Leaves were steadily falling off the trees as I sat down on a park bench. There were many moments like these: ones where I spent my day worrying over nothing. The leaves gracefully touched the ground, as if they were parachuting down.
My eyes watched as each of the leaves painted a picture of vibrant colors on the ground, leaving the tree that stood in front of my vision bereft of any joy the once green leaves used to provide.
For a moment, and just a moment only, I sat there and thought not a single thing. The moment was slow and sudden, and filled with many visions of beauty. Within a few moments afterward, I found myself longing for something else. Actually, it wasn’t something, rather, it was someone.
Her smiles lit up the sky like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She was the essence of joy, and I could only find myself gaping at her beauty every time I saw her. How do feelings carry on for this long and yet, seem to reach nowhere?
Is it normal to feel insignificant in comparison to her? To me, it’s always been as though her needs were worldly, and mine were miniscule. Perhaps I augment her value too much so, but someone as lovely as her surely deserves it.
I watched as the leaves continued to fall, leaving the tree eventually bare. I wondered about the possibilities of what would happen if the leaves had feelings, and the tree felt pain. Did the leaves put on a courageous, yet dour front in attempt to make the tree stray away from its stolid personality? If that was to be true, I wonder if the leaves ever loved the tree that gave them a place to call home.
I think that the tree is an opulent being for it was never fully alone. Winters came along and left snow to hang on its branches. When spring arrived, there were many little buds coming to settle in their new homes. As summer came, they were fully grown. As fall began to arrive, the leaves were getting ready to leave, creating the start of a cyclic journey with the tree.
There is another reason why I believe the tree to be rich. It was rich from memories. Sometimes, there will be people who engrave their memories onto the tree. When that happens, the tree becomes symbolic and already different from the rest.
I picked myself off the bench I sat on and walked towards the tree. I knew of who I was missing. I had missed her very much, but her imperfections were no longer something I could touch.
I am no longer able to see her crooked, but warm smile. I am no longer able to feel the coldness of her breath as she spoke soft whispers to my ear. Her unkempt hair is no longer something I could poke fun at anymore.
As my fingers traced over the tree, I found myself praying for something to turn up. It had been years since the memory was engraved, but I was praying for its existence. There was an augment in my happiness when I found my fingers warily tracing over an outline I felt familiar with. As I took a closer look, I found myself struggling to see the imprint left on the tree, but it still existed. The memory was still alive and an intimation of a melancholic nostalgia hit me.
❤❣❤
“This tree is ours,” she said to me.
“No. This tree belongs to the park,” I corrected.
“No! This tree is ours, Brent,” she reiterated.
“…okay, okay. This can be “our” tree,” I said with an amused smile.
Perhaps she had seen the look on my face, but for whatever reason it truly was, she suddenly held an expression of embarrassment.
“…what?” she asked in a shy mannerism. Her lips closed slowly to form a pouting expression on her face. In that moment, I had fallen in love with her. It was the way her confidence could be projected so openly, and yet be taken apart in moments of embarrassment so quickly. Her pinked cheeks made her seem irresistibly cute in my perspective.
I found myself reaching for her face, ready to pull her closer to me, so that I could kiss her. It was just a moment between us, and for that moment, she did nothing but look into my eyes as though she were a puppy-dog.
A bigger smile cracked on my face, and I shook my head as I told her, “nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I declare this tree to be ours, and with this tree, we will have fortitude when facing heavy burdens,” she told me. Her hand caressed the bark of the tree; almost as though she thought it were a human being in pain and in need of adoration.
“Isn’t that a little odd?” I asked her. My arms wrapped around her waist as my chin found a resting spot on her shoulder. She held onto my hands, and even though her back faced me and her eyes were directed on the tree, I swore I felt as though I was the only thought going through her mind.
“Maybe, but this tree will live a lot longer than us. It will be our memory,” she said to me.
“Would you like to make it official, then?” I asked her, enabling her.
“…what do you mean?” she asked, obviously confused.
“Close your eyes,” I told her with a wicked smile.
She gave me a doubtful look and asked, “are you going to run away?”
I rolled my eyes at her and said, “of course not. Where would I run off to?”
A soft melody filled the silent air as she laughed and closed her eyes.
Tentatively, I used a somewhat sharpened rock on the dirt ground in order to carve our initials in a heart on the tree bark. It took several outlines in order to make it look etched in, but I managed before she got tired of closing her eyes in silence.
“Brent. Can I open them now?” she complained like a little child.
I laughed and told her, “yes. You may open them now.”
I saw a twinkle in her eyes as she placed them on the heart now engraved onto the tree bark. Her fingers ran over it, slowly, and she eventually came to turn towards me.
With the tree as our witness, we shared our first kiss underneath its blooming flowers. A breeze flew by at that moment, and a sweet fragrance surrounded the both of us. When our lips eventually parted, we were greeted by the sight of petals dancing around us in the air.
❤❣❤
My eyes caught a glimpse of other engravings on the same tree, and I felt my guise come apart. My calm and cool demeanor suddenly faded, and I was angry. These were memories that shouldn’t be made on our tree. Their existences adulterated the significance of our memory. I couldn’t stand that thought. Why did those other engravings exist? Why did they look so new and permanent, while ours looked as though it were being washed away in rain? It wasn’t fair. It was nowhere near fair.
Why did it feel as though the tree was gibing at my heart and my memories? It was painful.
I was near tears as I stood in front of the tree, hating its existence, until I recognized a scent. It was a sweet fragrance surrounding me, but I did not know why it had existed. The leaves were falling, and there were no flowers in bloom, yet I could smell it clearly.
A soft melody was played to my ears as I saw a twinkle in the air and felt a cold touch on my lips.
An echo of sound was made, telling me in the voice that I had longed to hear again, “this is our tree.”
--; September 16th, 2012
I wrote this for an English homework in junior year. I actually really like this story.
The title was based on the initials of the two characters' names. I like to be secretly symbolic like that. It's also to capture the feeling of the last section of the story.
(Spoiler alert: in case you didn't figure it out...yeah. She died. I killed her off. Sorry. Had to do it for the story.)
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