The Fall

Lindsey dreaded the coming fall. All summer, she and Josh had spent every day building their treehouse. They were going to be eighth grade. Things had changed. Tears streamed down Lindsey’s face as she gripped the tool with her hands. She let loose a primal scream and tossed the hammer against the wall as she dropped to the floor of the treehouse that she and Josh had built. She wept in defiance of her situation.

Her eyes glanced about the treehouse, perched some twelve feet off the ground in the large maple tree that spread out over the backyards of both Josh and Lindsey’s house. The trunk was in her yard, but it was Josh’s idea to build it. They had spent last summer salvaging wood from pallets which were discarded behind local businesses. The construction was fun and fast. Slivers in the fingers became a way of life for the entire summer. The pain of production. The boards were rough and brittle, with rusty nails adorning them. Josh was really good at banging the nails out far enough for Lindsey to pull them out the rest of the way with the hammer. They worked well together.

Lindsey looked out the window that Josh built for her. There was only one window and no door in the treehouse, although Josh had cut a trap door in the roof for his “pirates’ perch” that he had been working on last week. Lindsey and Josh did not have windows facing their houses, as they didn’t want their parents spying on them. Lindsey rarely thought of Josh as more than a friend, but the last few months had seen them together every day, getting along and working together with no arguments. They never spoke of dating, but they were very committed to the treehouse, and in a way, each other.

She almost smiled when she saw the four nails that she had driven halfway into the window sill, only to have each of them fold over and get smashed flat into the board. She remembered Josh letting her try, then coming over and driving the nail straight in with three taps and a mighty wallop. She had planned to make drapes for the window. She planned to have a window box full of brightly colored plants. She planned to paint the inside a pretty shade of blue. But none of those plans would ever happen, now.

Lindsey slid her hand down the rope that she and Josh had used to haul boards, tools and baskets of snacks, drinks and lunches up into the treehouse. Josh had found the blue and white rope, with an anchor still attached, while swimming at the lake. Josh had tossed the anchor in the trash, and proudly presented the rope to Lindsey. She recalled many of the things that had been brought up by that rope, some more successfully than others. The rope was strong, but Lindsey’s skills with knots were weak. 

The television set, for example, which Lindsey tied up by herself, was a complete failure. Josh found the set out by the street with sign stating it was FREE. He brought it home and out to the tree in a wheelbarrow. He placed it gently on the ground. As Josh returned the wheelbarrow to the garage, Lindsey had hastily “tied” the television with the rope. She scampered back up the tree and started to pull it up with the rope. Josh emerged from the garage just in time to see the traumatic demise of the television. The 6-foot drop was enough to shatter the tube and send pieces of dark brown plastic flying across the grass. Josh howled with laughter. They both knew they were never going to be able to use the device in a treehouse that had no electricity.

Josh had patiently spent hours trying to teach Lindsey to tie a knot. There was limited success. After many failed attempts at lifting things to the treehouse, Josh had eventually added a hook to make Lindsey’s hoisting immediately more successful. The hook was from a shower curtain, and although she never asked, she wondered which of their friends was now missing one hook from their bathroom’s shower curtain. Josh had a way of acquiring resources for their treehouse.

She coiled the sturdy rope in her hands and wished that Josh would show up and make her pain go away. She wished the treehouse brought her the same joy she felt last week. Instead, every board, every nail, every tool and trinket she could see made her cry.

Everyone in seventh grade was jealous of the rickety structure. One friend had even offered Josh money to build one in his yard. Josh declined, confident in the fact that the other boy’s father would not be okay with a treehouse, and that he was never going to actually pay the money he promised Josh. Such was the envy and desire of the other kids. But no one envied Lindsey now.

Earlier this morning, Lindsey woke up and plopped two frozen waffles in the toaster. She poured herself a small glass of orange juice and got the syrup down from the shelf. Her mother walked in, slowly, unable to make eye contact with Lindsey. Her mother’s lips trembled as she stared over Lindsey’s head and struggled to find the right words to say. Lindsey listened to her mother in disbelief. Her mother finished telling Lindsey the news, and then nodded as if to authenticate the facts. Lindsey screamed, “NO!” and staggered toward the treehouse.

Now, Lindsey sat on the floor of the treehouse, sobbing. Any other day, the chirping birds, billowy clouds and pleasant wind would make this a perfect summer day. The boards creaked empathetically as the gentle breeze danced the old maple tree back and forth. Lindsey went over the words her mother had said. Lindsey couldn’t make sense of them. She didn’t want to.

She thought she heard a noise coming from Josh’s house, and peeked through the cracks in the boards in that direction, but she saw nothing. She collapsed back down on the floor and grabbed the rope, wishing she could just lower it down and pull up a different answer, a different outcome, a different day.

Her mother’s words whirled around in her head. Was it true? Had she heard correctly? It must be wrong. Something about last night…and Josh’s family….and finally an explanation of a car accident. A bad one. Josh, and his parents, did not survive. Lindsey cried even harder.

Josh would never be joining her for sandwiches on Sunday, or homework hangouts after school. Josh would never finish building the ladder up to the lookout perch: his pet project. Josh would never be in the treehouse again. Lindsey and Josh had been inseparable. She did not know how she could go on without Josh. She looked around at the special place that they built together, and she cried. She squeezed the rope and looked one last time at the four walls she and Josh had constructed. The treehouse was empty. Lindsey was empty. This would be her last time in the treehouse. Lindsey dreaded the coming fall.