My Own Little Treehouse

“…Seven, eight, nine, ten! Ready or not, here I come!” Her voice echoes from the side opposite from where I am. I try to stay as quiet and as still as I possibly can. The little area makes it easy for her to spot me in no time. “You always hide in that spot! There are other places, you know,” she says, adding yet another line to her side of the mini chalkboard we use to keep score. Five to one.

We decide to take a break, sitting in our favorite spot overlooking the neighborhood. The sun is up, and I feel the cool wind all around me. It’s a beautiful day.

“You know, I’ve never really brought anyone up here until today,” I tell her. She looks at me with the same puzzled gaze I get whenever I reveal more about myself. We’ve known each other since the day we moved into the new house, yet we still remain a mystery to one another.

As I sit beside her, I wonder.

Would anybody else come up to this little spot if they knew every little thing she knew? Would they gaze upon it from far away and think of how weak and fragile it is, or what a waste of time it is to be up here?

I let my thoughts subside, and instead enjoy the feeling of having someone here with me. She wants to understand me, I can feel it in the way she talks to me. Growing up in a world full of ridicule, her company calms me. I know I can be myself in this little home a few feet away from home.

I glance at the watch on my wrist. It’s 3:00pm. We’ve been up here quite a while, and I soon start to hear a woman’s voice calling us back down for a meal.

I swear we’d just eaten a few minutes ago. Time sure flies by fast when I’m up in my treehouse.

I come down anyway, hoping not to encounter anyone, so I can peacefully get back to my favorite spot in a jiffy.

We come down together, and I set apart some of my food for her. We sit for a while.

I look around at my simple home as I carefully eat the hot soup prepared for me. I’ve lived here for a few years now. Most of it is white, apart from the colorful flowers that decorate the table every once in a while. A lot of people come by, usually bringing food or even more flowers for my already adorned table. I don’t like this house as much as the one I used to live in. A twinge of uneasiness wraps around my whole body whenever I stay here too long. This is the reason for my treehouse. I built it the moment I got here.

I can’t wait to finish eating so I can get back up there with her for the rest of the afternoon.

As soon as we find ourselves full, I tell the people at home about how I’ll be going back to my favorite place in the world. I think it’s quite odd that they get worried every time I do this. Sometimes, they even get so sad that they start tearing up.

Will they miss me that much? It’s just a treehouse. I’m not even going to be that far from them anyway.

“What do you want to talk about,” she asks me, now that we were comfortably seated above the neighborhood once again. I tell her about how hard it is for me to find the strength to go back into the house whenever I’m up here.

I want to stay up here with you, forever, but I worry about all the people in the house.

I let it remain a thought. She might think something different of me if I tell her. Instead, I remember all the times we’ve shared in this wonderful space I’ve created for us. She was there for me whenever I felt sad about us moving from our old house to the new one. I was still in awe that day, wondering whether my life would ever be the same again.

It’s just going to be a change of scenery.

My parents told me so many things to keep me from going berserk about the whole idea. I didn’t know it then, but it was probably the best thing to do. In my old house, I had neighbors whom I used to play with all the time. Here, in my treehouse, I have her. The old house was full of life and color everywhere you’d look. Here, in my treehouse, I have everything a young boy could possibly want. My imagination is the limit.

We’ve been up here for so long that I notice the sun beginning to set. Once again, I can hear the woman’s voice calling me back into the house for another meal. I start to shiver.

Why do I keep coming back down there? Is it really worth all the trouble?

Before we head down, she seems to read my thoughts, just like she always does. I’m really thankful. She knows exactly what to say so that I calmly come back in the house without a fuss. We head down together.

I slowly open my eyes, getting back into the house once again. I see the nurse getting ready to feed me the same soup I had earlier. The walls are a duller white than they used to be. Some people have dropped by again, with more food, and flowers to replace the ones wilting away on my table. Once again, I start to miss my old home. I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever go back there again. I hurriedly finish the food being given to me. “My head is spinning, I want to close my eyes,” I tell the nurse. “Hold on, dear, I’ll be back with your medicine,” she replies.

I can’t wait any longer. Everything is fading away, and even she has disappeared from the back of my head, no longer keeping me grounded. My eyes begin to close. I’m back in my treehouse, all alone, and I never want to come back.