The Treehouse

       “Jeffrey! What the fuck?” I screamed at my brother as I felt the icy water drip down the back of my shirt. I turned to smack him, but he was already halfway down the ladder of our treehouse. I felt the anger bubbling inside my chest and I let out a shriek to rival any banshee. I immediately flung myself down the ladder, skipping rungs left and right, and ready to pounce the moment my feet hit the ground. I could hear him laughing below me, and that only fueled my anger.

            “Jeffrey, I swear to God if you don’t get back here right now, Dad is gonna have to come up with a whole lot of money for your fucking funeral, you trash heap!” He snickered again at that, and I decided that he really was going to have to come up with some funeral costs, because today was Jeffrey’s last day on this earth. 

            “What’s the matter Lisa, did somebody rain on your parade?” He smiled with glee, dancing just out of my reach every time I lunged forward to try and grab him. My frustration grew, knowing that not only did he ruin my perfect afternoon, but he was enjoying it. He didn’t care that today was my only day off this week, or that I was enjoying some peaceful alone time, all he cared about was his own stupid amusement. Sometimes, I really hated that dumbass. 

            “Jeffrey, I know this might be hard for you to understand, but there are actually other people in the world besides you, and when you piss those other people off, they sometimes get mad. And when you make them mad, they sometimes want to strangle you. And if you’re not careful, they just might actually…” I lunged forward and caught him by the shirt, “Do it!”

            The glee on his face melted immediately. Now that I had caught him, he wasn’t feeling quite so confident anymore. In fact, the smile on his face was replaced with a look of sheer terror. If it hadn’t been for the water still dripping in my eyes and down my back, I might have enjoyed it. Instead I wrestled him to the ground and shook my hair over him. 

            “Ugh, Lisa, gross! Don’t get your nasty hair-water all over me! You probably haven’t showered in a week!” 

            “Yeah right, Jeffrey, I think you’re getting me confused with yourself. You’re the one who doesn’t shower; I’m the one who has good hygiene habits. That’s why Dad loves me most.” I smiled my own smug grin at him and then moved so he could stand. Even though he drove me crazy, Jeffrey was my little brother and I couldn’t stay mad at him. Not this time, anyway.

            Because I knew the truth: Jeffrey was acting out because he was hurting. A week ago, our mother had up and left out of the blue. We woke up, went downstairs for breakfast, and found our father staring at a note. He couldn’t even look at us, he just handed the note over and shuffled into his office. I tried to talk to him through the door, but he was silent. In fact, he had been silent most of the time over the last week. I guess he wasn’t handling it any better than we were.

            The note said that my mother had “met someone else” and that she was sorry, but she had to “follow her heart and see where this new relationship would take her.” My own mother, who had tucked me in and made me breakfast and kissed my forehead every day before school, had abandoned us for some stranger whose name she wouldn’t even mention.

            She didn’t leave a forwarding address.

            “Hey, Lisa…are you okay?” Jeffrey was staring at me, his eyes big and round, and full of hurt. Jeff had always been sensitive, and I could see the tears threatening to well up in his eyes. He was trying to hold them back, but I could tell it was a battle he might not win. “I’m really sorry I dumped that water on you. I thought it would be a funny prank, but I didn’t mean to make you mad, I promise. Do you forgive me?”

            I assured him I forgave him. Jeff was turning 12 later that month, and he wanted so badly to be a big strong man, but he and I both knew he was still a child. A child who needed his mother. And since our real mother had left, I had to step up and become a surrogate mother for him.

            “Hey Jeffrey, let’s walk to Penguin’s Peak and get some ice cream. It’s so hot out today, and I feel like we both could use a treat. Are you up for it?” The light in his eyes broke my heart and healed it, all at the same time.

            Later that week, I found myself up in the treehouse again. This time Jeffrey had promised me that there would be no interruptions. I think he was finally starting to understand the kind of stress and pressure I had been under since Mom left. Dad had been sinking further and further into the darkness, which meant that I had no choice but to be the light. I needed my dad, but he just couldn’t be there, so I had to be there instead. For Jeffrey, and for me.

            I lay down on one of the old mattresses that my parents had given Jeffrey and me when we built the treehouse. They were old, and a little mildewed, but that faint sour smell made me feel safe and secure. In the treehouse, it was like nothing bad could touch me. Like the air was cleaner, and easier to breathe. 

            At some point, I must have drifted off, because I woke up in the late afternoon from a dream about my mother. She had come back, in the dream, and told me how sorry she was. She told me that she had made a horrible mistake, and that she never should have abandoned her family. It had been a sad dream, but a good one, too. When I awoke, I was almost able to convince myself that it was real. Almost.

            Eventually, my ears tuned in to what had awoken me from my dream. I heard the sounds of yelling below the treehouse, and I crept to the doorway to see what the commotion was. I had been expecting a fight, but I instantly realized that the yelling I heard wasn’t out of anger. There, in our backyard, was my little brother playing football with my father. Dad hadn’t left the house since Mom left, other than to go to work, and he certainly hadn’t done anything close to playing. In fact, I hadn’t even seen him smile.

            But there he was, in our yard, tossing a football back and forth with my brother and laughing. The sight of it brought tears to my eyes, and a smile to my face. I couldn’t believe that my father was finding happiness again. I knew it was going to take a long time for him to heal, but this was such good progress I could barely stand it. 

            I heard my father laugh again, and then I heard him call softly up the ladder to the treehouse.

            “Hey, Bean? Are you still up there?” Bean. He called me Bean. When I was born, my father christened me “Lisa-Bean,” and it stuck. I used to hate it, but in that moment, it was the best nickname I had ever heard. I leaned over the edge of the treehouse and grinned down at him. 

            “Let’s all go out to eat tonight. Grab some grub. Does that sound good?” He looked up at me with something near hope in his eyes, and it almost made me cry again.

            “Yeah, Dad, that sounds good. Let’s go get some grub.”