White Sky

The sun setting on the horizon set a pretty purple glow across Avery’s sleeping neighborhood. He sat in his treehouse as he watched Mrs. Will, who lived in the house across his, noisily mowed her lawn. He was surprised that the other neighbors didn’t wake up to bothersome noise.

Staying up in the treehouse at dawn always made Avery’s chest clench painfully, but it was never enough to stop him from climbing up the rickety wooden ladder every morning. The cold morning gales prickled his skin as he held onto a branch to steady himself, the slim twigs scraping his hands. He barely felt the scratches, however, as he carefully made his way across the treehouse.

It’s been years, but Avery remembered the day his brother Lucas suggested the idea to build a treehouse on the sycamore tree in their front yard. He had wanted to help with the construction, but since he was only five years old, he could only stay and watch as Lucas helped their Uncle Albedo.

It took a while, but after a few weeks, the treehouse was up in the sky and stable enough to hold five ten-year-olds. Lucas spent most of his time up there, playing with his friends. On days he felt generous, he’d invite Avery to hang out with them. He’d watch as they roleplayed as heroes and villains, teaming up as they fought each other under different aliases. Sometimes he’d join in when they were playing UNO, or when they’d play charades. These times were among Avery’s favorite childhood memories.

When Lucas and his friends grew and soon got bored of the treehouse, Avery began spending more time up there. He’d bring a few books and pillows and spend entire evenings lying on the wooden floor, reading novels and comic books as the sun sank behind him. He spent so much time up there that his mother often asked him if he even used his bedroom anymore.

Soon, it became a place where Avery stored his deep secrets. There was a girl who lived in the house next to his—her name was Fiona Carol. He’d climb onto one of the branches that reached out to her house and perch atop there like a curious cat, watching Fiona as she entertained her dog in her front yard. Avery knew he must’ve seemed like a creep, but Fiona never seemed to mind. She always waved at him whenever she spotted him looking over from the sycamore tree. Avery would wave his hand back shyly before retreating into the treehouse like a turtle into their shell. Sometimes she’ll call him, asking if he’d like to come over, but he was too shy to answer her.

Avery wasn’t a very good artist, so he attempted all of his drawings in the treehouse, away from prying eyes. He’d try monochrome sketches of Fiona, and perhaps try to color some of them in. Even though they didn’t look anything remotely like Fiona, he’d hang them around the walls of the treehouse anyway. Whenever she wasn’t out playing he’d stare at the drawings, wondering when he would ever summon the courage to invite Fiona over.

However, he never got the chance either.

A few weeks before Avery graduated from sixth grade, Fiona got into a car crash. He was peacefully eating his cereal when he heard the news from his mother, which shocked him into splashing milk all over his book.

“I-is she okay?” Avery asked, hastily wiping milk off the pages.

“I don’t know, Avery,” his mother pursed her lips, rubbing his shoulders as if he was in Fiona’s place. “You should get ready for school.”

Avery couldn’t concentrate at school the entire day. His mind wandered off to Fiona Carol every few seconds, itching for updates on her condition. She didn’t go to the same school, so no one harbored the same anxieties he did. As soon as the dismissal bell rang, Avery ran out of his English classroom and hurried home as quickly as he could.

When he swung his front door open, his mother ran towards him and enveloped him in a tight hug. Avery wondered why his mother was suffocating him before a dreadful idea popped into his head. His heart dropped painfully into his stomach.

“Mum?” Avery called. “Mum? Is Fiona…”

He heard a sniffle, and…

“She’s gone, Avery.”

The next few months became a blur for him. He could barely summon a smile during his graduation, eyes often brimming with tears whenever his thoughts wandered off to the girl next door, who used to play with her dog out in the front yard. She was young—just a year younger than Avery is. He didn’t understand why her life had to be taken away so soon.

He felt no excitement whatsoever when he started seventh grade in a brand new school, which happened to be far away in another town. Avery moved to the dorms there, where he met and made plenty of friends. Even though the new location was an improvement, since he never looked over Fiona’s empty front yard since then, it still didn’t stop him from thinking about the girl.

She always invited him to come over and play. Why had he never done so? Why was he stupid, so stupid, for never trying to overcome his fears? What was he so scared of?

A year later Avery's thoughts were still lingering over Fiona’s death.  When he returned to his town for the summer, he noticed that Fiona’s house was deserted. Her parents had moved somewhere, and from what he heard from his parents, they wanted to move on from their only daughter’s premature death. Shame bubbled in Avery’s stomach. Her parents were making an effort to move on, but he wasn’t even trying. There was a gaping hole, a void, in his chest, where he knew Fiona used to reside. Now it was empty, a space that made his insides feel hollow.

Avery’s thoughts snapped back to the present when he heard the treehouse ladder creak. Mrs. Will had finished her lawn mowing, so it was mostly silent except for the sound of someone climbing up Avery’s treehouse. He watched as Lucas appeared on the platform, carrying a box in his hands.

“Here’s your breakfast,” Lucas declared, shoving the box in Avery’s direction. “Mom said you need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Avery mumbled as he hugged his knees to his chest. The sky was a strange white color. A blanket of mist and cloud covered the normally radiant blue sky.

“Eat or I’ll shove it down your throat myself.”

Avery chewed on his meal mournfully.

Lucas sighed as he watched his brother spin spaghetti noodles around his plastic fork. “What are you so sad about?”

Avery paused halfway through chewing his meatball. “What?”

“You’ve changed about a year ago. Ever since that girl Fiona Carol passed away, you’ve been moping around the place.”

“I haven’t been moping around the place—”

“Who are you kidding, Avery?” Lucas sighed. When he didn’t get a response, he continued, “It isn’t healthy to keep moping around like this. You need to move on from Fiona. You didn’t even know her that well, did you?”

“But that’s exactly the point,” Avery slammed his half-finished meal down, the plastic box making a loud sound against the wood. “I could’ve tried to get to know her better. She invited me over to her house countless times, but I never accepted it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Well, there’s nothing you could do about it anymore, is there?”

Avery stared at Lucas. “How could you say that?”

“I’m just saying, little brother,” Lucas shrugs. “That’s life, isn’t it? You lose people, you mourn, and then you move on. Because you’re going to keep losing people. Nothing in this world is permanent.”

“It hurts so much though,” Avery mumbles, a hand flying towards his chest.

“It will fade,” Lucas assured, getting to his feet. The treehouse creaked precariously under them. “The feeling will still be there, and maybe it’ll never go away. But you’ll learn how to live with it. Pain is a part of our lives, dear brother.”

Avery watched as his brother descended the ladder, feeling something heavy flutter out of his chest. He sat on the edge of the wooden balcony for a few minutes, his eyes fixed on the yard Fiona Carol used to play in. Afterward, he entered the treehouse and removed his drawings of Fiona off the walls.

Ever since that day, Avery replayed the conversation in his head over and over again. His brother’s message continued to resonate in his head like a never-ending echo, a reminder for him to move on. The empty space in his chest may not have mended completely and he’ll continue to regret what could’ve happened, but he feels a little better now. The treehouse no longer stands as a symbol of grief, but a reminder of the enjoyable memories of his childhood.