What remained

The storm

To many, the storm brewed without their notice. The warm morning coffee was stirred and sugared and stirred again to create the cool droplets of rain, God's coffee. The minds eye could sense the uneasiness of the birds in the trees and on the electric power lines. It could breathe in the air of dominance and the putrefaction of hatred. The trees grew silent...

As she slipped past her old boyfriend and into the warm embrace of her loving friends' arms, she realized the scent which she had not forgotten and which now emanated around her. She became silent. Quiet as the wise and ever present trees which sway with the wind, like ballroom dancers, and which provide a superficial shelter from the cold, thin raindrops. The sky grew angrier as she had. The trees now frantically jumped in all directions as the violent wind raged through the corridor.

The only thought which remained as clear in their purpose as the wait staff in the clouds, pouring the cold, thin drops of coffee, was her thought. All others were scattered with the trees. All witnessed the young and beautiful 80 year old Willow tree crash into the class window. She paid no attention. God was her only witness when she said to herself, "I will take myself back from you.".

The school day was ended early on account of the broken class window. It could not be fixed, nor could it be cleaned sufficiently for the 9th grade class to continue their usual class schedule.

Her mother nearly screamed at her. She had not noticed the green saloon parked in the street across the school gate. Nor did she recognize the faint sound of her mother's voice against the cold wind. Her mind was focused on her friend, the tree which lay motionless. Uprooted and unable to feel the wind like she could. The soft coffee drops fell in wisps onto her resplendent red drimac. She didn't care. Her sorrow for her friend was colder than the coffee. Even though she didn't like the fallen tree, she felt that it was not fair that this could happen again. She wondered if the other trees felt the same way and if there was some way she could console them. At this point, her impatient mother grabbed her arm and whisked her away from her beloved friends. She waved at them and they waved back. Their leaves shedding from their branches, like tears as she left.

She sat in the back seat of the green saloon and felt uncomfortable as her mother peeled away from the school. She focused on her friends and why they would be crying. Was it for her departure? She hadn't had a chance to watch them dance and bow lowly as they finished.
Maybe it was for their friend, who couldn't dance anymore.
Maybe it was for her dance partner, who would be alone when the windy jazz band played and the other pairs swayed smoothly to its tune.

"Are you okay?"
The only words which broke her concentration.
"I'm okay."
"Why didn't you hear me calling?"
The worry in her mother's voice emanated like smoke in the car as they reached a stop. Her mind was fixated on her friend and whether or not he would ever dance again. However, her subconscious gave assuring automatic answers while her conscious mind drifted with the wind and the Jazz band which played for the dancing trees.
"I was worried about my friend. He fell."
Her mother became overjoyed that she spoke about a friend. She hasn't had a friend in over a year and never spoke to her mother in the car. Even during lengthy trips to and from the local supermarket, the only sound in the car was her mother's voice asking unanswered questions about various strange things, like ice-cream and shoes.
"How did he fall?"
Impulse took over as her excitement warmed her up to her neck. She awaited eagerly for an answer. Every second dragged for an hour as she waited to hear about her daughter's friend who had fallen.

She sat quietly. Her subconscious mind mercilessly implored her conscious mind to take note of her mother's reaction. Her conscious mind noticed the emanating eagerness from her mother and how slow time had become. It decided to give an automatic answer, but the subconscious mind desisted. Her mother deserves more than her thoughtless answer. She deserves a proper answer. Her conscious mind didn't care and abstained from saying anything verbally. Her eyes stared deeply into the rear view mirror with a lost and unexplained perplexity.

Her mother's excitement faded as they drove on. She was silent and the emanating eagerness evaporated.
"Well, I hope he's okay. I remember when I was about your age and I tripped over my skipping rope. I sprained my ankle pretty badly. I had to wear crutches for a whole month!"

Sensing her mother's attempt to reach out to her, she decided to give her an answer.
"He won't ever dance again. I really want him to. He's a great dancer. I know his partner will miss him."

Her mother stared in awe of the answer. Her daughter had a friend and he is, or was, a dancer. She didn't care about him being able to dance again. Her excitement at this answer sent shivers down her spine and back up like a water geyser at the foot of an active volcano.
Her mother reminisced of her early years and her group of friends with whom she would laugh and play. It brought her joy to know that her daughter experienced the unpolluted and innocent feeling of acceptance which she had felt through her grade school years. It made her proud that her daughter could have a friend and that she would talk about that friend with her so openly.

"Is he in your class?"
"Well, I'm not sure. He sort of stands outside and waves at me through the window."

Her mother brought the car to a grinding halt. The tires screeched in pain as the brakes struggled to stop the racing wheels from moving any further. The excitement was replaced by fear and horror. The air grew dense and the car shrunk as her mother turned her head to look into her eyes. She was afraid, but so was her mother.
"Is he in your school?"
"Yes. He stays outside my classroom."
"What is his name?"
"I don't know."
"Cynthia, has he tried to touch you?"
"He can't."
At this point her mother was both confused and growing angry at the unsatisfactory answers to her fearful queries.
"Why can't he?"
"His feet are in the ground. He doesn't mind though. He likes being one of the tallest."
"Is he a boy?"
"Yes. He's on the left."
Her mother grew angrier and angrier at her responses. Why couldn't she just tell her that her friend is a tree in the first place? She realizes that her child has special needs, but nobody else's child is friends with trees. Why did she have to deal with this alone? And what does it mean if it's on the left?

"I have to be understanding. I have to be patient." Her mother thought to herself.
"Why don't we invite him for dinner?"
"We can't. He doesn't like what you make. He likes grass. I'm sure he also doesn't like your broccoli."

Her thoughts were confirmed. She was devastated. Her guilt about her daughter's past crept in like a shadow as the day transitions to night. Her eyes contracted. Her heartbeat slowed and her mind revisited the time she spent in convocation to deal with her feelings about what her daughter had been through.

"She can't be normal. She won't ever be."
These words oozed from every crevice of space left in her mind and injected her soul with a venom which she could feel slowly numbing her entire body.

"He'll be fine sweetie."
"Why are you lying?"

The shock on her mother's face could bring a jumbo jet crashing down. Her eyes had let the dam burst and the violent rage of water long withheld crept out of her tear ducts and down her cheeks, which burned deeper with each trickling tear. The guilt inside of her overpowered everything else at that moment. Removing herself from the shrunken green saloon, she wept. Holding her knees for support and trying to throw the guilt out of herself with her hot, hard tears.

Her daughter stared at the trees which danced in the wind and drank the soft coffee drops. They were all around the car. She hadn't seen them before because her mother always drove past and she never had a chance to meet them all.

"Hi there. I'm Cynthia. I know you can read my thoughts because I can read yours. I know I drive past here a lot and I can't greet all of your friends, so can you greet them for me? It would really help. I don't want them to feel sad. I felt sad once and it was horrible. The nice lady with the brooch says that I mustn't be sad, or make other people sad. My mother is back in the car now. I'll speak to you all later. Bye!"

The coffee drops began getting harder as the wait staff poured more vigorously for the trees. They all looked thirsty after dancing for so long.

The green saloon melted away into the distance with a girl drifting off beyond the dark clouds and her mother as quiet as the trees when the jazz band stopped playing.