The Tree in the Back Yard

Three

I ran back inside and locked the doors when he said that, and I ran to my room.

I didn't understand. How could he have been there every day and I didn't notice? How else would he know my name though? Hmm, maybe he followed me? Or went to school with me and I had a class with him? Bah, I thought, leaping onto my bed face first, however he knew, I would still check every time I went outside to see if he was there.

I rolled myself up in my teal comforter and and stayed as a me burrito until my dad came home with his girlfriend, Jessica. Jess made some anchiladas for dinner. We ate in silence.

I didn't tell my dad about Robin, but I didn't know why. My dad could have found a way to make him stay away from our house or something. 

I never realised just how much I missed human interaction with people my age. I enjoyed talking to him, and a small part of me hoped he'd be there the next day. If he was, I probably wouldn't send him away.

xxx

 He was there the next day, like I hoped he would be, in the same spot he was yesterday. He leaned against the tree with his arms crossed, looking bored. He glanced up when I approached, and smiled.

"Okay, so what do you want?" I asked, not quite rudely, but not polite either. He didn't care. 

"I just wanted someone to talk to. I thought you did to."

I took a step back, stunned. I weighed my options.

I could go inside and wait until my dad got home, tell him about it, and be done with it.

I could stay in my room for the rest of the summer.

Or, I could allow him to stay with me during the day. Which, frankly, was appealing. I staightened my posture and faced him. "Okay. Why did you want to talk to me? And about what?"

He shrugged. "You're nice, and the others, well, they don't really want to see me. As for what we talk about, I just wanted to know a little more about you."

I sat next to him on the trunk, and he sat as well. "My mama died a couple years back," I told him. "Liver failure. My parents had split up before then. Had joint custody. We moved to my dad's house fully then, he never really gave us time to mourn."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you lost your mom," he said. I waved my hand dismissively.

"After that Jess moved in, my dad's girlfriend. Honestly, I don't care for her. She's a bit on the controlling side. We moved here not long after."

He scratched behind his ear. "What about your friends? Why don't you have them anymore?"

I sighed. "I stopped talking to them."

He looked at me oddly. "Why?"

"Drop it," I warned him. "Or I'll make you leave." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he said holding his hands up. "I didn't mean to pry."

"Yea, well, what about you?" I said irritably.

"I have a little brother named John, he was 6 years old. My parents never split up, and they still get along fine," he began. "Lived here all my life, was born here. Played the piano, at least I did before."

"Why did you stop playing?" I asked.

"Why did you stop singing?" He snapped.

I glared at him. "Because my mom died. She was the one who taught me to sing in the first place!"

He clenched his hands into fists. "I had an accident a few years ago and now I can't, okay?"

"Oh," I breathed. "Did something bad happen? Did you break something?"

He let out a stressed laugh. "You could say that."

"Sorry."

"Yea. I got over it."

I thought for a moment. "So how old are you?"

He grinned, not angry anymore. "37."

"Oh, my," I said dramatically. "Well I must say, you look marvelous for your age."

"Why thank you." He chuckled. "I'm sixteen."

"Ah. Me too."

I know," he told me.

I sighed. "Of course you do."