The Tree of Secrets

Write a story that weaves together multiple lives through their connection to a particular tree.

It’s a known fact that you can tell the age of a tree by the annual rings on the inside, but what people don’t often talk about is how trees can tell stories. Sure, there’re the initials carved on the bark within hearts by lovers that promise to stay together forever, but that’s not the only way.

Trees are also amazing keepers of secret, and one in particular, was especially good at it.

At a first glance, the fine specimen of salix babylonica next to the playground looked like every other weeping willow. Its gray, rough bark and elongated, loosely hanging branches covered in long leaves that turned yellow before the fell was the perfect disguise for the magic it held. People walked by every day, oblivious to what it could do, but a few lucky ones were privy to its wonders. I was one of them.

It happened when I was little. My grandmother used to bring me to the park every Wednesday afternoon. I would play with the other children and she’d sit on a bench and knit. One day, when I was seven and it was time to head home, she took my hand and led me in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going, Nana?” I demanded, eager to get home and watch my favorite show.

“To see some magic,” she replied, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze.

That certainly piqued my interest and the eagerness to go home was replaced by curiosity. Until I saw where she led me.

“That’s just a tree, Nana,” I informed her in that tone seven-year-olds use, the one that clearly points out they know something you don’t.

“I know, Lexi,” she laughed and tugged me forward. “But this tree has a special power.”

My eyes widened as I thought about the possibilities. My mom had just finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia to me and I decided that the tree was like the special one in the book, the one used to build the wardrobe.

But like a good little girl, I asked her. She had known it all along and we were still living here? “What does it do?”

“It keeps secrets,” she whispered, as if that was a big secret as well.

“Oh.”

That made her laugh, the sound like a warm hug while we had fresh cookies by the fire. “Don’t look so disappointed, love.”

I was trying not to pout. I was missing my show for this? “I thought it would be something cool.”

“Well, I don’t know about cool,” she replied, emphasizing the last word. “But it is unique.”

I remember looking up the word when I got home. It meant something that existed as the only one, nothing else was the same. I had immediately started using it on a daily basis.

The tree obviously meant something to my grandma, and she meant something to me, so I decided to be patient and tell me about it. “Do you see all those leaves?”

I nodded, looking up.

“Each one is a secret.”

That made me frown. How could a leaf be a secret? “What do you mean, Nana?”

“Do you remember how you felt when you lied to your mom about the vase you broke?” She leaned closer to whisper.

I grimaced and looked down as a blush spread up my neck and to my cheeks, something in my tummy fluttering in a bad way.

She pulled me against her and rubbed comforting circles on my back. I was afraid to tell my mom when it happened, but I had told grandma. I always told her everything. She never got angry, even if I had done something bad. All she did was tell me that we’d find a way to make it better together.

“Well, love,” she whispered, “when people feel like that, they come here and whisper it against the bark of the tree. And it helps make it better.”

I leaned back to meet her eyes. “How?”

“That’s the magic, sweetheart.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I noticed the yellow leaves on the ground. “What about those?”

“Well, those are the secrets that have been forgiven,” she explained. “When someone tells the tree a secret, a new leaf is born, but when the person finally forgives themself, when their heart is lighter, the leaf falls.”

“I don’t understand,” I frowned. “If the person has to forgive, has to do all the work, how does the tree help?”

“It shares your burden,” she replied, looking to the left. There was a young woman leaning against the trunk. “Nothing is as heavy when someone carries it with you.”

At the time, I wasn’t impressed. It seemed like a waste of magic to me. A portal to a new land would have been much cooler.

We still went to the park every week and I could see the tree from the monkey bars. At one point, I stopped looking, knowing it wouldn’t take me to meet Aslam. The conversation faded from my memory, nothing more than a boring thing a grown up had told me.

But that changed when I was nine. I still remember it like it was yesterday, running through the park, desperate to get to the tree so it would feel better. Usually, I’d have told Nana, but my dad made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. I figured he wouldn’t mind if I shared it with the tree. Because I had to share it with someone.

It was just before dusk and there was a lady by the tree. I was afraid she’d overhear me, so I started pacing, waiting for her to be done. She offered me a kind smile as she walked away and I hurried over.

“I saw daddy kissing Mrs. Armstrong,” I whispered, a hand on each side of my mouth, pressing against the bark to make sure it didn’t get out.

I had never seen daddy’s eyes wide like that, when he saw me walk into his office. Mrs. Armstrong looked at me like the Evil Queen looks at Snow White and that didn’t make any sense. She was always so nice when I went over to play with Lisa.

Daddy had told me they were playing a game, a secret kind of game. I knew he had been lying, I was nine, not stupid, but I was also afraid of what would happen if I told someone. My chest hurt when I thought about it, I wanted to throw up. So, the tree had been my only hope.

As soon as I shared my secret- his secret- something in my chest eased up and I smiled. Nana had been right, it was magical.

From that day on, I went to the tree whenever something was bothering me. At the age of 12, I whispered about stealing a piece of gum from the market in a dare. At 14, I told the tree about my first kiss. It wasn’t a secret, but it still made me sad because Sean Anderson had only kissed me because his friends bet him he wouldn’t. At 18, the tree was the first to know I hadn’t gotten a high enough score on my SATs to get into my dream college. Each and every time, I left lighter, hopeful that the pain of whatever I had just shared would be temporary.

Until I was 20. That day, as I ran for the tree in my stocking clad feet, cursing my too tight black dress, tears streaming down my face, I knew it wouldn’t be able to help me.

“You left me,” I shouted as I fell to my knees. It was the first time I hadn’t bothered to whisper. I was too angry. “You left me and now I’m all alone.”

It wasn’t true, but it sure felt that way.

I sat and pulled my knees against my body, burying my face in them as I sobbed. Maybe my tears would share what I didn’t have words to. How I was devastated. How I felt betrayed.

“Did you know that willows are a sign of hope?” Someone asked, interrupting my mental tirade and causing me to quickly wipe my tears away.

“I don’t feel particularly hopeful right now,” I grumbled, hoping that if I answered, he would go away. I didn’t want to be around anyone just now.

“Well, they are also supposed to give us the ability to let go of pain and suffering, the strength to grow new, strong and bold.”

I whipped around. “What are you, some kind of hippie tree specialist?”

He surely didn’t look like one, not in his tailored black suit and certainly not with his auburn hair slicked back like that. It looked as if it had more product than mine.

“Not exactly,” he smiled, causing the corners of his blue eyes to crinkle. “I am studying to be a botanist, though. Because of this particular tree, actually.”

“What about it?”

“Well, for instance, did you know that willow trees are only supposed to live between 40 and 75 years, but this one is rumoured to be 200 years old?”

I looked back at the tree, resting my chin on my knees. While I had never thought about its age, it did look kind of old. And it made sense. When Nana told me about it, she had mentioned that her own grandmother used to bring her here.

“How do you know about this tree?” I had seen many people coming to it over the years, but it had never felt right to ask them how they knew. But if pretty boy over here had seen fit to interrupt a crying woman, he deserved to be grilled.

“Someone very special told me about it when I was little,” he confessed and my chest tightened.

Could it be? Something told me it was, but I had to know for sure. “What was her name?”

“Elena.” He smiled again, though this time, it looked sad. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

My urge to sob was back. He knew my grandma. He knew who I was. “How…how did you know?”

He at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I was at the funeral.”

The funeral. The one I had just fled from. Before doing the reading I was supposed to. I just…couldn’t do it. I was so angry that she was gone, that she had left me behind, that all I had left were people who didn’t fully get me. Nana had always known. One look at me and she knew what I needed. She had been my rock all my life and now I had to face it all…alone.

“She talked about you often,” he said, his voice now much closer. “Don’t tell your siblings but you were always her favorite.”

That made me smile, made the tightness in my chest ease up a bit. “I’ve always suspected but it’s nice to know for sure.” I looked up to find him crouching a few feet away. “How did you…”

“Know her?” He finished for me and I nodded. “She used to watch me when my mom was at work. We were neighbors.”

I frowned, trying to remember if I’d seen him before. I used to stay over at Nana’s all the time, but I don’t remember seeing any other kids around.

“We’ve never met,” he smiled, putting me at ease. 

We both looked forward, lost in thought as we took in the tree. I hadn’t wanted company when I ran over here, but oddly, I didn’t mind sharing this moment with him. He had given me a whole new piece of Nana and that made me think it would be alright. While there were people who remembered her, she’d be alive.

“Any secrets you’re desperate to confess?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer me for a few minutes, but when he did, his voice was quiet. “I should have kept in touch more.”

“She’d forgive you.”

“How do you know?” He sounded relieved, but also doubtful.

I shrugged. “Because it’s just the kind of person she was.”

“She’d forgive you too, you know.”

I hoped he was right, because it took me a long time to forgive myself for being that angry at her. I knew she would never choose to leave me, that if she could, she’d stay forever. But she had been sick for a while, suffering. Going was the best thing for her, even if it hurt, and I’d just have to accept it.

But it took me a while to get it. I went back to college, got a job, and whenever I was in town, I avoided the park like the plague. Learning to carry my burdens on my own was easier than going back to the place that reminded me of her the most.

That was true until now.

I am 31 and finally back in the shadow of the willow tree trying to undo the tangle of emotions within me. Sad for missing Nana. Relieved for being back here at last. Proud of all I had achieved in these years, especially of the reason I was here again.

“Why are we here, mommy?”

I looked down at the gorgeous little girl with auburn hair so much like her fathers and smiled. “We’re here so I can tell you about a very special tree, Elena.”