The Tree in the Back Yard

Four

Every day he was there.

It became a cycle, every day I went outside, and every day he was there to greet me. I started telling him about everything, my mother, my sisters, my friends, all except one topic.

He told me a bit about himself as well.  He was a marvelous chess player, and a great tree climber. He played the piano, saxaphone, and he was a good singer. 

He sang for me a few times. I always enjoyed it.

He was very interested in my old life, about the things I did for fun, about the classes I took. I told him the complete truth, but I left out a few things. He didn't ever really seem to notice though, he would smile and ponder things for a moment before firing another question at me. I never really minded until he started asking different kinds of questions.

"How many boyfriends have you had?" He asked.

I turned away. "I don't know, two or three."

He tilted his head to the side. "You're pretty though, so why is that?" He scooted up next to me, probably making his pants dirty.

I faced away from him stubbornly. "I just don't like going out much is all."

"If you had so many friends before, why don't you have any now?" he pressed as soon as I stopped.

"We stopped talking. They called and I didn't answer, and after a while they just left me alone. It's the way I like it, and I don't care that I'm alone now." I began answering a bit grumpily, trying to get him to understand it was time to stop.

He tilted his head to the side and put his head in my peripheral vision. "I think you're hiding something."

I finally snapped. "Drop it!"

He cringed, leaning away. "Sorry."

I didn't even care anymore, I ran inside, not looking back. It didn't matter though, I had nowhere I could hide. My memories were everywhere, all around me. I was drowning in them, and in a very bad way. My room was so full of them, in my dresser, my closet, it seemed they oozed from the very walls. 

I started crying again. I lowered myself to the floor, eyes shut tight, and I wept. It didn't make them go away, though. It made them stronger. I remembered the last time I had felt so vulnerable and weak, and it was not a good time for me. I started rocking back and forth. My mind reeled, what did I have to hold on to?

My mother. She would be so disappointed in me if she saw me now, wouldn't she? She would probably yell at me. Tell me to grow up.

But after that, I knew she would hold me and let me cry.

That's what I held on to. I imagined her holding me again, rocking me, telling me it was okay. I sang too, knowing that's what she would do for me.

The memory of her voice rang through my head, and I clung to it eagerly. I needed her. I still needed her. God help me, I did.

It didn't make a difference though. She was gone now.

I eventually laid down on the floor right where I was and drifted off to sleep.