Limbs of Time

“Grandpa? Are you really going to tear out that stump?”

“Yes, Rowan. It is ruining the yard.”

“No it’s not!” Rowan looked horrified, “It’s my stage and my reading place and my dinosaur mountain…” The tears were starting to well in his eyes.

My dad looked over at me and all I could do was smile. That stump was more to me too. I continued to rock on the wooden glider and let my mind drift back to the mid-1980s. I could see my brother’s green short-shorts, knee-high tube socks, and skin-tight t-shirt. The ponytails on both sides of my head were a little droopy from playing outside all day. My nose was certainly sunburned, and my yellow shorts and tank top were dirt stained from jumping off swings at the park. My brother Phillip was twelve and I was nine, and we lived in that backyard every summer.

We were so lucky. Our backyard had the perfect layout.  The wooden deck that I was relaxing on was not there. Instead, there was a concrete porch with two sets of stairs that descended down to sidewalks that connected to make one single path to the small, one-car garage behind our house. At the intersection of the paths, our baseball in-field could be plainly seen. The tree, now a stump, stood proudly as first base. The corner of the garage was second base, and there was knee-high brick wall that separated our yard from the four-apartment complex next door. We used the corner of the last brick as third base. I could feel my ponytails swinging as I ran to the garage to get the whiffle bats and whiffle ball for Homerun Derby.

We didn’t play traditional baseball in the backyard. Homerun Derby was our own creation. Kids from all over the neighborhood came to play. If a ball was hit short without anyone catching it, it was a single. If it crossed the garage on a fly or a roll, it was a double. Triples happened when the ball rolled into the apartment’s territory, and homeruns had to clear our garage and hit the alley. There were two bat choices. The skinny blue bat which no one used because it was impossible to hit anything with it. However, new players always chose the blue bat first, because it looked easier to swing. We knew it meant an automatic out. Then there was the fat, dented, red, plastic bat. Kids looked like trolls picking it up and we all felt like toddlers swinging it. That is until the ball connected and the white plastic soared without hesitation clear over the garage sometimes pinging off the fence across the alley. Mostly, the game consisted of how many runs each team could score and double-digit scores were expected. However, one day the scope of the game changed when a strange boy showed up to play.

The normal crew was there: Phillip, me, Brandon, Zeke, Karin, and Lyle. I earned my spot when I hit my first homerun the summer after my eighth birthday. We were several innings into our game when this blonde-haired, loud boy walked into our game.

“What game is this?” He asked without introducing himself or asking if he could join.

“Homerun Derby,” Phillip said and turned back to Lyle who was about to pitch him the ball.

“I want to play,” The boy said quickly.

“Ok,” Phillip said without looking at him, “You can be on our team and bat next. First is the tree. Second is the corner, and the last brick is third.” He used the red bat casually to point out the bases.

I had always admired Phillip’s ability to never lose his cool. Stress never bothered him, and he always took more punches than he gave out. 

-SMACK-

The ball flew in an arc over the garage and Phillip smiled, “That’s thirty-seven. Ok. Your turn.”

The mystery kid grabbed the bat and hastily took a few practice swings.

“This is going to be so easy,” he said, “This game has no challenge.”

The rest of us were looking at each other like this kid was Sasquatch. Of course the game was easy. That was the point. We all loved smashing the ball and trying to have a streak of homeruns. That was the true sign of a Homerun Derby master. Brandon held the record with twenty straight homeruns in one game. That happened last year and we all talked about his form and power until I hit my teens.

Lyle pitched the ball…

-SMACK-

The ball started on its course over the garage and blonde boy started his run around the bases. He didn’t know that running the bases was optional and it didn’t matter. He started talking trash the minute he left home plate.

“This is the stupidest game. Why don’t you make the rules harder? These bases are so close together and…”

-SMACK-

The blonde boy’s face hit first base at a full run. His nose exploded and blood splattered on the tree, on the grass, and all over his face. He stumbled back but never fell down. We all stared at him and everyone, but my brother and I, scattered like cockroaches in the light.

All the blonde boy managed to say was “I’m gonna’ sue you! Wait till I tell my dad! You are all in so much trouble!” before he staggered around our house and left the way he came. 

“Who was that?” my brother said to me.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged honestly, “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Go get the ball,” Phillip ordered.

Normally, I would have argued it was his turn, but I couldn’t stop worrying that blonde boy would return any minute with his dad and then we really would be in serious trouble. When I came back from the alley, I saw Phillip washing the tree with the green garden hose.

“What are you doing?” I asked incredulously.

“Do you want to tell dad about the blood?”

It took me less than a second to see his point. I immediately released the ball and dropped to my hands and knees. I started scrubbing the grass to erase any evidence that blonde boy was ever on our property. It took about ten minutes and then I helped Philip recoil the hose into dad’s perfect concentric circles.

We sat together on the back porch and sighed. As if by magic, mom and dad pulled into the small carpark next to the garage right after we sat down. The powder blue Dodge Omni was always easy to spot and hear coming. Mom and dad got out and started walking up the sidewalk toward the back porch. Dad slowed as he passed the tree and noticed the swampy water surrounding the base.

“Did you guys water the tree?” Dad asked slowly with a raised eyebrow.

Without missing a beat, Philip responded, “Yea. It looked really dry.”

I remember nodding my head in agreement rather vigorously which probably looked quite suspicious since Philip and I rarely agreed on anything at those ages.

“Ok.” Dad said and smiled slightly at our mom. They walked past us, up the rest of the stairs, and into the house.

Philip rose, looked at me with no expression, and then waked into the house too.

I stayed there on the porch staring at the tree. I remember thinking it was a mess, but the water would help it grow. I also had thought about hugging the tree for keeping our secret but decided against it. It would always be around.

I took a deep breath as I came back to the wooden rocker. Dad and Rowan were still talking about the stump. Time moved a lot faster than I thought it ever could. Now my son of five was playing in the backyard of my childhood. I used to walk past that tree every morning in high school to catch the bus or occasionally to drive to school. I also remember looking at the tree but never pausing. It was just always there.

Then, I came home from college one May. During dinner dad mentioned the tree was being cut down the following Thursday, because it was dead. There was a brief pause. We all knew it was true, but it still seemed sad. Philip looked up and glanced at me before addressing the announcement. 

“Dad. Do you remember when we generously watered the tree when we were kids?”

There was a pause as I tried to hide my laughter behind a spoonful of applesauce and graham crackers.

“Yea,” Dad’s smile was curious, “What really happened?” 

Philip told him the whole story. Mom looked thoroughly shocked, and dad laughed loudly with the two of us. 

“And you didn’t know who he was?”

“No,” I said through my own laughs, “And we never saw him again. He will forever be the mystery blonde boy who bloodied our tree.” My laughter continued and joined my brother who was having trouble breathing through his guffaws. Mom was the only one who was silent and looked very disappointed in all of us.

“I wouldn’t have told my dad either,” my dad finally was able to say after regaining his breathing.

“Yea,” Philip said, “It’s safe now, because I can leave and go home. Marie has to stay here after I’m gone.” He smirked at me and I stuck out my tongue at him for old-time sakes.

I thought even mom smiled at that one and then we all finished our dinners.

I took another deep breath and watched Rowan as he stood on the stump in protest. He  was still trying to persuade my dad not to remove the base of that dead tree. I grinned at the two of them. Then, I stood up and took each step slowly down to the sidewalk. As I got closer to them, I heard my dad say.

“Alright Rowan. We can keep the stump.”

Rowan cheered and jumped high into the air. When he hit the ground, he took off at a run into the house to tell his grandma.

“Why did you do it dad? The stump has to make mowing for you hard and it is not a really attractive part of the landscape.”

“Well…” My dad said not looking at me, “You mom and I planted this tree right after we moved in and it never looked like it was going to make it. She and I would water it and care for it, but it just never seemed like it was going to survive. In fact, your mother said I often watered it too much and my love was going to kill it. Then there was a blizzard, and we knew for sure when spring came it would be gone. However, it wasn’t and it grew from then on. It was always around after that.”

I could see him sniffing slightly, so I put my arm around his shoulder, and he smiled at me.

“I take it back, Dad. It may not have limbs anymore, but time has made it beautiful,” I paused and then added, “It truly brings everything together back here.”

Dad put his arm around me. While we were walking back toward the house, Rowan burst out the back door with his blanket cape and red lightsaber. He was already on the stump as dad and I sat down on the rocker to watch him battle the universe.