I Remember a Tree

Trigger warning: references non-explicit abuse involving minors 

I remember a tree. It was a large oak tree in the center of a rectangular yard fronting a set of townhouses. Although its branches and trunk were large and stretched high up, it wasn't a very good climbing tree. It was much too wide and tall for a child to grasp onto. But its leaves provided shade in the spring and summer and beauty in the fall. 

My brother and I would never climb this tree, but we might sit on its roots and make flower chains or mud pies. We would use it as a defense during winter snowball fights and summer water gun battles. It was an undeniably important fixture in our outside world.

Our townhouse was one of the middle ones and almost directly across from this tree. If we left the main door open and the screen door closed, you could easily view it from the living room. None of the windows in the house let much light in.

It was a solid tree. It must have been an old tree too. As a child, I thought I had some idea of telling the tree's age, but that was when the tree was a stump. You just count the rings, right? I had no inkling of how old a tree might be based on its height, but surely this tree could be pretty old. But just by the look of it, it was strong.

I would find out the time I summoned a tornado. My grandmother had sent me a long pink dancing ribbon for my birthday. The day was windy and perfect for twirling with my ribbon. The clouds were dark, and I felt a chill in the air. So I thought if I twirled long and well, maybe a tornado would come. I just wanted to see one, not for there to be any damage. I had heard that could be possible with funnel clouds and small cyclones. I was obsessed with tornados after seeing the movie Twister.

My pink ribbon whipped hard in the air around me. I muttered strange random things I imagined were incantations. Although I tried to keep away from the oak tree, I had to unravel the long pink tendril from the branches above me more than once. 

It began raining, and I heard my name being called through the screen door. I didn't really want to go in there, but what if there was a tornado? Maybe it had worked?

The TV was tuned into the news channel to follow the weather report. The news anchor repeatedly advised our county to take shelter. Our stepfather, who had gone into work, might have to stay with his family in the next county. We kept one eye on the TV and one out the screen door. Now my heart began to pound in anticipation.

When the tornado sirens finally droned and the rain pounded like pelting rocks, we shuttered the door and dutifully went into a central downstairs bathroom.

The howling winds didn't last long. When it was finally safe again, we emerged to assess the damage. Across the street, my best friend's mother lived in a white two-story house. One of the trees in their yard had split in two right down the middle from the tornado that had only been three miles away.

The tornado had never even made it into our small town, but it had the wind power to split that tree. (As it turns out, her split tree made a fine tree for walking up and down on.)

My oak tree, however, remained relatively well and unblemished. Although other trees had dropped branches here and there, my tree stood firm.

The tornado had been exciting, and part of me wished it would have continued a bit longer. Hours later, the screen door swung open with a crack, and our stepfather returned home.

My brother and I would play with the other children outside the most in the summertime. But this also meant we were home the most.

The fireflies floated around the oak tree and our townhouse's rectangular yard. The boys made it a competition of catching fireflies. Sometimes, however grotesque, they would peel off the fluorescent part and put it on their nails, displaying them to one another. I would never do that, but I did enjoy seeing the bugs fly around even if I could barely touch them.

We would make any excuse to stay out late. But eventually, everyone would have to go home. I tried to stay at my friends' houses whenever I had the chance, but most of my friends could enjoy long family vacations.

My little brother could be relied on to be at home, so we resolved to watch some cartoons together - a truce. 

Somehow our truce ended with him biting me. He was still my little brother of 7 years and had no control over his emotions.

Our stepfather made his presence known, belt in hand. Although my brother had made a decent attempt to run for the top of the bunk we shared, he was dragged from the top and severely punished. I did not know what the belt felt like, but I knew his pain.

The next day we went outside to play as soon as we could. It wasn't yet too humid, but we resigned ourselves to each side of the oak tree in the comfort of its shade. 

I played with some blades of grass, thinking of my brother's pain from last night. I didn't enjoy his distress, even when he was naughty.

"You hurt too."

My bite wound had long faded, but I realized my brother and I had an understanding.

I remember the tree. In my memory, it is silhouetted with me on one side and my little brother on the other side. He knows my pain, and I know his pain.

I remember finding courage months later. I remember walking down the stairs from the second story of the townhouse from the darkness with tear-stained cheeks into the light, through the screen door, and seeing that oak tree. 

My mother was carrying groceries across the yard toward the house. 

Then I breathed, "Mommy, I hurt."

I remember things got better.