Trees

There was a house. A big one. It sat on a lawn. A big, big lawn that stretched and connected with the sky. On this piece of grassland, through the window of a particular guestroom, one can carefully and accurately count the number of trees planted on it. For that was what Lila, as a little girl, had done. She counted the trees, visited each of them in her playtime, and wondered where the world beyond was— for her, it was where the line between the sky and the lawn was. 

Lila was a curious girl. But her curiosity is often ignored when she exhibits her quality of quietness. She was the middle-ish child, the chameleon, while her siblings were colourful and loud parrots. The oldest, Penelope, was everyone’s standard to follow. The second child was Yvonne, who constantly marched around her room and stole Lila’s toys, paintbrushes or hairpins whenever she felt like it. It was not for play, no, Yvonne simply liked to place them somewhere that Lila could not access. Next was Lila, and after that, it was darling Peter. Young, pink-cheeked and loved by all except Lila. For Lila knew when Peter demanded cookies he was given them immediately, and all Peter was capable of so far in his first 5 years on earth was to weep and eat.

Lila, however, didn’t mind any of her siblings or the attention. She had the companionship of her curiosity and her imagination. So, when Yvonne stole her toys, Lila would pretend to chase after her. When Yvonne turned a corner, Lila would have slipped away. 

And there Lila would be, under the shade of a tree, feeling the breeze; running across the lawn as a garden fairy; rolling on the grass with her canine friends; or perched upon a tree, seeing what a bird would see— of the sky, the sun... the world. 

Until one day, Lila fell off her ‘watchtower’ and broke her arm. The ladies of the household, including her mother, scolded her for being so unladylike. Her siblings teased her temporary disablement. Her father gave one disapproved look before he disappeared into his study. For her appearance, Lila was not allowed to attend parties or balls until her arm recovered, and her mother demanded she stay in her room most times of the day. Once, Lila decided running through the hallway would be a great idea. Turns out, the great idea was another scolding from her mother and a piece of fatal news. 

She was to be given a tutor. 

Lila wasn’t the only one to fall victim. Yvonne was at the age to be given a tutor like so, much to her dismay. But the ruckus Yvonne and Lila made combined has no influence on the mother’s decision— they were not Peter.  

Lila wasn’t sure how long it took, but her tutor arrived when her arm no longer needs a sling, and there were a lot of irritating itches beneath that casting. Under Lila’s judgement, she was well enough to climb all the trees of the nation. Except, of course, she had less time to play with her plant friends with the tutor here.  

Her tutor was younger than Lila had expected. She wore a baby blue dress with matching gloves, and she arrived in a small but shiny car. Since that day, it had become Lila’s dream car. Her name was Miss Willows, and she did look like a willow by the lake. 

Miss Willows occupied one of the many empty guestrooms. And, to Lila’s surprise, Miss Willows was nice. She had sad yet tranquil eyes. Whenever Lila’s gaze caught hers, she felt as though Miss Willows could see through her as one did through a kaleidoscope. She spoke softly, and like Lila, observed her surroundings quietly. Lila often caught her staring out the window, deep in thought, or standing on the balcony alone while the adults played card games… Lila also saw Miss Willows once by one of her trees. Miss Willows placed her palm on the trunk, and Lila couldn’t decipher what she was thinking. She was just glad Miss Willows treated her trees with that same gentleness as she’d treated Lila.

Lila had run by her room on a rainy afternoon. Intentionally. Miss Willows’ door was ajar. Lila inched forward and peeked into the generous gap. This guestroom had wallpapers of baby blue, laced with silver patterns. Miss Willows was writing a letter on the desk by the window, and after a few quiet breathes, Miss Willows turned to look at the door, spotting her. 

“Lila,” she shifted in her seat, opened one arm to welcome her. “It’s kind of you to visit.”

Lila pushed the door open and ran to Miss Willows open arms. It was the first time she had hugged her. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lila said, looking up at her. “I wanted to see what your room looked like.”

“Have you never been here before?”

“Not all the time,” Lila replied, still holding onto her. “I don’t like this room.”

Miss Willows laughed, “Why not?” 

“The windows are too small.”

Miss Willows put down her pen and stood, guiding Lila to the table. 

“Can you see them?”

“A little bit.”

Miss Willows let her sit on the desk, and Lila saw her trees. All her trees. In one little frame.

“I like your poem about the trees. Is it about those trees?”

Lila nodded. “I can see all of them. All of them together.”

“Yes.”

At that moment, Lila knew that Miss Willows was unlike any adult she has ever met. She waited for Lila to finish her sentences. She gave reasons for the punishments Lila had to take. She also put up with Yvonne’s whines and treated Yvonne the same as Lila during classes. Whether it was embroidery, art or etiquette… literature or history… but Lila liked to think she had the special treatment. 

On a sunny day, when Lila’s arm is wholly free from her cast and was about to return to her fairyland, she saw a few men surrounding one of them. That ugly, deformed thing. Her father once said. But Lila liked all of her trees— that ugly, deformed thing was not an exclusion. 

Lila went close, saw her mother there with Peter in her arms, chewing on yet another cookie, and Yvonne by her side, swinging on their mother’s arm. Once their conversation entered her ears, Lila’s feet picked up their speed, and she rammed right into one of the men, shoving his legs with futile strength. 

“You can’t! You can’t cut it down!”

“Sweetie, let these gentlemen do their jobs.” Her mother grabbed her arm, but Lila swung it off. She had never swung her mother’s grip away before. 

“NO! YOU CAN’T!” Lila pulled as much grass as she could from the lawn and threw it in the direction of the men. The grass blew the other way, and a few men giggled at the sight of this little girl. Yet, she persisted, “NO! I SAID NO!”

“Lila, that’s enough!” Her mother’s grip grew harder. Lila struggled against her and began to scream. 

“For heaven’s sake! Stop it! Stop this instance!” 

Yvonne laughed, “Cut. It. Down! Cut. It. Down!” 

Lila changed directions and crashed Yvonne straight to the ground. 

“Mama!” 

Chaos ensued from there. 

Lila was dragged back to the house, was told she could only stay in her room. But Lila refused to sit still, refused to close her mouth and refused to bathe or change. Despite it all, the tree was cut down in a few hours.

Lila escaped her maid and ran toward the direction of a particular guestroom, tears streaming down her face. Her sobs echoed along the hallway, passing the sharp gazes of those who hung on the walls of the gallery. 

Lila pushed the door open, her cheeks red, her breath short, and her nose sniffly. Her yellow dress and her knees were stained faintly with mud, sprinkled with grass. The maid caught her in a few later strides. 

“Miss Willows, I’m terribly sorry. Now, Young Lady-”

“It’s alright,” Miss Willows was by the window, and now she left it, uncrossing her arms. “Come, Lila…”

Lila inched forward, sensing the maid leaving them. 

“It’s your tree, isn’t it?”

Lila’s tears were no longer flowing, but mentioning her tree made her body quiver. “They… they…”

“I know, I know,” Miss Willows bent down and embraced her, her palm circling her back. “It was a lovely tree.”

“They… they…” Lila sniffed. “They’re not… together… anymore.” 

“Shhhh…”

Lila was both comforted and saddened. She had never found this comfort elsewhere before, except when under her trees, in her own little world. But Lila realised she had found another comfort here. 

She hugged Miss Willows by the neck; she smelt of gardenia. “Never… I’ll… never see it…again…”

“Does this tree have a name?”

“No, but it’s a boy.”

Miss Willows brought her back to the window. All that was left was a tree stump and seeing it felt like a stab to Lila’s heart. 

“It’s gone…”

“Remember it, Lila. Picture it in your head. Keep it there.”

Lila blinked her eyes clear. Nothing happened at first, then slowly, the stump sprouted. It sprouted in brown bark, bursting in multitudes, soaring for the sky. The branches poured from the centre in strings. Green butterflies found their spots on each ribbon, their wings fluttering in the wind. Her ugly, deformed thing was back. 

“Can you see it?”

Lila nodded. She sees it. Clearly this time. And she’ll keep it forever. 

Lila wiped her cheeks, leaned closer to the window she once hated. She firmly believed she would only experience one loss this week, for this loss was already too great. Nothing could be greater. But the greater loss did come. 

Lila’s mother no longer wanted Miss Willows to teach them, for a reason Lila didn’t understand. 

“She’s too strange to be an educator.” When her mother said this, she glanced at Lila and sighed. “Lila, not another word about that tree.”

Lila bid goodbye to Miss Willows a few days later. She did not hug her, under the gaze of her parents, but she shook Miss Willows hand and gave it a little squeeze. 

Miss Willows smiled, and perhaps that smile had lent Lila some courage. She shuffled forward and said quietly, “I’ll remember you. I’ll keep you here-” Lila pointed to her head, “-and here.” She pointed to her heart.  

Miss Willows eyes glistened. “I’ll do the same, dear.” 

Miss Willows left in her blue dress and her small car. Lila was sad, of course, but her heart was not empty. 

Whenever Lila fell lonely, she would visit that guestroom Miss Willows had stayed in. She’d sit on the desk and watch from the small window. Once in a while, she thought she could smell Miss Willows’ gardenias, and sometimes, when Lila accidentally fell asleep, she would wake up and imagine Miss Willows sitting on the desk, writing her letters. If she was there, she might smile at her and say, “Come, Lila”. 

In the many years to come, Lila would read here, cry here, write her own letters here, and simply wonder… here. She’ll remember her tree: both the ugly, deformed thing and the willow. She’ll place them in her head, she’ll keep them in her heart, and in the end, she’ll realise, none of them were empty. Nor was this room.