The Great

I

Not an Old Tree

I am a 1000-year-old Great Basin Bristlecone Pine tree, or Pinus Longaeva if you prefer. Quite self-indulgent to have ‘Great’ in my name... Anyway, my timber and branches the strongest it has ever been in my life. I am the very picture of youth – for trees, that is. Though I’m rooted in one spot, I find time for my own amusements – or more accurately, they find me (they, being the people who come and visit me). People have come and shared their greatest cheesiest of loves and most gruesome of pains; so close and intimate that I feel as if it were happening to me. I live on a hill just a little bit off from the nearest ranch in the middle of nowhere; close enough for people to come, but isolated enough for those who visit me to find escape and some peace and quiet. From the many encounters I’ve had, I come to always revisit the same 3 stories. Much like my branches, these stories are fundamentally intertwined, yet still uniquely, and heart-achingly, separate from one another.

II

Charlotte

Little blonde freckle-y Charlotte has always wanted a tree house. As a kid, she’s only managed to get that tree bit, but I’m more than happy to play that part. Her ponytail was consistently worn with a coloured ribbon, and she had always been a bit of a tomboy – I and her other friends thought (think) she was (is) very cool. It felt like I too was part of her intimate friend circle, with her coming up here so often with them. A sign was made for her very own special club: Charl’s Kingdom – painted in blue. The ‘e’ was backwards. Very adorable.

    Charlotte would share stories, play tag, climb my branches many many times. My, if the girl hadn’t spoken, I would’ve thought she was a monkey. She did fall one time; nastily broke her arm (and my branch). The following day after that incident though, she came with just as much energy, if not more, with an arm in a fully drawn cast - as if nothing had happened. She used her cast-arm to ‘blast’ at her ‘enemies’. Ah, I love children. They wonderfully played with me for years, until sadly, as all children do – they grew up. I started seeing Charlotte less and less. She had outgrown her tomboy nature and would much rather play in the house now. Although, one of her close-circle friends, Tom, I started seeing more of.

III

Tom

Tommy here grew up to be a very fine young man. A typical bad boy. A heartbreaker. That last bit was proven with the many different lady friends he’d bring around all too often. On lucky days, Tommy boy would receive a kiss on the cheek. On unlucky ones, a slap instead. I am he’s go-to spot, and I can’t blame him, the view is spectacular. It’s enough to make anyone swoon. Can’t blame the ladies too, Tommy’s a pretty sweet looking player.

    One day, he started coming with one more frequently. Consistently. They’d lay under the shade of my branches for hours, talking. I could see his eyes glimmer when he looks at her - I think my Tommy boy here found love. After a couple of weeks of constant visits, he finally, FINALLY professed his love to Abby. She took a beat before answering – my God, that was the longest second in both my and Tom’s life – she said a yes in the most giggly and lovely manner. They hugged and kissed and carved their initials in a classic lovesick heart on my trunk. A mark that I shall treasure forever as I pray for their love. They didn’t stop coming to me for years and I didn’t grow sick of it (no matter how gooey and romantic they got)! On the final day I saw them, to my slight surprise, they came dressed as bride and groom. I was so incredibly happy for them. But, I also felt like this was goodbye. I was right. Abby touched their carved initials and looked up to me with tender eyes. ‘It’s time to say goodbye old pal’ Tommy said. They had each other now. I’m happy for them, really, I am.

It was a few quiet years after Tommy left, before another family came and lived at the ranch.

IV

James

The new family consisted of a sweet trio of a perfect little boy and his perfect parents. They’d come up for a picnic, play tag, and gaze at the clouds. A routine not anyone of us ever grew tired of. It was beautiful. The little boy was very smart and had just learned to speak. He had a favourite yellow truck that he’d bring everywhere all the time. He even had a name for it: “Trucky”. Classic.

‘James!’ The beautiful wife called him. She side-tracked to me. A blue ribbon in her hair, A scar of an old break on her arm.

Charlotte? She came and touched my broken branch.

‘Charlotte…?’ The man asked.

She giggles. My, she is beautiful. She had grown her hair out.

‘Here’s my old pal. I broke his branch along with my arm when I was a little girl.’ I’m reunited with sweet Charlotte! The world felt like it had right itself in a way that I didn’t know it was wrong in the first place. I felt complete. Nothing could get better than having this life as a companion to this beautiful family. Little did I know this was the calm before the storm.

     On a dark night, illuminated only by the quickly disappearing moonlight, a figure fast approached. Storm clouds form all too quickly. It’s James. The air is heavy around him, weighing loads with every step. He stomps around, hands in his hair, on the absolute verge of breaking. And then he did. He dropped to his knees and wailed the most heart wrenching sound into the darkness. As if on cue, rain started pouring. Hard. It masked some of his cries, but I can still hear it – can still feel it. There was no one else for him tonight, but me. I hope that I was enough. I shifted my branches just a bit to stop some parts of the rain from breaking him even more. He got up and leaned on my trunk. Pushing his hands against his face, he willed his tears to stop. Yet, I can still feel his back racked with sobs. Oh, James.

     He left. But two days later, at dusk, I was woken up by James coming. He’s back. He looks dirty. Is that mud? No… It’s not. He’s covered in it! James, why are you limping? I hope he’s not hurt. God… I hope he didn’t hurt anyone. He drops to his knees and pulls out a toy. A yellow truck. Trucky. He sets it down on my root.

Oh? … Oh… He shakes his jacket off. Takes everything out of his pockets, before taking one last thing. A gun. Why does he have a gun? He shouldn’t have a gun. He shouldn’t. No. There’s no one else here, which means… No no no no. He looks to the horizon for a very long time. James, what are you thinking?

Never have I willed my branches to move so desperately before. He raised his gun to his chin. I urged to shift myself to move. To stop him! Tears trickled down James’ face. His hands way too tight on the trigger. My twigs start to snap as it moves painfully, but it’s all TOO SLOW. James’ finger twitches, he takes a sharp inhale.

BANG! He fell to the ground, dropping the gun.

My root had plucked up from the ground and tripped James. He missed, and is gasping, in shock, unable to comprehend. You and I both body. He’s okay! James, you’re okay! You’re going to be okay. Please be okay. I’m here for you. He looked at me with brief shock in his eyes, before crumpling like a paper in overwhelming tears. It’s okay, buddy. He sat between my roots, tucked in what I can offer as a hug.

After that night, he came sparingly. But each trip was filled with gratitude, and he would talk to me too! Now that he finally knows that I have been listening. It took a while before he got better. He told me what had happened to his son, and now I know why he acted the way he did. It was horrendous; no one should ever have to go through what he and Charlotte did. They didn’t stop coming. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave first this time. I hope they’re alright.  

V

End

I could’ve lived for much longer, but it seems like my life is nearing its end. I saw some contractors come and outline the land, looking to build something new. Unfortunately, I’m not meant to be part of that story. So they’re cutting me down tomorrow. I’m heart-broken, definitely, but I have no regrets because of the fulfilling life I have lived. And the people I have amused, kept company, and even saved. So there it is, people come and go, and I have a broken branch, carved initials, and an uplifted root to remind me of them. Great memories; an honour I get to take to my grave.