A Moment Like This

Each carrying a pack slung across their shoulders, several boys ran through the long grass towards the tree, ignoring the stinging nettles brushing against their legs and the bees buzzing past their faces.

The tree was so tall that none of them could see the top, the leaves seemingly disappearing into the few, fluffy clouds scattered across the bright blueness of the sky, and the branches stretching wide. From a distance the tree seemed to fill the horizon.

“Hurry up!”, the boy in the lead yelled, as he reached the first wooden plank nailed roughly into the bark.

Climbing as quickly as he could so the next boy wouldn’t bump into him, the straps of the pack digging into his shoulders, he was soon out of breath.

Pausing for a moment, the boy behind him yelled as his head slammed into the soles of his shoes, causing him to nearly lose his grip and the other a hell of a headache.

“Hey! Watch it!”, the boy yelled, rubbing his head.

“Sorry”.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have put so much food in your pack”.

The other boys who had all caught up, started giggling.

The boy blushed, feeling the warmth spreading across his cheeks, but still felt out of breath so didn’t bother answering but continued climbing. Next time he would make sure he wasn’t in the lead.

The tree house was spread over several different branches, the wide wooden platforms tied on tightly with rope and nailed into place. Almost all of them were level although if any adult had seen it, they would surely make them take it down.

“It’s not safe”, they would say and, “You’ll only break your neck”.

Which is why it was a good thing that the tree’s leaves were always thick and green. Unless some one came close, no one would know they were there, busily working to complete their build.

Lying across the first platform, his face still flushed and now sweating, the lead boy panted, sweat oozing from his pores.

Grinning, the others stepped over him, holding onto the others packs and shoulders to avoid him, occasionally swearing as their toes bumped into him.

“Come on John” the last one said,” Only a little bit more to go”.

John remained on the floor, his eyes closed.

“I packed those cookies you found into my pack”, the boy said.

John opened his eyes.

“Chocolate chip that your mum makes?”.

The boy nodded.

“That sounds great Steve”.

With an enormous effort, John pushed himself up, the pack nearly overbalancing him.

“Hey, what’s this? Who are you?”, the voices from the other boys shouted as they reached the last platform.

John peered round them.

Sitting in a corner of their magnificent treehouse was the homeless man who usually lay asleep across one of the park benches.

His long, tangled hair was matted and covered in bits of bark and leaves, his beard overgrown so his mouth couldn’t be seen and his clothes were indescribably filthy. Several empty bottles lay strewn around him. His dark, beady eyes watched them carefully.

“This is our tree house”, one of the boys said, placing his hands on his hips and glaring down at the man.

The man grunted and looked away, seemingly bored with the conversation.

“Hey, this is our tree house!”, the boy yelled, stamping one of his feet.

Snapping his head back round, the man’s eyes narrowed. John could almost see a flicker of anger as he stared at the boy.

Slowly, carefully, the man stood. He probably wasn’t a tall man but he seemed to tower over them and completely fill the space.

Instinctively, the boys moved closer together.

“What was that?”, the man asked quietly, looking at each of them in turn.

John felt his tummy bubble. He’d never told his mum where he was going, only that he’d be with his friends. He glanced at them. All of their faces were scared. They probably hadn’t told where they’d be either.

“Urm, why don’t we go down to the next level?”, he suggested quietly, not looking at the man.

“But this is our tree house!”, the other boy said, although his voice seemed to be quieter than before.

The man glared and moved a step towards him. The smell of his body odour and stale alcohol washed over them all.

Panicking, the boys made a rush for the platform below, scrambling back down.

John was left standing alone, the man watching him.

“Why don’t you go with your friends?”, the man asked.

John shrugged, not sure what to say. He still felt out of breath and, until he’d eaten a few of those chocolate chip cookies mentioned, wouldn’t have the energy to run away either.

The man looked him up and down and then, sighing, sank back down on the wooden platform. His hands were shaking.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem to be big or powerful or frightening, only weak and hungry and somehow much smaller than before.

John pulled his pack off his back. It landed with a loud thud at his feet. He could feel his muscles relax without the weight.

Sensing that the man was watching him, he fumbled inside and pulled out an apple.

Slowly, with it balanced on the palm of his hand, he held it out to the man.

He looked at it carefully and then glared at John.

“I don’t need it”, John mumbled, not daring to look into his eyes.

The man reached out snatched it, holding it up to his mouth and chewing into it, saliva dribbling down his chin.

The apple was eaten in three bites.

Wiping his arm across his face, the man watched him again.

John felt inside his pack one more and pulled out the egg sandwiches cut into neat triangles by his mum, and held it out.

The man swallowed them almost whole, then leant back against the tree and closed his eyes.

“Hey you can have mine to”.

John turned. The man opened his eyes and sat up straight.

The other boys had returned.

Moving slowly, they each placed in front of the man the food they had brought in their packs. Steve grinned at John as he added the cookies to the pile.

“Hey mister, you stay as long as you like”, John said as they backed away, leaving him alone.

They could hear crunching sounds as the man ate their food.

“You know I don’t feel like staying here now”, one of them said.

“But it’s our tree house!”.

“Oh, give it a rest!”, the others yelled, as they ran back through the long grass away from the tree.

It was days later when they dared to return, their packs stuffed full with food.

“I don’t know where you put all this food John”, his mum had said as he raided the kitchen.

Quietly they climbed the wooden planks nailed into the bark, the only sounds were the bees buzzing and the leaves softly rustling.

As they reached the first platform they stared.

The walls had been completed, all nailed together neatly, with a square cut out for a window.

The floors had a thin layer of dust and in the centre of the platform lay a single cookie and word,’ Thanks’.