The Ugly Tree

The spot underneath the tree in the park where I usually sit was empty again. I know why the people who visit the park don’t sit there, but it is rather odd that no one else attempts to give the spot a chance. It’s as if it were made just for me. As though the tree shoo’s anyone with its branches and leaves, who dares come close. To be honest though, I think they know to keep clear of such a monstrosity. It’s unlike any other tree in the park. Crooked and broken, sick and sad, it appears as though there is no spirit left. It makes one feel uneasy, and depressed, as though its leaves have given up on life, and the branches find the dying leaves too heavy to carry. Even the trunk is exhausted; merely holding on to the little strength it can muster, only to hold my back in position, so that I may not fall over.

As I take my regular seat on the floor, I spot in the distance, underneath another tree not too far, a woman sitting by herself. On any other day, I would ignore her and continue reading the current book I’m enjoying. Not today. Today, I kept starring at the the woman. She seems young, in her early thirties perhaps. Something about her holds my attention. Perhaps it’s her modest outfit, trying not to impress the other men and women in the park, and behaving in a manner that befits a lady. She appears out of place from the rest of the young park visitors. That said, no one but me was looking her way. I did notice some look at my tree, but they would turn their heads back as soon as I caught their eyes. The woman was in a world of her own. She cared not to mimic those around her, or even acknowledge her environment. After looking in her direction for what I can assume was several minutes, I eventually opened my book and started reading. It was the first time in a long time, that reading was difficult. I couldn’t focus on the story, even after re-reading paragraphs over and over again. I find myself wanting to look at her, as though my eyes have seen nothing more beautiful, and afraid to miss a single second of her image. It wasn’t long before she stood up and walked away, leaving me underneath my horrid tree.

The next day, I arrive at the park and find my regular spot just as easily as every other day. Yet again, the tree shows no improvement. For some reason, I have hope that the tree’s condition will change, and one day I will find it blossoming and full with the promise of life. Not today. I take my seat as usual, and look over in the distance. I search the park with my two eyes as diligently as I can, but there was no sign of her. How could I be so foolish as to think that she would come again just for me. I take out my book to read again the paragraphs that gave me so much trouble yesterday. Before I could start reading, my eyes wander quickly to the spot where she sat and back to my book. Was I going mad? Did my eyes deceive me? There she was, as though she appears like magic. The majesty of the tree she leans on with its tall bark, long branches that reach far and wide, and the leaves that decorate the brown wood amount to nothing in her presence. Her golden hair is worth far more than any fruit that tree could bear. Her skin would cause every woman in history to die all over again of jealousy and resentment. Her eyes could bring dead men to life, and her mere presence can revive a dying earth. Perhaps she could heal my tree. I thought of all the times I spent sitting here. Was it finally my turn to return the favour? What should I do? I could walk over, introduce myself and ask her to sit next me. Or perhaps sit under her tree tomorrow so that she is forced to sit under mine, but that would depend on her return to the park. This whole time I was thinking about what to do made me lose sight of her, and when I went to find her, she was gone. One moment I was in heaven, and the next arriving at the gates of hell. I feel empty, and alone. I feel like a betrayer. But, I also feel a surge of hope, and determination. If she returns tomorrow, I will do whatever it takes to bring my tree back to life, even If I must speak to her, which terrifies me.

For the past few days, the sky displayed small clouds for the eyes of the masses. On occasion I would attempt to predict the weather for the upcoming day. If I had paid attention, perhaps I could have realized the darker clouds approaching. Unlike the past few days, today was dark, gloomy, and it was raining heavily. Though nothing good could come of this weather, I find my tree, take my seat, and look over in the distance. As I scan the park trying foolishly to look for signs of life other than myself, I feel at ease, even the cold water and air provide nothing but warmth. I realize it is because out here, where I am alone with my tree, we are not different than anything or anyone else. We are not for the curious to stare at, nor the regular to attempt a silly display of acknowledgement. Out here in the rainy field, where only the sense of smell is needed to remind man and woman alike what life smells like, we are truly free. My clothes, which are soaking in water, begin to annoy me. Before I could react to my new sensation, I look over and spot something in the distance. This time I knew my eyes were deceiving me. I was so convinced of my mirage, that even as the figure in the distance approached me slowly, I knew it would vanish in a moments notice, and I would leave this forsaken park. She didn’t disappear today. Today she walked straight towards me, looking at me directly, with no fear or confusion in her eyes. She now stands before me, while I sit under my ugly tree. I never dared to imagine this moment. Though I was determined to save my tree, I never truly thought that day would come, nor would I be brave enough to do so. I don’t know what I feel in this moment. The warmth that embraced me moments ago has all but faded. The cold did not show itself either, almost as though its too shy to come out. Every emotion I felt, when I watched her before in the distance, was nowhere to be found. But, don’t be fooled. This is not a sign of strength or bravery. On the contrary, I would have respected myself more if fear consumed me. I feel nothing, and that only confuses me, even angers me, and shames me.

She asks if she could sit beside me. I nod, though I have no control of my own body. I can now see her face clearly. I find it odd that her imperfections visible to me make her more beautiful than ever before. Perhaps it’s the realization that she is real, not just a dream or vision. She asks what book I’ve been reading. I take out the novel from my bag, and give it to her, even though I still have no control of my arms. The way she admires the book makes me long for the moment she looks at me the same way. She returns the book to me, and I take it from her, without regaining any control of my hands. She begins talking to me about her life, her dreams, and aspirations. I won’t deny that my lack of focus made me miss most of what she was saying. That said, I came to understand her a little. Just like my tree, she was also weighed down by the world. However, she felt unseen, and unheard. Those she cares for the most don’t even recognize her, nor care to. A fate more cruel than mine. It’s as though I could hear my deformed tree pity this creature before me. How is this possible? The very woman that consumed my thoughts and being for the past few days has in an instant returned me to the same state I was in before I noticed her the first time. I slowly begin to feel my senses come back to me. I wasn’t just in control of my body, I was also in control of my emotions. I despised her for what she did to me. I hated myself more for what I did to myself. I think she noticed my feelings, when I looked at her eyes with repulsion. Surprised, she collects herself and stands up. She gives me one last glance, before she starts walking away. In that moment, I saw shame in her eyes. But, I also saw a glimpse of gratitude, as though I were the first human to ever acknowledge her existence. The same figure that once walked towards me was now running away. The rain begins to lighten up, and I thought of her for the last time. When the rain finally stopped, I looked in the distance at the majesty of her tree, and I pitied the most beautiful woman in the world, who walked this earth unheard and unseen.