Music For My Lovely Wolf (2023)

Chapter 1: The Girl

Yesterday, I rose from the plastic red Windsor chair, unable to wrap my head around the ache that constrained my back. Rounding my spine, I blew my hands backward and cupped them in a press. My spine leaned a bit too forward so I lost my balance, and started to tumble. Fortunately, my hands gripped the cover of the metallic cream table glazed with a marble finish. A searing pain rushed into my right leg for an unbearably quick second.

"Dang, despite your Swiss-cheese-like holes, Mr. Chair, I couldn't believe how comfortable it was to rest my back on you", I muttered then cursed, trying to alleviate the contact rug-like burn. As I slowly regained my footing, I shifted my weight from one leg to another, and my head bobbled from side to side, coming close to the willow oak trunk that overarched half of the residence hall in the University Villa.

My jade eyes widened as I couldn't believe it was only now that I had noticed how much life had popped out from this ordinarily looking tree. I brushed my right hand against the temples of my forehead while letting out a deep sigh. All the pain subsided as my focus caved.

I realized that it had been my second encounter with this tree.

It was about two years ago when I toured the university campus for the first time as a high school senior. The first thing I noticed was that the campus wasn't very big. It was an adequate size for me, at least. Besides, those well-known public colleges were too vast for my liking and I knew that I could get lost if I wasn't being too careful of my surroundings. Anyway, the second thing I noticed was that I took a glimpse at the oak tree and thought it was nothing more than a coffee-brown oak tree.

But I had been wrong.

As I looked at it now, the tree still held that coffee-brown hue, but I failed to notice the warm undertones of terracotta ivory and the slight tinge of rusted amber that underlined between the chips of the bark. Its singular trunk diverged into five main branches, all with their sub-branches and intricacies.

That's when good ol' realization began to set in. The tree looked different from when I first saw it. Perhaps that could have been due to the temperature shift from the mid-70s to the low-50s but I swear to you, I could see the yellow leaves hidden in the lush green. It was then I knew that an inevitable change was nearing. I began to shake my head in disbelief; thinking what once was awe, had turned into a sharp perplexing discontentment with the words of what sounded remnant of Mom came rushing in.

I can't believe this! I thought you had this knack for a good eye. Maybe your parents were right. Do you have any clue as to what you're doing with your life? You shouldn't be wasting your time and money pursuing a photography degree. That won't get you anywhere in life.

I tried to focus on my breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. But it wasn't working out too well. You see, my parents always loved to brag to their high school peers and work colleagues about how creative and intuitive their only daughter was. But behind those sepia-toned doors, the ones in front of the house I've grown up in since I was four, tell another side of that story. What seemed so intrinsically humanist to others was more dissonant to me. For years, they've criticized me for my personality.

Their lists of complaints would be something of, "Oh, Lavender, we were kidding when we said you were creative. You're just out of touch with reality. Always lost in your little dainty fantasy land like a child is when playing in a pink sandbox. You're also not intuitive, whatsoever. You're merely being too critical and judgemental for other people to bear. God, how did we come to raise such a belligerent child?"

Oh, how I wish I was like an oak tree in the fall and spring. Strong and resilient. All-giving and all-knowing. Adaptive and resourceful. A beloved hero and noble grandeur to my community. Maybe then I could finally be everything I wasn't. In so many ways, this tree was doing far much better than me. This tree had friends all around to cater to and be catered for. I take another breath in and out. Well, I wouldn't say that I don't have any friends as there's someone that comes to mind that I do indeed consider a dear friend.

I'm talking about Francesca Jones, of course.

I met her in the ninth grade when I was required by the school to take a theatre class. She was the best Ophelia I've ever seen someone portray in a production of Hamlet, as I would always notice the certain madness in her eyes whenever she would act out her lines. I'd always considered her a sister from another mister as we became attached to the hip after only a month of knowing each other. You know the whole cliché. Finishing each other sentences. Bickering like a married couple. Destined to be together forever. Nothing at all could set us apart! Yup, that's us! Or, at least it used to be...

Although I was beyond excited to hear that Francesca would be spending our last semester of high school in France, I couldn't help but feel angry at her. I felt like she was going out of the country just to spite me, and what, to punish me. Was that because we fell into our same old pattern right before her trip? The one where she gets jealous that she's not spending as much time with me and proceeds to not talk to me for a few weeks? Maybe. But I digress.

But, even though we have had our differences come about here and there, we made amends this summer as she finally returned home from France, with two middle-row tickets to Hamilton and a big hug that jolted my frame. I was relieved to see that she was back in my life and mine in hers. But much like this tree, things haven't been the same. That's not to say that we aren't close, but, there seems to be a disconnect in the relationship. With her, I mean.

She's changed in the last few months. Even though her fashion sense has stayed intact, she isn't fawning about jewelry anymore. She says it doesn't excite her as much as romanticizing about boys or wanting to see the Louvre again. I think that's bullshit. She's deluding herself. I'd be lying if I said I never caught myself shedding a tear into my pillow at night because I can't relate to her as well anymore. I'd rather not get into details about this stupid sappy shit that doesn't even matter anymore.

Nonetheless, one friend of mine could not compare to the many that this tree had. I'm talking about wildlife here, hello! For example, the ants aerated the soil under its soul, providing oxygen a better route to its roots. The earthworms gave the tree nutrients from the shit that they ate. Yes, literal shit. It was pretty much from anything decaying, like fallen leaves or scraps of fruits. But most importantly, the worms ate the parts of the tree's soul that posed a threat to its survival.

The bluebirds and red cardinals helped protect the tree by fending off vicious intruders like the caterpillars that enjoyed eating its leaves or the wooly aphids that loved to suck the sap out of its branches. In turn, the tree provided a safe haven for the birds and their offspring. Finally, much like a ship to its passenger, the cute nimble squirrels provided the opportunity for the tree's offspring — the acorn — to experience the joys and wonder of voyaging on new horizons they had never before seen.

Unlike me, this tree knew its lifetime purpose. My purpose for tonight at least is to hang out with Francesca at some shindig park party before our first day of classes.

And yet, due to the way the sunlight filtered through its web of leaves onto its trunk, I could see into the hues of a deep sierra scattered along the ends of the bark, like the beard of an Irishman. Or maybe that was the boy in a group of friends who had just walked past me. He looked all too familiar for me to not give a doubletake. I wished I never looked back because that's when all my thoughts began to pour back to him. Dustin—my ex-boyfriend from Junior year—Alleg Silverman?

Before I knew it, I pinned my back onto the tree, hoping that this spot was decent enough to hide me. I couldn't have been seen by him, at least not then when I look all hillbillies. I knew I should have put some concealer on! I groan to myself. I checked my watch and noticed I should've gotten ready ages ago, so I booked away in his direction, hoping he still had that dim-witted eye.