d point out that I’ve effectively become a cork in a very large, wooden bottle."

She tried to push again, her boots scuffing against the bark. "I am not going to die in a tree! I refuse to have my obituary say I was outsmarted by an oak!"

The wind picked up, cooling her legs, which offered little comfort. She felt incredibly vulnerable, her skirt hiked up slightly by the friction, her legs kicking uselessly in the open air. She felt like a character in a cartoon, the kind of predicament that would usually involve a hungry bear or a swarm of bees.

"Please don't let there be bees," she prayed.

Suddenly, the distant sound of a car engine reached her ears. It was faint, but it was there.

"Hey! Over here!" she bellowed, her voice bouncing off the internal walls of the hollow. "Help! I’m in the tree! The tree!"

The engine sound grew louder, then stopped. A door slammed.

"Hello?" a voice called out. It sounded familiar. Too familiar.

"Stuart?" Bernadette yelled, her heart leaping. "Stuart, is that you?"

"Bernadette?" The comic book store owner’s voice sounded confused, drifting closer. "Where are you? I saw your car on the side of the road and thought you might have run out of gas. I was just out here looking for... well, looking for a place to cry where no one could see me."

"I’m in the tree, Stuart! Look at the big oak tree!"

There was a long silence. Bernadette could imagine Stuart standing there, staring at her lower half protruding from the trunk.

"Bernadette?" he asked, his voice sounding strained. "Are you... are you okay? Why are you a tree?"

"I’m not a tree, you idiot! I’m stuck! I was trying to get a rose and I slid in and now I can't get out! Stop staring at my butt and help me!"

"I wasn't staring!" Stuart protested, though his voice went up an octave. "I mean, it’s hard not to look, you’re very... bright red. The polka dots really pop against the bark."

"Stuart Bloom, if you don't pull me out of here right now, I will tell Howard you still use his HBO Max login!"

"Okay, okay! Gosh," Stuart scrambled closer. "How do I do this? I don't want to hurt you. Or get sued. Do I have to touch your hips? I feel like I should ask for consent before I grab a friend’s wife to haul her out of a plant."

"Just grab my waist and pull on the count of three!" Bernadette barked. "And if you drop me, you’re dead!"

She felt Stuart’s thin, somewhat clammy hands grip her waist. He was surprisingly weak, but he was all she had.

"Okay," Stuart panted. "On three. One... two... three!"

He heaved. Bernadette felt a sharp pain as her jacket snagged again, but she ignored it, pushing back with her legs as hard as she could. She moved an inch.

"It’s working!" Stuart gasped. "But you’re really wedged in there. What did you do, lubricate yourself with glue before you climbed in?"

"Just pull, Stuart!"

With a mighty, wheezing groan from Stuart and a desperate, guttural scream from Bernadette, there was a sudden *pop*. The vacuum seal broke.

Bernadette flew backward, her body erupting from the tree trunk like a cork from a champagne bottle. She collided with Stuart, and the two of them went tumbling into the tall grass in a tangle of denim, polka dots, and pale, lanky limbs.

Bernadette lay on her back, staring up at the blue sky, gasping for air. Her hair was a mess of twigs and leaves, her glasses were hanging off one ear, and her denim jacket was missing a pocket. But she was out.

Stuart was lying a few feet away, clutching his chest. "I think... I think I pulled a muscle in my soul."

Bernadette sat up, adjusting her dress and shaking the debris from her hair. She looked down at her hand. Miraculously, she was still clutching the red rose.

"You okay?" Stuart asked, sitting up slowly.

Bernadette looked at the rose, then at the tree, then at Stuart. A small, hysterical laugh escaped her throat.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice regaining its usual high-pitched sweetness, though it had a dangerous edge. "But Stuart?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever tell a soul about this—especially Howard, Leonard, or Sheldon—I will use my knowledge of pharmaceutical pathogens to make sure you never stop sneezing for the rest of your life."

Stuart gulped, nodding frantically. "My lips are sealed. I wasn't even here. I’m just a hallucination brought on by your dehydration."

"Good." Bernadette stood up, brushed off her tights, and tucked the rose behind her ear. "Now, help me find my shoe. I think it’s still inside the tree."

Stuart sighed, looking at the dark hole in the trunk. "You know, this is still the most action I've had all year."

"Don't make it weird, Stuart."

"Too late."