Marcus Quercus

         My name is Marcus, and I’m mad. I’m sitting in the Principal’s office, and it’s my Mom’s fault. George and Arnie are bullies. They didn’t get in trouble for pulling my shirt out of my pants on the bus and calling me “stinky pinky.” They always do that when I wear this shirt. I hate this shirt. Mom says it’s peach. It’s not. It’s pink. I’m tired of George making fun of me. So today I had some acorns from my tree in my pocket, and when we were getting off the bus, I threw one right at George’s head. I got him right behind his ear, and he started crying like a baby. But the vice principal saw me. And now I’m in trouble.

   Mom’s going to come to get me and be even more sad. 

   The principal keeps talking to me about acting out. Now I have to see the school counselor. My Dad died. I miss my Dad. Now everything is wrong.

   After lunch, my Mom says, “Marcus, I need to get some work done on my computer.” Mom is mad because she had to come home from work because I was sent home from school. “Can you please play quietly while I work?”

   “Can I play outside? Can I go to my tree,” I ask her.

   She smiles sadly and says, “Okay sweetie. But take your watch and be back inside by five o’clock.”

   I love sitting under my tree. My Dad and I used to come out here and talk, even when he was sick. He showed me how to throw an acorn. I’m really good at it. He told me the tree’s name is “Quercus.” That means “Oak.”  I would rather be called Quercus than Marcus. Marcus is a dumb name. George calls me Markissie sissy sometimes.

   My tree is on top of a hill all by itself. Most of the time there are plenty of acorns to throw, but today there are hardly any. I wish I had some to throw. Quercus is my best friend. Sometimes he whispers to me. And I tell him the stuff that happens at school and about how Mom and I are sad. Quercus listens and tells me that it will be all right. 

   Today I watched a bird feeding its babies in the tree for a while. Then I marched around the tree playing solider. I saw a caterpillar and watched it eating a leaf on a vine climbing the tree. But I still felt sad. “Quercus,” I miss my Dad so much,” I tell him and it makes me cry. 

   Quercus rustles his leaves and says, “You’ll be okay. Trust me.” I hug his trunk. 

"You're so lucky," I tell Quercus, "you get to stay outside and watch the birds and the bugs all day. You get to play in the sun and the rain. I have to go to school. I sit down by his trunk and tell him about my day. And I fall asleep.

   I wake up to hear my Mom calling me. She sounds worried. It’s five thirty! That night, when I’m going to bed, I tell her about talking to Quercus, and I tell her that he talks to me. She looks very sad. “I love you, sweetie. You and your Dad loved to sit by that tree. Maybe you and I can go up there together sometime.” I tell her okay and go to sleep.

* * *

   Today is the last day of school! Tomorrow, Mom’s going to drive me to Grandmother and Grandfather’s farm. I get to stay for six weeks! I love the farm! So, after school, I go out to say goodbye to Quercus for the vacation. I’m so happy! He giggles as he rustles his leaves. “Here, eat this,” Quercus whispers. An acorn hits me in the head. It hurts, and I start to cry. “Eat it,” Quercus whispers again. I look at the acorn. It’s purple. I pick it up and look at it. I’ve never seen a purple one. “Eat it,” Quercus whispers again. In school, the teacher said that the Indians used to eat acorns, but only when other food was hard to find because acorns are bitter. “Eat it,” he whispers again. So, I pop it in my mouth. It’s kind of chewy like a caramel. It’s not bitter; it’s kinda sweet. “Yum,” I say to Quercus. “Thanks.”

“I love you,” Quercus says. “It’s your turn now.”

   At dinner, I tell my Mom that Quercus gave me a purple acorn to eat. She tells me not to eat acorns anymore. After I brushed my teeth that night, she tells me there’s something I need to know. “This summer they’re going to build some houses in the field behind our house. So by this time next year, you’ll have more friends to play with. But to may not be able to see your tree anymore. We’ll plant one in our yard and watch it grow.

   I ask her. “Is my tree going to be in someone else’s yard?”

   “I’m not sure, sweetie. They may have to cut it down.”

   “No, they can’t do that!” I am yelling and crying. “It’s my tree. It’s Dad’s tree!” Mom holds me in her arms and rocks me like a baby, but I don’t care. I’m just so sad.

   When I wake up, I’m in the backseat of the car. My Mom says, “Good morning, sleepyhead! There’s a banana, a fruit bar and some orange juice in the lunch pack back there. It will be another two hours before we get to the farm.” I just go back to sleep.

   On the farm, I have chores every day. I clear the table and help with the dishes. I make my own bed. I sweep the kitchen and the back porch. But my favorite job is walking Goldie, the dog. She’s fun to play with, even if she is a girl. We go for long walks in the woods. There’s a clearing by a creek that Grandpa made that has a picnic table and a fire pit. That’s our favorite place. We go there every day if it isn’t raining. I throw balls and Goldie brings them back. She likes it best when I throw them in the water. But I love to stand in the middle of the clearing put my arms out and spin around until I’m so dizzy I fall down. Goldie just barks. No one makes fun of me.

   Grandmother says that my feet are growing so fast that soon I’ll look like a monkey. The shoes she bought me when I first got here are already way too small. I’m also growing taller. I’m already four feet and five inches tall! I can tell when I run, ‘cause I can take big steps.

* * *

   Today is special! Mom’s coming, and she’s going to stay for two weeks! We’re going to have a picnic in my clearing when she gets here! While we walk to the clearing, I tell her about playing with Goldie in the creek and throwing balls. I want to show her about spinning around. She says I can show her when the picnic is set up. I can’t wait anymore, so I go to the middle of the clearing and start to turn around and around. “Look at me, look at me,” I shout. I feel myself getting taller. My arms are lifted in the air, and I feel fingers growing towards the sunshine. My toes start to dig into the ground as I stop spinning.

   My Mom looks startled. “What are you doing,” She screams at me. “Stop it! Stop it.” She runs over to where I’m standing and beats on my trunk. “No! No! Stop it,” she cries.

   But it’s too late. My fingers have sprouted leaves and are sucking the sunshine. My toes are roots spreading underneath me to gather the water from the ground. I whisper to her, “It’s my turn now.”