Because Of Scarlet Branch

The Branches--not like stubs on a tree, that was their last name, Branch--had moved from Chicago. Why someone would want to move from a city like Chicago to a repetitive town like this one puzzled Cal. The first few days, it had been a buzz. Small towns, like Cal's, didn't often welcome new residents, but on the rare occurrence, it provided dinner table conversation for at least a week.

Cal was at an age--eleven--in which he was beginning to feel like there was something wrong with him. Why didn't he have so many friends like some other boys at school? Why did he push himself so hard to be friends with them, though he didn't like them one bit. He heard that Bobby Miller had already had his first kiss. In the fifth grade! Cal walked behind Bobby Miller and his friends, but once in a while he would muster up with a joke that made them chuckle, and it would be the highlight of Cal's day.

But Scarlet Branch strutted into the first day of sixth grade, head held high, well aware of the attention she was attracting. She had a book tucked into her arm, and Cal strained his neck to view the title. It was too blurry to see though, and for some inexplicable cause, that had frustrated him. Scarlet didn't latch on to any group of giggling girls, like they all expected her to do. She wasn't shy, or loud. In fact, she was the most unpredictable being Cal had ever seen in his life--a life that depended on predictability.

Walking home that afternoon, he thought deeply. How when Ms. Wellman asked her to introduce herself to the class, she didn't hold back a thing. The class snickered when she rambled endlessly until she was asked to sit down.

Observing the whole scene, a subconscious smile crawled its way onto Cal's face, but when he caught it, he wiped it off.

Scarlet Branch was taking up too much of Cal's head space. By now she had only been in town for a couple weeks, and it was abnormal for Cal to still care about something like this. He had thought about her continuously. At night and walking to school in the morning, and throughout the entire day. He noticed every new book she clutched so enthusiastically, and studied her features while she read.

When he walked out of school, someone walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around to the freckled face of Scarlet Branch.

"You dropped your poem," She said matter-of-factly, "I read it. It's pretty good, but you spelled mischievous wrong." She continued rambling boldly, "It's ie after the h, not just e." He snatched it out of her hand, outraged.

"You read it? Don't you know you aren't supposed to invade peoples privacy like that?!" She grinned at him, making him red with anger.

"Walk with me." She replied plainly, and for some reason, he submitted, though she was still unforgiven over the poem. They talked the whole way home. Well, she talked. She asked intrusive questions and, at the beginning, he would scoff and and scowl at her badgering, but always answered. He eventually adapted to them and began to find humor in her invasive curiosity. When they arrived at his street, she said, "Do you have to go? I'm not done talking."

Cal thought for a moment. He looked at his house. It's austere simplicity didn't appeal to him in the moment. His mother would probably want him home in the next ten minutes. He didn't care. "I don't have to go," he said. And so they sat beneath the shade of the elm tree that swallowed their bodies with ease, quickly developing a dynamic they both enjoyed. He would say, "Hey look Scarlet, it's you!" And he'd point at a branch. She would roll her eyes, sigh a sad sigh, and say, "You're so immature. Not a thing like Darcy."

Cal hadn't a clue what that meant, but she smiled while saying it, and that made him like it.

"What do you do for fun? Like what's your favorite thing? What was your favorite day ever?" She asked all this to Cal completely randomly, but when he opened his mouth to respond, he realized he didn't know. What were his interests, hobbies, pastimes? He liked baseball! But that was only because Bobby had told all the boys that they should start playing, so naturally, Cal did. He cooked sometimes, only when his mother asked for help in the kitchen though. In that moment, his breathing began to accelerate as his mind jumbled in confusion. When Cal didn't respond, Scarlet got bored and moved on to something else

"One time in Chicago, I was at the park and I saw..." It faded away. Cal wasn't listening. He never really was. You couldn't blame him, she talked for an eternity, but her eyes while she did it motivated him to nod. All of a sudden he had a sudden urge to leave.

"I have to go." He quickly got up and began to walk away. He was grateful she didn't say sorry though. She was unapologetically raw, completely without a filter and that was one of the refreshing things Cal liked the most about her. "I'll see you tomorrow, Scarlet." And with that he left.

He walked home with a vacant mind. And when he finally collapsed into his small bed, he began to cry. He didn't even know himself, how could he explain himself to someone else?

Scarlet knew everything. At least it seemed like she did. Every time the tip of her elliptical lips perked up, he knew she was about to start. Cal thought he hated it when she talked. He thought her annoying voice made construction sound like music. He thought he wished she would just shut up for once in her life. He didn't really think that. Not at all. He loved it when she talked about shit he didn't understand.

He loved who she made him feel like he was.

The next morning, Cal walked to the front of the school before the doors opened, and shoved the paper in Scarlet's hand.

They never spoke of the poem again, but he knew she liked it. She kept it. They met at the elm tree every day after school and talked for hours. Sometimes, Cal would stay late at the tree, aware of his mother's inevitable scolding of missing dinner and scaring her.

Cal didn't hang out with Bobby Miller and those boys anymore. He just ate lunch with Scarlet, and played at recess with Scarlet and walked next to Scarlet, not behind her. She had a new book in her hand every time he saw her. Cal studied all of her mannerisms and strange little things she would do, and he did it with admiration.

The days passed, as their bond strengthened, and the seasons changed from fall to winter to spring to the warmth of summer. Scarlet was at his bedside when he got the chicken pox, and then after when she got the chicken pox--from him of course--he would play scrabble with her. When Scarlet's dad left again and she cried, he held her hand. She made him a horrible cake on his 12th birthday. They would make fun of their teachers and act out scenes from their favorite shows. When it got cold, they would silently sit by a fire, while he wrote and she read. When the flowers began to bloom, they'd make homes for the elves Scarlet convinced Cal were surely living up in the elm tree out of sticks and leaves.

One day, as they sat under the tree, the late May temperature in its truest form, the pair stood with their backs against the trunk, each on one side so they couldn't see each other. They were playing another one of their games that had no rules and that neither of them fully understood.

"1," Cal said.

"2," Scarlet continued.

"3!" Cal spoke again and on that, Scarlet whipped around to his side and kissed him square on the lips. It was an innocent peck, but Cal turned bright red. Scarlet stood up, brushed the dirt off the back of her jean shorts, and turned to him.

"Bye, Cal." Scarlet said with a smile playing at her lips.

"I-bye Scarlet, yeah-bye." They both walked away while chuckling at each other. They turned around together and from a distance, locked eyes one last time. She laughed again, causing him to do the same and scratch the back of his neck.

That night, Cal awoke to a siren sounding. It was quite late, a couple hours after midnight, and he lifted up his window, feeding his Scarlet-implanted curiosity. He followed the sound, as if it chose him. It was clear what came into his vision in the darkness, flames. Fire erupted around a house swallowing it whole, he watched neighbors gather around and observe as a second fire truck pulled up behind the first one in front of the house. An unconscious, ash covered, small girl was being carried out by a fireman, with a stack of books in her arms. They removed the books from her lap and placed the girl into a black plastic bag, zipped it up, and put the bag in the ambulance. Only then did Cal understand, and his eyes focused. That was Scarlet's house.

Cal sits at the elm tree alone now, but she's there. Every leaf that flutters beside his being is Scarlet. Every shadow of planes above, every breeze in the air, every breath.

Everything was Scarlet Branch.