The Fallen Trees of Mars

Earthly Hurricane

Wind dominated the air as Caroline did what filled most of her early teenage life, ignored everything to watch her bedroom television. Her program was cut by a news anchor, "Hurricane Sandy is passing through the area. Please remain in your home...", then the television cut out and the Caroline was left truly alone. Her parent had left in the early morning to get her brother, the stupid near adult who thought it would be fun to do a camping trip in the middle of hurricane season. Her mother gave her explicit instructions: get down into the basement and lock the door; then wait for someone to get you; be smart; be good. She was pretty sure those last two weren't instructions, but Caroline felt that they should be. Sirens could be heard amongst the cacophony of wind, time to move.

She waded through the mess that was her bedroom floor, forgetting to feel sheepish that she has yet to clean it up and made her way through the living room to the basement door. The handle didn't give into any pressure, the door wouldn't open. A bony shoulder rammed into the door, followed by a kick. No luck. Juggling the handle in desperation revealed a small hole, about a hair's width, between the handle and the door surface. Too small for a finger. A knife on the other hand... she made her way to the kitchen. Through the kitchen window she saw the great Jacaranda tree in the backyard whipped this way and that as if moved by a particularly violent puppeteer. She pulled the knife draw open and picked up a small steak knife when a branch broke through the window. The wind and shattered glass rushed inside attempting to chase the flung branch, but only the wood struck Carolines neck. Bend forward, kneeling on the floor, Caroline heaved and gagged as her throat closed from the injury. She could just barely breath through her nose when her vision blurred slightly from the tears. Caroline shoved her hand into the floor and staggered to her feet, trying to fight through the breathlessness. Blood trickled from her fingers where broken glass had jammed into her palms and left a red trail behind her as she made her way back to the door. She rammed the knife into the hole and forced it further in, she yelped as her palm struck the hilt of the knife. She was sure the glass dug further into her skin. The handle flung to the ground and the door pushed open. Hurriedly she moved down the stairs and laid down onto the couch and collapsed from exhaustion.

Later she woke still on that couch, but with hands bandaged and her throat pressed with an icepack. Her brother and mother watched over her with concern and grief. It took weeks to recover from her injuries, for the scares to form on the palms on her hands and her throat to relax as it once did. She ate little and spoke less. Until a few more weeks past and she sat underneath the purple petals of the Jacaranda tree. While its trunk was tiled towards the east, it's roots clung into the ground and through sheer strength kept the tree strong and upright. Caroline pulled herself up onto its branches and climbed as high as she dared and then lowered herself down again. She would do this again and again until her arms where knotted and her back tensed with strength; then repeat the next day. The tree held her weight and gave her a new strength. She chose to believe there was no malice in the tree, no anger in the wind. They were things that happened and were dealt with. What were scars became calluses. Silence was traded for expression. Caroline decided that if she survived that, she could survive so much more.

Eventually her family decided to move out of the home, but not before landscaping the backyard. The Jacaranda was an old thing now, still upright but waning from soft soil. Rope was tied around its trunk for months in a foolish attempt to keep it upright until they were ready to cut. Caroline took it upon herself to swing the axe, she wouldn't let anyone else touch it. The chops where rhythmic and clean, Caroline's macabre imagination imposed a lullaby over the beat in a strange attempt to lay the tree to rest. This almost kept the grief from rising. Almost. The trunk creaked and eventually fell to the ground, exposing its imperfect circles to the world. It was done, she had happened, and she dealt with it.