The Miracle Tree

I was young, seven, maybe. A couple of boys in my class told me that if I went to the Westman house and stayed there for five minutes they would give me $20. They bet because they knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. They knew by my shaky knees and how I sometimes cried in class because I missed my mom that I couldn’t do it. And yet, I opened the door of the creepy, abandoned house that the whole street talks about in a hushed tone and stepped in.

The inside looked like it had once been beautiful. The stairs, now chipped and probably creaky, were big and wrapped around the wall of the house proudly. The walls were white and the soft, silky curtains were violet. Pictures were nailed on the wall of a family smiling and happier than ever. I wonder what they looked like now. In the walls were burn marks, signifying what had once happened.

I went in further, shivering. I was about to turn back when I saw a huge tree, alive as ever, stretched out across an entire living room and into what once was the dining room. I thought I saw something moving, so I took a step forward, my curiosity taking the lead.

That’s the day I met Willow. I saw a girl with black, unruly hair with what looked like twigs, leaves and small vines hanging from a branch on a tree. She was wearing rags that were much too big yet they somehow seemed pretty on her. I wanted to run out screaming, run straight past the snickering boys outside away from this weird house and into my mothers arms as she tiredly said “oh Sullivan, what happened this time?”. I didn’t do any of that thought, something about the girl drew me to her like a moth in a room with a lightbulb. I just wanted to get closer. And closer. 

“Don’t. Come. Near,” her voice was steady with a pang of warning. She jumped down.

“A-are you from around here? Do you go to Yurring? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Yurring? What is ‘Yurring’?” She talked slowly, like she couldn’t bind the words together.

“That’s the only middle school around here, unless you go to Kendrel down South but only the rich kids go there,” I rolled my eyes for a second, not noticing the clear sense of confusion in her eyes.

“Why are you here?” The girl stepped behind a tree like it was going to protect her. 

“Some kids dared me to go in here for five minutes, nobody’s been here since The Burn. I thought I would be scared but you’re here and you seem like you’ve been here a lot so I guess it’s okay.”

“The Burn?” She looked fiercely at the tree, whispered something to it then looked at me, suddenly scared and wide-eyed. I took a step back, letting my amazement be replaced by fright as the strange girl stared at me longingly.

I explained all about how 7 years ago, when I was still a baby, the town experienced a fire so big it brought out nightmares. A whole house was engulfed in flames, a very happy family was destroyed. Everybody survived but a baby girl not older than me at that age. I explained how I was friends with the boy in the family but after awhile I didn’t want to play with him anymore because all his parents would do at playdates was check on him every five minutes, cry and talk about how their “little Willow” was alive, how she was “special” and how we “needed to check the Big Hole”. My mom said they cracked under all the stress and the loss of their baby girl.

“Baby girl?” The girl interrupted. “And what is Big Hole?”

“Yeah,” I continued, “everybody survived but the baby, who was never found. Everybody was really sad because she was really cute but the parents went wacko after she died!” I slowed down my tone after realizing I had said something my mom would have called “disrespectful”. “The Big Hole doesn’t exist. Dr. Icefield, the town psychologist, calls it a “coping mechanism”. And believe me, all the detectives searched the exact spot and-”

“Sullivan.” the girl said, raising her voice and taking my hand in hers. 

“How do you know my name?!” I exclaimed, stepping back.

“I. Am. Willow,” her voice was shaky.

“Your name is Willow? Cool, my name is Sullivan, but you already know that of course!”

“No,” she came closer, “I. Am. Willow. Price,” When she said the name I almost asked her to repeat it as I thought I heard it wrong.

“That’s impossible,” I started, “Willow Price is the girl who died in The Burn, the story I just told you.”

“She never died,” I noticed how the corners of Willow’s eyes were just a little bit wet when she said that. I wanted to tell her that what she was saying was impossible and what my mama said about liars but I didn’t because something about the girls’ tone of voice and wild eyes made me believe her. 

“If you really are Willow,” I started, “then your parents, they moved after the Burn, all the way to Europe. How did you survive?”

Willow stood there, digging her fingers into her huge shirt, debating whether or not to say anything. Finally she looked at me with her emerald green eyes that somehow seemed blue now and pointed to the top of the stairs. “Follow me,” her voice was steady yet with a hint of mystery at the end.

My heart felt like it was in my throat, I felt tingly and like I just had an emotion soup. I felt happy, scared, jittery, suspenseful and too excited to even think. 

I stepped on the steps Willow stepped on, skipped the ones she skipped and didn’t flinch just like her as the stairs with chipped white paint on them moaned and groaned at the lightest footstep.

I followed Willow through a hallway where there were huge holes surrounded by ash black ugliness caused by fire in the wall. I tried to imagine what it would be like if the hole magically repaired themselves at that instant, if the Price’s came back right this moment and I suddenly looked like an intruder in their once again, cookiecutter perfect household. The idea was almost as impossible to grasp as the fact that the girl next to me was supposed to be dead.

Once we walked through the sad and empty hallway once filled with chaos and light, Willow led me to a huge whole in the floor where the tree from downstairs grew. It’s leaves were so alive, green and fresh I couldn’t believe it has once survived something so horrible. Willow ever so carefully picked an apple from one of its branches and offered it to me. After I declined, she took a huge bite out of it. The glistening juice that slid down Willow’s chin made me regret my decision immediately.

“So?” I asked impatiently. 

She gave me a ‘don’t pressure me look’ and turned back to the tree.

“That apple was amazing,” Willow cooed, “Jack, we have a visitor and I know he’s safe. Can you show me the special spot please?” She rubbed affectionately against one of the tree's bigger branches.

“The tree has a name!?” I hooted, it only kept getting crazier and crazier. 

Willow loudly shushed me and continued rubbing.

All of a sudden, I heard a large cracking sound and the tree's middle completely split apart to form a giant hole, something so big a human could fit in. Inside was a tiny baby blanket and lots of room to move around...well considering it was still a tree.

Willow looked at me, tears we rubbing against her face now, “The Big Hole.” She laughed in between tears.

“The day of the fire, everybody fled, but me. Jack, he saw my need. His branches, his food, his life saved me and I’ve lived with him ever since. My miracle tree,”

“Have you never seen a real person before?” My mouth was wide open but I didn’t bother to shut it.

“Only Emma, she raised me. Taught me everything I know, brought me dinner always even though she knew there wouldn’t be enough for her.”

“Emma?” I asked. 

“Do you know why this tree is my Miracle Tree?” Willow ignored my question and asked her own.

When I shook my head no, she told me a story, “there was a young couple once. They just got married and found out they would never be able to have kids. That day, they got a seed and with a single seed, a life was created. They treated this tree like it was their own child. Back then this was their house. They destroyed all the floorboards, their own house, just so this tree could grow. They grew old beside this tree, and the man died beside this tree. So the woman buried him in its roots to symbolize that even when the tree is dead, a life would always cherish it. Then a new family moved in. There was a fire. The only thing that survived in the house was the tree, Jack,” her chin quivered, “and me. Emma lived for a long time, loved me and cared for me like her own. She just didn’t have the money for us to move in together, and I didn’t want to go anywhere else. We stayed together forever, our lives, and Jack’s, uniting as one. In a way, I was the child they never had.”

“Whoa.” I said at the end of that.

I wanted to say more, I desperately wanted to learn more about this girl, when the boys I made a bet with yelled out for me.

“Sullivan!?” I completely forgot about the bet. Willow stepped back, afraid. 

“I have to go!”

“Will you come back?”

“Yes, I promise,” I finally said as I ran off out of the house that has a magical tree that lives in it who saved an even more magical girl.

And Sullivan Turner never breaks a promise. 5 years. 1,825 days. 

Today was August 11th, Willow’s 13th birthday. I came with cupcakes that were blotchy and had way too many sprinkles yet I was proud because I tried especially hard for her, even though I ended up with a sorry mess of a desert.

I yelled out to her and she yelled back. She laughed at first, but loved my cupcakes and soon we were together again just like every day. 

Sometimes we read, sometimes I brought my phone, sometimes we talked. Or laughed. Or cried. I tried to alway bring leftovers, and per Willow’s wish not to tell anyone about her, her existence was our secret.

I could tell something was wrong immediately because knowing someone for that long a time gives you the power to do that. She forced all her laughs and was fidgety.

“What’s wrong, Willow?” I asked, trying to get comfortable in my favourite spot, a place between the two biggest roots that were so strong they burst through the floor.

Willow still hung upside down but immediately came down when I asked her that question.

“Sullivan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

I nodded my head in approval and she continued, “I was doing a lot of thinking and I was wondering….do you think it would be okay…..for Jack…..if I let go now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to school like you. I want to eat burgers and fries and ice cream on days that I feel like it. I want to call my mom, Sullivan, I want to let her know her baby survived.”

I didn’t say anything, I was speechless. For 13 years, Willow has never left Jack’s side, but it was time now, I knew it and she knew it too.

After letting her be with Jack alone, I took her wet hand from wiping off tears and led her to my house and with a few calls we got a number. 

“You think it’s gonna work?” Willow’s hands were shaking as she picked up my yellow phone.

“It has too,” and with that she dialed the number.

First ring. Nothing. Second ring. Nothing. Third ring. Nothing. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Nothing. Willow was about to hang up when her face lit up and I knew somebody answered.

“This is WIllow,” Willow said, “No don’t hang up!”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m here in my best friend’s house, clutching with all my strength his phone so I can dial you to tell you I’m breathing in and out just like everyone else. I wanted to let you know your baby girl’s here and every time somebody has told you I died, I was out there somewhere. And my heart was beating. Beating for you. I want to see you mommy. I always have. And I like to believe that every beat in my heart leads me one step closer to you. My name is Willow Price, your daughter, 13 years old, and I’m telling you that I love you.”

Willow closed her eyes and her cheeks turned redder as I knew she was receiving a response. A single tear slid down her cheek. Miracle tears.