Through the Willow

Sometimes the corner of Fern and Greenfield, the one with the old weeping willow tree, was lonely. 

I mean, I loved being a sixth-grade patrol, strapping on that neon orange belt over one shoulder and around my waist. It proclaimed my maturity to the rest of the student body of Bendle Elementary. 

It was lonely because only a few walkers came in my direction, and I didn’t have a partner like most of the other patrols. One kid the teachers chose got in trouble for smoking after school. Thank goodness. I knew that kid. He made all kinds of rude jokes to girls. I was glad he wasn’t my partner.

But being on the corner alone was super boring. There wasn't much to do when I wasn’t helping little kids cross the road. I usually daydreamed, kicked rocks, sang to myself, and one time grabbed up an armful of those long willow branches and started swinging.

I say one time because I got quite a tongue-lashing from the old lady who lived on that corner. The long hair of the tree completely dwarfed her house, but somehow, she saw me riding like the wind through the willows. 

“Young lady,” she bellowed, walking speedily for an old lady. Her thin white hair had little curls in it that reminded me of my Aunt Linda’s poodle Shirley. I think they named her after Shirley Temple.

“Young lady! Get down out of that tree!”

Startled, I dropped my feet and let go of the branches, which continued to swing in a slower rhythm without my weight. I brushed a few of its light-green baby leaves from my shirt.

The woman wore a pink robe down to her knees, and her legs below it were almost all blue with how many veins were popping out. 

With her hands on her hips, she stared at me with the sharpest blue eyes I’d ever seen. I wondered if she stole them from someone younger because they did not fit the rest of her wrinkled-up face. 

“How would you like it if I started swinging on your pretty blond hair?” she croaked, thrusting a crooked finger at me.

That would be weird, is what I thought, but I knew better than to answer that way. She could tell the school and my patrol days would be over.

“I wouldn’t like that, ma’am,” I said instead.

She gazed up at the tree and her mouth softened just a touch. “This tree deserves respect. It’s the last one around here, and we don’t need you kids killing it with your antics.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to kill it.”

She glared at me with her young eyes. 

“Then don’t let me see you pulling a stunt like that again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then she turned and walked more like an old lady back to her house under the willow.

Killing the willow tree never crossed my mind. The idea horrified me. Its long, slender branches raining down to the ground made it stand out from all the other trees, like one of Charlie’s Angels.

Swinging on the tree was out, and with ten more minutes at my corner, I wasn’t likely to see any more kids. Most everybody left school in a hurry, especially since the weather was mostly sunny now and all the snow was gone. I started looking for shapes in the puffy spring clouds to keep from getting too bored.

I wasn’t looking at it when the car approached. Cars went by all the time, not super busy, but enough that I didn’t notice unless I had to take kids across the street. But this car started slowing down at my corner. As I watched the sky, I got that needly feeling up my spine that somebody was watching me.

The car stopped. 

A guy got out. He looked like a high schooler or maybe a little older, with long hair. The black car’s engine was really loud, and I think another guy was driving the car.

“Hey kid,” he said in a friendly voice. “You need a ride?”

My heart was so stuck up in my throat and pounding there like mad, I couldn’t say a word. It was like my body was telling me in five million different ways that this guy was a bad guy. This guy is how you end up on a milk carton. 

I thought I should scream, but I felt stuck like the snowman we built last winter, my arms just useless sticks hanging at my sides.

“Come on, we’ll take you wherever you want to go,” he crooned. The guy inside the car laughed.

Feeling like I might faint, I still couldn’t speak, but I shook my head and started backing into the willow branches.

“Come on, honey,” he said. “We’ve got snacks and stuff, too. I bet you’re hungry.” He started moving toward me, his hand out like he wanted me to take it.

Suddenly, I heard a door slam. 

The guy’s eyes darted to his friend in the car, but he stood there for a minute too long.

Through the willow branches, the old lady, her blue, young eyes on fire, stomped with her blue legs, her crooked finger pointing. 

“You hooligans can get the hell out of here and leave this girl alone. And don’t you worry, I already got your license plate number!”

“Shut up, you old bag,” the guy said. But he climbed in his car, and he and his stupid friend drove away.

I breathed. I think I had forgotten to breathe when those guys were there. Tears were already coming as the old lady wrapped a pink arm around my shoulder. 

“There, there. That was scary, wasn’t it? But you’re okay, sugar.” She smelled of baby powder and coffee, scents that to this day bring me relief.

She took me to her house and told me to call my mom. I found out her name was Dolores. She had three kids and ten grandchildren. Keeping up a continuous stream of chatter, she put a yellow and brown afghan around my shoulders as I sat on her couch with a glass of lemonade. 

“There they are, honey,” she said, glancing out the window. 

Walking through the willow branches were my parents and a police officer behind them. 

My mom cried and hugged Dolores. I was glad because I was still too scared to hug anyone or say thank you. 

Instead, I gazed at the willow tree and thought about how young-eyed Dolores had saved us both.