The Tangled Roots

Carson Pike squinted against the setting sun, bathing in its fleeting warmth. She lived for moments like these-- quiet evenings spent beside her best friend in their treehouse. She pried her hazel eyes away from the rich hues of sunset and turned her attention to Skye. Just as she had expected, her eyes were staring a million miles away. Skye was a dreamer, and she spent more time in her own head than anywhere else. She was complex beyond her limited eleven years. Her philosophical curiosities usually went far above Carson’s head, but she listened just to witness the way her face lit up as she revealed her musings. 

“What do you think will happen to us?” Skye blurted, interrupting the growing silence that followed sunsets. Carson was taken aback. This didn’t sound like her Skye-- sadness crept into her tone.

“What do you mean?” 

“In the future. What if we aren’t friends anymore? Or if one of us has to move? What if this is our last night in the treehouse and we don’t even know it?” Carson was accustomed to hearing this voice, but it sounded so wrong with the new emotions behind it. 

“We’re never gonna let that happen. I promise,” she declared as she stuck out her pinky finger. That night was not their last in the treehouse, but those nights became few and far between as they got older. 

Six years later, and the treehouse was abandoned and worn down, deprived of the warmth and laughter that the girls had brought. Skye gazed out of her window every night, staring at the tree where she had spent the best moments of her childhood. It used to look so much bigger she reminisced. In the back of her head, a thought had made permanent residence-- how had she let herself grow apart from Carson? They were raised together, and somehow, they no longer acknowledged each other's existence. Every day, they walked the same route to the bus stop, rode the same bus, and went to the same homeroom-- but they never even spoke. Her mental spiral was interrupted by the sound of a dull thump outside through her window. As she looked out the yard, she found the source. There, cloaked in the gentle glow of the moon, was Carson. 

Their properties were close enough that Skye could see the subtle glint of tears reflecting off her cheeks. Carson had dropped down from her window-- a habit that Skye noticed had been becoming more frequent. She still knew her former best friend well enough to know exactly why. She felt trapped. Carson hated being trapped. 

Relief lifted the weight off Carson’s chest the exact second her feet were on the solid earth. She had been in that room too long, and the smiling faces in her photographs had begun to mock her. She had always fantasized about running away-- the freedom and the thrill enticing her during her daydreams. The fantasy seemed so free, but the action was one she could never commit to. So, she compromised. At night, when the weight of the world felt like too much, she would run away until the sun came back to warm her. Usually, she would go to an all-night diner, or she would run to a park to play basketball in the security of the dark. Tonight was different. Her heart ached, and she needed the familiarity of childhood, back when it all seemed so simple. Then, the old treehouse caught her eye. A small spark of her fire reignited behind her eyes. That treehouse was sacred-- it was safe. She took off in a jog, bare feet pounding against the thick grass. 

Each rung of the ladder restored her strength, filling her with a childlike joy she thought she’d never feel again. She wiped away her tears, finally feeling free of her stress. She peered out the small window, admiring the stars. She found herself smiling, and looked to her right, where she expected to see Skye. Her joy had faded into a sullen nostalgia. Her entire childhood was in this treehouse, but it didn’t matter without a best friend to share it with. Tears leaked from her tired eyes as she traced the engravings in the wall. There were several “S+C”s and “BFFs” in sloppy bubble letters, and it all seemed so far away. 

Carson was drowning in a sea of bitter-sweet memories, and the sound of the ladder creaking was her lifeboat. She crawled to the door and looked down, only to see a hauntingly familiar face. 

“Skye?” she mumbled tentatively. She couldn’t trust her own eyes, and she had hardly expected a response. 

“Yeah,” she heard a quiet whisper in the still night, “Can I come up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come up.”

The silence was full of a suffocating tension. Neither knew what to say, or what they should do next. The silence held while they got comfortable on opposite sides of their shared childhood hideout. 

“I missed you,” Skye murmured almost silently. 

“I’m sorry. Skye, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, and I don’t think it’s mine either. We were raised together, Car. We used to know each other better than we knew ourselves, and I think we both got scared when we started to change. We’re not the same people that we were back then, and that’s okay,” she said as she got progressively closer. 

“I wish we were,” Carson muttered through a sniffle.

“I know, me too, but you know I’m still here for you, right? You know that?”

“I don’t even know why I never came to you before. You always understood me better than anyone.”

That night, they discussed their favorite memories until the Sun peered over the horizon. They laughed and cried and made new promises. But after that night, they rarely spoke. However, they found comfort in knowing that there was someone right next door who understood. Someone who knew them inside and out, and would always be one treehouse visit away.