literature

treegirl

Deviation Actions

Published: Apr 1, 2009

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Literature Text

_{There, in amongst the leaves of the tall tree in front of the post office, the one that I used to climb when I was a kid, was a girl.
Just sitting there, minding her own business. In a tree.

"Um, excuse me, but...you're sitting in a tree?"

I didn't know what else to say. It's not often you come across somebody who is at least sixteen years old sitting in between branches like an eight year old child.

"Yes." She smiled, and then just as cheerily, told me, "Don't make me fall or I'll kill you."

She chimed her words in a singsong tone, to totally contrast the harsh message of them. Leaning over to get a closer look, her auburn hair dangled down past the branches as she steadied herself with her tanned arm. She studied me with a frown while she peered at me through her kalidescope eyes. A marijuana joint dangled riskily in between her fingers.

"Are you just going to stand there and look at me, or were you going anywhere? Is this tree anything to you?"

I thought about it. I wasn't headed anywhere, really, just out for a walk, and I sort of wanted to stay with this strange girl. I decided I'd tell her about how I used to climb that tree many years ago.

"Well, I used to think of that tree as my tree-" I began to explain, but she interrupted me with a piercing glare.

Her eyebrows furrowed together into a full fledged scowl.

"No, this is my tree."

She paused for a second to tuck some hair that hadn't stayed in her headband behind her ears, then continued with her tree rant.

"What tree? There's no tree." A look of comprehension crept over her features. "Are you on drugs or something? Because if you're on drugs, it can make you see things."

Okay, now it was just getting crazy. She asked me if I was on drugs, when she was the one with the joint in her hand. The rising smoke only added to the effect that I was just dreaming some surreal event.

"That's pretty funny coming from a smoker. Besides, I used to climb this tree ages ago, but I'm not saying I own it. It belongs to the city." I didn't want to get mad at this...this TREEgirl, but she wasn't making any sense. I wasn't sure if I should be confused or interested, although I was pretty sure that I was feeling a bit of both at the moment.

"There's no tree, druggie boy. Byron. Whichever." How did she know my name? "But even if there was a tree, It'd be mine."

I stared up at her with what must have been an expression of abashment, but that didn't faze her one bit. Taking another puff of her joint, she slowly exhaled, letting the sweet smelling smoke drift over her face and up through the branches of the tree.

"I am a tree."

"If you're a tree," I responded, unsure of how she'd react, "you're sure a noisy tree. And a stoned one at that."

"Yeah," she smiled her Cheshire-cat grin, "but that's just the way I like it." She waved her hand in a shooing type of gesture. "Now leave, because this tree is mine."

I rolled my eyes.

"Do you have a deed to it, if it's yours?"

She sighed a loud, breathy sigh as if I had just said something incredibly stupid and I should have known better.

"Well," she explained, exasperated, "paper comes from trees, wood comes from trees, and you don't need deeds to prove you own them."

She had a point. Maybe it was the smoke getting to me, or maybe it was her multicolor eyes that would change from blue with little flecks of yellow to stone cold grey, but she was actually starting to make sense.

For one reason or another, though, now I really wanted to sit up in that tree like I did when I was a younger boy.

"Can I join you in" I decided to humor her a little, "your tree?"

"No." She stated it as if it was as plain as day. "It's my tree, and I'm using it."

"Oh." I was a bit disappointed, but I wouldn't give up that easliy. "Well, might I be able to borrow your tree?"

Her face lit up as if I was a child in class who had finally answered the question correctly.

"Of course, now that you ask!"

She descended the tree with the ease of a gymnast, and before I climbed up, she held out a scrap of colorful paper with a name and phone number written on it in loopy handwriting.

Melanie Nielson, 593-3214

I could only watch as she skipped off down the road, stopping to take small puffs of her joint every few steps.

I sat in the tree for a long time, hours maybe, until the shadows were getting long and the sun sank low in the sky. I held that scrap of paper in my hand the whole time, checking ever so often to make sure it was still there. The sweet smell of marijuana hung in the air, even hours after it should have faded, and I breathed it in, getting high off the scent. Staring off into the distance, not thinking of much in general, a sense of contentment wafted over me.

Once the night was falling over the street, I climbed down the tree and headed home, knowing exactly what I was going to do.

I was going to call Melanie.}