The Supremely Silly Summers of Maggie Rose Porter

Chapter Four: The Treehouse

CHAPTER FOUR: THE TREEHOUSE

One day, Jake and I were lying on the grass in the cool shade of the large maple tree in his backyard, which was no beautiful sycamore but sure came close enough, or so I thought, when Jake sat up abruptly and declared we, him and me, ought to build a treehouse.

“It will be a place we can call our own.” Jake insisted. “It will also serve as inspiration and privacy when we feel up to working on the letter.”

The letter had become a full-blown project, already taking up weeks to develop. We didn’t even consider it about Sheila Lamone anymore, if Jake even remembered the girl; no—the letter had become our own personal activity and trophy, our proud accomplishment that reflected days of perseverance and thoughtfulness and hard work. It was half done, at least.

“It can be our refuge, as well as our hideout.”

“Like a secret clubhouse?” I wrinkled my nose.

“Exactly.” Jake beamed at me. “Our own little secret clubhouse." 

We got to work immediately, with Harry helping us get all the wood and supplies we would need from the hardware store. He did most of the heavy lifting but did allow us to hammer some nails in and screw them tight with his old rusty wrenches. I had never built anything like this before in my whole life; I hadn’t even seen a treehouse up close ever before. But all I know is, from the expression on Harold Maury, and the nearly identical one framed on Jake, that house must have been something near fabulous.

Eh, I guess building architectural types was just one of those proud boy moments I’d never understand.

The treehouse was square in shape, about the size of your normal downstairs lavet. I was hesitant about not having a bathroom installed, but Jake was insistent that the piping would not work with the aesthetic facet of the entire project. Besides, he insisted, if I was going to be such a sissy about it, I could climb down and use the one in the main house.

We painted the roof baby blue like a Robin’s egg, Jake and I picked the color out at Al’s ourselves. The doorframe was also a beautiful shiny red, in honor of my favorite color, although I didn’t see the point of a doorframe when we didn’t even have a door. I guess that was also a part of the aesthetic facet, as Jake liked to call it.

One of the first thing we added was a big homemade wooden plaque right above the doorframe that read, “JAKE & MAGGIE ASSOCIATES CO.” I wanted to call it “the clubhouse” but Jake insisted the prior was much more professional. It read just like his father’s plaque that he kept above his office, only his read “THOMAS MAURY AND ASSOCIATES FIRM.” We didn’t know what firm really meant, other than it relating to court rooms and lawyer stuff, but Jake and I sure as rain weren’t lawyers so we decided “company” was the closest to it and settled with it. Under that big homemade sign, which Harry helped out with the spelling for, we added our own special touch: NO PARENTS ALLOWED, originally reading “NO ADULTS ALLOWED.” Although Jake and I both agreed on a strict members only policy, we thought it unfair to exclude Harry from the house, who, while being a practically adult was most certainly not a parent, considering he did carry the greater load in building it in the first place. Plus, who else would bring us sketch paper and pencils when we needed to draw up additional blueprints?

Now that we had an official clubhouse, we had a lot of work to get done, Jake declared. There was the drawing up of rules, the constitution, the assignment of roles, and the annual town meetings to conduct.

“As I’m older and smarter and more mature and all, I should be president,” Jake stated boldly.

I disagreed; as the more creative, imaginative, and “youthful” half of our dynamic duo, I thought I would make a much better lead. However, Jake protested, the reason we were building this tree house in the first place was partially to make up for the loss of the great sycamore, which was mainly his love and pride, and so this fort was to be constructed largely for his solace. Furthermore, he had more experience in the field of leadership, occasionally sharing the role of team captain with Brody for night ball games. I didn’t know too much about the night games, considering Mom never liked me staying out that late to watch the boys (bedtime was at eight pm sharp) but I took Jake’s word for it, him claiming that he was captain at all.