Yellow (editing)

Throw Your Hands Up in Suburbia

Orenda talked a lot during the brief ten seconds that it took to actually reach Willow, mostly about how her bakery's business was doing, since it was something that she really cared about. Apparently there'd been a sudden spike in costumer-ism or something the past week at the Castellano's because they'd come out with a new flavour for a pastry, and Mrs. Castellano was beyond ecstatic. Egan and I commented every once in a while, and then Orenda started talking about how it was strange that we drove a car to Willow from my house, despite me living literally five minutes away.

"It was Egan's birthday today, so now he can legally drive," I answered her for both of us.

"Oh really? You're sixteen?" She questioned, and Egan didn't respond. I figured he probably just nodded.

"I believe that life really gets better after you turn sixteen," Orenda said, her arm brushing up against mine. "You know, the entire world sort of makes more sense slowly and you become an adult and it loses all its sense and then you die."

"Morbid," I muttered.

I swung my white cane around, whacking the occasional tall grass clumps around me. I was thankful for the minimalism the tall grass had decided to go with, because last time I was surrounded by that stuff I almost died. It made me sort of wonder if I had an allergy to tall grass, despite me being immune to almost everything the world had to offer. Other than poison, of course. A cool wind swept past me and I shivered, pulling my hoodie up to my ears. It smelled like laundry detergent so I lowered before Orenda or Egan could start judging me. Usually winter never ended where I lived, until it was summer and the entire town melted.

Egan started asking me about Willow and why he never really knew about 'it' (even though Orenda and I have always called Willow a 'she' because it seemed appropriate to do so, not that trees have genders). Which, in my defense, was so that this conversation would never happen. It just wasn't very comfortably easy to say, "well, I was a very sad child, who could only seek happiness in a tree." So, I ignored him politely and we sat against Willow, as I absentmindedly pulled grass out of the ground. A few birds chirped close to us and I heard a squirrel scampering on top of Willow's branches.

"So? How're the tree saving people holding up?" Orenda asked suddenly, her voice hopeful.

Egan and I stalled for a while, talking about things like how the tree-saving people seemed vaguely similar to an obnoxious group in Outlast Corruption called the Conberals. It was a political thing I never really understood (much like the tree savers, or whatever).

"I'm not an idiot, guys. Yes or no or possibly?" Orenda demanded.

Which resulted in the following conversation (minus all the other stalling):

Egan: "Um."

Me: "Um."

Orenda: "No?"

Me: "Yeah."

Orenda: "Oh."

Egan: "My mom just doesn't have that authority."

Orenda: "Thank her for me?"

Me and Egan: "Of course."

Even though I tried to make a joke or two to raise her spirits or something it still hurt me a whole lot to hear the sadness in her voice at the thought of Willow being gone. I didn't know what to do about it. I could feel her moving a little closer to me because her pinky overlapped mine for a brief second before she pulled away, and I could feel that she was right beside me. Egan was jabbing his elbow into my arm.

"Look, Orenda, I promise I won't let Willow be cut down. Right Egan? Um, right? We won't, you know, like, let it." I rambled on to her as she scoffed disgustedly.