It always reminded me of my father. Tall, big, and firmly rooted onto the ground. I planted it with him, on a sunny saturday, when my troubles consisted merely of my mother not allowing me to have the new Polly Pocket. My father would place his comforting warm hands on my shoulder, lean down beside me and say “Go on, listen to what she says. She’s had a bad few weeks.” At the time the connotations of this brushed past my ear with his breath, although with age my understanding of their relationship deepened, and fewer events were hidden from me.
I would sit under the tree, with my outdated toys every afternoon, reenacting the many stories that had evolved in my head since I was a child. Occasionally my mother would interrupt the world in which I had immersed myself so deeply to spend time with me. This was in an attempt to end the gnawing sensation that she should be doing so in order to complete the societal expectations of being a “good” parent. Dad would more often come out and participate in the games, obeying the rules of my world. I mostly, however, would spend my time alone.
As a teenager, I discarded my dolls for romantic novels and a diary which I wrote down my thoughts. Each day after school, I’d sit in between the hugging roots of the tree which had grown at the same rate I had, and read or write. I had designed a thorough map of my life, with the ultimate goal of becoming independent and well educated. My mother smirked at my dreams, “real joy is in bringing up your child correctly.” This old world view was juxtaposed by my fathers encouragement of independence. He began to spend more time with me out under the tree during these years. I assumed at the time my growing maturity allowed for conversation and similar interests, or that he was simply interested in my writings. I found out later that he too had found sanctuary amongst the roots of my tree.
One afternoon a sheet of dark clouds had mirrored themselves across the sky, and for fear of rain, I could not sit underneath the tree. Muffled sounds of yelling filled the garden, and my scarred child’s mind told me to avoid the pain I had long been subjected to. My breath was fast and shallow as I walked to the shopping centre, running from the rain and more. My mother’s unreasonable fears had often caused tension between my parents, and my relationship with her had diminished greatly since I had reached teenage years and found the rationality of my father. On occasion I had asked my father what was wrong with her, which he would dismiss with “it’s hard to explain”, and distract me.
The shopping centre was a place I would venture only rarely, and sitting at a table in the large food court, between the McDonalds and an Indian curry shop, I couldn’t help but wish I was under my tree with the brushing grass. Something about the jungle that was the after school shopping centre rush made me flick the corner of my page, and lose concentration of my book, though I knew it would be worse at home.
I began my slow return walk as the rain had slowed, hoping the argument at home had done the same. I enjoyed the light touch of rain on my bare neck, and the soothing wind on my face. It reminded me of my fathers hands, not comforting however, but refreshing.
As I arrived home, I saw my father calmly leaving the house. I took a long breath in and smiled, ready for a hug. He however, brushed past me and drove away, without looking back. Carefully entering the house, I saw my mother on the lounge cupping an uncharacteristically red cheek, and crying.
The rain turned into a storm that night. The winds howled past the window in the lounge room where I sat with mum, as she filled in the gaps of my childhood and discussed the future. The anger that welled up inside me as she was telling me the story of their relationship was soothed when mum, for the first time in years, hugged me.
Everything was glittering with post rain sparkle when I left the house the next morning. I moved through the garden, stepping carefully over the fallen branches and the leaves of my old tree, wondering where I would plant my new one.
