Under The Sycamore Tree

   This is a short story I wrote last year. I don't think it is one of my best and probably has a few errors, but I thought this would be an okay way to start. I hope you enjoy it. 

    They said they found him in the woods. That it happened in the old sycamore tree, little did they know that that was OUR sycamore tree. They asked me if I was okay, if I needed to talk to anyone they were here for me. I asked them if I could be alone, of course no one said no. They left me in the cavernous, gray room that was only occupied by me and a circle of chairs. I didn’t know what they pulled me into this room for ten minutes ago, and I wished I had never walked in here. Maybe if I had ignored the room, this wouldn’t be happening, they wouldn’t have told me what he had done. He would be here with me now, like he was yesterday. I wish it was yesterday; maybe I could have stopped all this from happening.

    “Kinsley!” I heard behind me and when I turned I was staring into the warm brown eyes of my boyfriend, Sam. I launched myself into his arms and he lifted me up. “I missed you so much! You are never allowed to leave for Spring Break ever again!” I said to him as I was set back down onto my feet. He laughed and put his arm around me as we started heading towards the school. He’s smiling. I thought to myself. Good. He had been acting kind of weird lately, not at all like the Sam I had first met. He seemed sad all the time. I knew he had a bad home life; his mom left when he was younger and his dad is an alcoholic and rarely comes home sober. He usually tries to stay with his grandparents most nights, but his dad doesn’t like him to do that, so when I could catch him smiling it made me happy.  Later in the day we had decided to meet in the woods behind the school where we had first met under a giant sycamore tree right by the walking path, it was our tree now. When we got there he seemed to have gotten sad again, he just sat there staring at nothing, while I stared at him.

    “What’s wrong?” I asked him, cocking my head to the side. He shook his head and looked up at the tree. It probably wasn’t the right thing to do, but I kept prodding him. “Is it your dad? Is he getting worse?” Still Sam refused to answer me. I sighed and shook my head, frustrated. “I don’t know why I even bother.” I said getting up. “Kinsley…” Sam said in a sigh. “Sam…” I retorted back. He stood up to face me. “It’s just not something I can tell you.”

    “Why not?” I asked in a huff. He sighed again and looked back up at the tree. What was his fascination with the tree? We were silent for a few moments. Then I spoke. I don’t know why I said what I said just then. Maybe I was fed up with him never telling me anything, that I always had to figure it out, or maybe I was just frustrated with him being sad all the time. “Fine, you know what, don’t tell me. Never tell me anything again, because I want you out of my life forever.” With that I walked away, leaving him alone under the sycamore tree.

    They had all come back into the room by the time I was done thinking. They wanted to help me, they said. They expected me to cry, but I didn’t. I told them it was my fault he did what he did, that what I said had pushed him to it. They said that wasn’t true, that he had been sick for a long time now. I didn’t believe them. They wanted me to write my feelings down and write a speech to give at the funeral tomorrow because I knew him better than anyone. I could have argued with them on that seeing as I apparently knew nothing or else I could have helped him.

    The funeral was held in the foggy old cemetery, that’s all his grandparents could afford. As I stood at the podium in front of his casket, my speech in front of me, I suddenly knew that I couldn’t read from the speech. I folded it up and leaned into the microphone. “I am supposed to tell you about how awesome a guy Sam was, and don’t get me wrong he was, but he was also selfish. He left us without any regard to how we might feel. So I am not going to say meaningful things about him and I am not going to cry. I may think it was my fault, but I am not going to cry!” I shouted angry with him and the world. With that I walked away and out of the cemetery I could hear the group’s gasps behind me, but I didn’t care it was what I felt and it was true.

    I walked around until I came to the woods and our tree. There was still police tape around it but I ignored it. I sat, this was the place he did it. I thought.  This was the place he ended it. Under a place that was special to us. Even though I said I wouldn’t, I started to cry, and in that moment I swear I could feel his arms around me.  “I’m sorry.” I heard in my ear. I jumped up from my spot on the ground, but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t have heard him, I couldn’t have. I slowly turned around and screamed.

    “Great speech back there. The whole selfish and not going to cry thing really was the icing on the cake.” Sam said smiling.

    “Y-You can’t be here!” I said stuttering and pointing at him. He just laughed and shook his head. “You never did have an open mind, Kinsley.” 

    “But your dead!” I exclaimed backing away. He just looked at me with his wonderful brown eyes. “Aren’t you?” I questioned. He nodded.

    “Then how?” I asked. Sam just patted the spot next to him. While reluctant, I went to sit by him. “I don’t know the how technicality of it, but you know how in those haunting shows we always watched, and what they said about a spirit attaching to the place of death? I think it’s like that. But I am only here for a short time, for you to get closer.” I still wasn’t convinced he was actually here. I reached out to touch his arm and it passed right through. 

    “Closer?” I asked still trying to touch his arm. He nodded, “Yep. Ask me anything you want…and stop trying to touch my arm. It will just keep going through and it tickles.” I pulled my hand away quickly and smiled shyly. “Sorry.” He smiled, “So ask away.”  I thought for a minute, there were so many things I wanted to ask him. Why did he do what he did? Was he thinking of me when he did it? Was I the reason?

    “Okay. Was it my fault you did what you did?” I asked, tearing up slightly. He shook his head rapidly and turned towards me. “Of course not! I have been sick a while now. I was diagnosed with severe depression two years ago. I just never told you.”

    “Why not?”

    “I didn’t think you would understand and I didn’t want you to be the girlfriend of the mentally ill kid.”  

     We were silent for a moment until I finally asked, “So, are fight didn’t push you to the edge?”

     “No, when you walked off I was going to give you time and cool off, so I went home and I was going to call you, but dad came home more drunk than usual and things kind of got out of hand and I said some things I knew would set him off and he hit me. That’s what pushed me off the edge.” While I was relieved it wasn’t me who was the cause one thing still bugged me. “Why did do it? I mean we could have gotten you out. Your grandparents and I could have helped you.” He just shook his head.

     “I think I was too far gone to be helped by then.”  Again we were silent, by then it had already gotten dark and I was yawning. Sam looked up at the sky. “It’s almost time for me to go,” He looked down at me, “but you have time for one more question.” I thought for a moment. “Will I ever see you again?” It was his turn to think, and after a moment he shook his head, “No.” This disappointed me and I looked down and started picking on at the only piece of grass under the sycamore tree. He continued. “But even though I won’t be here physically and you won’t see me doesn’t mean that I am not going to be with you.”  I started to cry again. “I wish I could hug you.” I sobbed. He just smiled sadly. “Me too, but we are out of time. Goodbye, Kinsley. ” With that the sun slipped down over the horizon and I slipped into sleep, my head laying right where he would have been sitting.

    I was woken by my name being called. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I was the night sky and the branches of the sycamore, then when I turned my head I was staring at my sister. We just stared at each other a moment. We didn’t speak; I think she sensed that I didn’t want to. She helped me up and put and a blanket around my shoulder also wrapping her arm around me. As she led the way out of the wood on the trail, flashlight in hand, I looked back and I swear I could just make out the outline of someone standing under the tree watching us leave. I knew this was the last time I would see Sam, under the sycamore tree.