Flipped // DNF

Chapter Four

George was looking out the window that looked into his backyard. He noticed his father sitting outside. He was painting. George went to go sit with him.

"I see why you like coming out here," George sighed, enjoying the beauty of his overgrown backyard.

"Would you mind explaining it to your mother?" George's father laughed.

I loved to watch my father paint. Or really, I loved to hear him talk while he painted. I learned a lot about my dad that way. He told me all sorts of things, like, how he got his first job delivering hay, and how he'd wished he'd finished college.

Then, one day he surprised me.

"What's going on with you and, uh," he paused and looked at George, "Clay?"

"What do you mean? Nothing," George quickly replied.

"Oh okay... my mistake," he went back to painting.

"Why would you even think that?" George asked.

"No reason. Just that you," he paused again, "you talk about him all the time."

George hated when he took breaks in the middle of his sentences. It felt like the pauses lasted for hours.

"I do?" George smiled.

His father nods.

"I don't know. I guess it's something about his eyes. Or maybe his smile."

"Well, what about him?" His father asked sternly.

"What?" George said softly.

"You have to look at the whole landscape."

"What does that mean?"

His father smiles. "A painting is more than the sum of its parts. A cow by itself is just a cow. A meadow by itself is just grass and flowers. And the sun peaking through the trees is just a beam of light. But you put them all together, and it can be magic."

I didn't really understand what he was saying, until one afternoon, when I was up in the sycamore tree. I was rescuing a kite. It was a long way up, higher than I've ever been. And the higher I got up, the more amazed I was by the view. I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. Like sunshine and wild grass. I couldn't stop breathing it in, filling my lungs with the sweetest smell I'd ever known.

"Hey, you found my kite," Clay yelled.

"Clay, you should come up here. It's beautiful," I said.

"I can't. I sprained my, um, I have a rash," he lied to me.

From that moment on, that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the world. Some days the sunset would be purple and pink. And some days, they were a blazing orange, setting fire to the clouds in the horizon. It was during one of those sunsets, that my father's idea, of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts, moved from my head to my heart. Some days I would get there extra early to watch the sunrise.

One morning, I was making mental notes of how the pink and orange streaks of light were cutting through the clouds so I could tell my dad, when I heard a noise below.

"Excuse me," George said. "Excuse me. I'm sorry, but you can't park there. That's a bus stop."

A man appeared next to the car that was parked under the tree. "Hey, what are you doing up there?"

"You can't be up there, we're taking this thing down," another man said.

"The tree?" George asked, fearful of the answer he would receive.

"Yes. Now come on down."

George's heart dropped. "But who told you that you could cut it down?"

"The owner," the man replied.

"Why?"

"They are going to build a house and this tree is in the way. So, come on, boy, we've got work to do."

"You can't cut it down. You just can't." George was holding back tears.

"Listen, boy. I'm this close to calling the police. You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job. Now, either you come down, or we're going to cut you down."

"Go ahead. Cut me down. I'm not coming down. I'm never coming down."

The man started his chainsaw.

Clay and the other kids at the bus stop started walking towards the tree to see what was going on.

"Clay, please don't let them do this. Come on, you guys."

They all looked up the tree, then looked at the bus that was pulling up.

"Clay, please. You don't have to come up this high. Just a little ways."

Clay looked at George, but didn't say anything.

"Clay, please," he paused. "Please."

Clay got on the bus.

What happened after that was a blur. It seemed like the whole town was there. But still, I would not move. But then, my father showed up. He talked the firemen into letting him up to where I was.

His father climbed up the ladder and reached his hand out to George. "George, it's time to come down."

"Dad, please don't let them do this." George cried, harder than he's ever cried before.

"George." His father was mad.

George interrupted him. "Dad, look. You can see everything. You can see the whole world from here."

"No view is worth my son's safety. Now, come on."

"I can't."

"George, it's time to come down now." His father was furious, but George could tell he was trying to not show his emotions.

"Please, dad."

"It's time."

George looked up the tree, one last time. His eyes were covered in a blurry film. He climbed into his father's arms, taking him down the ladder.

That was it. I must've cried for at least two weeks straight.

Oh, sure, I went to school and did the best I could, but nothing seemed to matter.

I rode my bike so that I didn't have to see the stump, that was once that world's most magnificent sycamore tree. But no matter what I did, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

George was sitting at the desk in his room. There was a window right above it. He loved the view from the window, but it wasn't nearly as good as the view from the sycamore tree. He heard a knock from the hallway outside his room. His father walked in. He was holding something covered by a blanket.

"Are you okay?" His father asked softly.

George turned back around to look out his window. "It's just a tree."

"No. It wasn't just a tree." His father uncovered what he was holding. He painted a picture of George's tree.

George smiled.

"I never want you to forget how you felt when you were up there."

George's eyes start to water. "Thanks, dad." He gets up and hugs his dad, for what seemed like hours. It felt good.

It was the first thing I saw every morning. And the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. And once I could look at it without crying, I saw more than the tree, and what being up there meant to me. I saw the day that my view of things around me started changing. And I wondered, did I still feel the same things about Clay?