The Tree

It’s two weeks since I’ve left my room.

Two weeks well worth it.

It all started on a sunny June morning. I was down at the river skipping rocks. Johnny Richards happened by just then and saw the fun I was having.

“Can I try?”

I shrugged. “Up to you,” I said, skipping a smooth stone.

“I bet I can do it better,” he said. I bet he could too, but I would never let on.

“Show me,” I said, disinterested.

Johnny scoured the shore for the perfect stone. After a few minutes he held it up, triumphantly, as though he’d just found a pirate’s treasure. He licked his lips as he stepped to the edge of the water. He flicked his wrist once or twice, like he was practicing the whole thing. Then, quick as a flash, he let the rock fly.

It glided smoothly to the middle of the river, splashing in eight even leaps like a baby tiptoeing across glass.

“Not bad,” I told him.

“Not bad is right! I bet you can’t top that.” He was beaming. He knew he had me.

I picked up the nearest rock, tossing it in my hand once or twice.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve been skipping rocks all morning. There’s no fun left in it.”

“You just know you can’t win,” he accused, wiping his nose on his dirty plaid shirt.

“No, no. I’m just saying, before you came along, I was sitting here looking up at that oak tree. See how tall it is? Hangs right over the water.”

Johnny’s eyes traveled up, up, up to the green canopy above us. Truth be told, it was one of my favorite trees. I had always sat and admired it when I was fishing or skipping rocks. It was like a giant keeping watch over me.

“So?” he shrugged.

“So, I think it’d be fun to climb up into it and fish. What do you say?”

Now I had him! Johnny’s eye lit up. There was nothing in the world he liked better than fishing. He had forgotten all about trying to outdo me at skipping stones, making his way to the massive trunk.

“We’d need poles,” he hesitated.

“Got ‘em,” I said, pointing to my two favorite poles perched on a rock nearby. “I brought both in case the fish were biting one and not the other.”

“How do we get started?” We both stopped to gaze at the long, straight trunk before us. The lowest limb was nearly nine feet up.

“I’ve been giving this some thought,” I said. “There’s that big log over there, see? I think we can roll it over this way to give us a head start. If I kneel on it, I bet you could climb on my back and just reach that first branch. Could you do it?”

Johnny shrugged, hitching up his jeans. “Only one way to know,” he said.

Together we pushed and heaved the enormous fallen log. It was heavier than I imagined, and by the time we had wrestled it to the base of the oak, we were winded. We collapsed onto it, fanning ourselves with our hands.

“It sure is hot!” Johnny griped. I couldn’t disagree.

“What do you say we stop for a swim?” I looked longingly at the clear water.

“Now that’s a plan! Last one in is a rotten egg!” With that, Johnny splashed into the water ahead of me, shirt tossed carelessly into the bushes. His jeans were still on, and if he had been wearing shoes, I was sure he’d have splashed right into the water with them.

I took a moment to drape my shirt over a tree branch, stripping down to my undergarments. I smiled as the cool water lapped my toes, then dove into the deepest part of the river where Johnny was already splashing and thrashing.

“Dirty, rotten egg!” he called. I waved him off.

We swam and floated to our heart’s content, refreshed by the crystal-clear water. Finally cooled, we waded back to the rocky shore.

“How about climbing that tree, then?” Johnny asked, wringing water from his pant legs.

“Worth a shot!” I said. I got down on all fours on the wide tree log, steadying myself with my hands and knees. “All right, climb on up onto my back.”

Johnny hugged the oak’s trunk, stepping carefully up onto me. He wobbled once or twice and nearly toppled off.

“Can you reach?” I called up to him, breathless beneath his weight.

“Just,” he said. I felt the load on my back lighten slightly. There was a scuffling and scratching sound as he struggled to pull his legs up into the tree. After several minutes, he called down, “Made it!”

“All right!” I said. “Now I’ll hand up the poles. You can lay them in the branches. Then just lay on your belly on that big branch there and help pull me up.”

It took some work, the next bit. For one, Johnny’s arms weren’t as long as I had hoped. For another, the fallen log was all slippery on account of us being wet when we climbed on it. I slipped and skidded and scraped my knees to pieces. But after a long struggle, we were both perched high up in the oak tree.

“Now this is living,” I sighed. The wind whispered through the branches. Our feet hung free, dangling in the afternoon sun. Down below, the water sparkled and shimmered like a sea of diamonds.

I reached for the poles, handing one to Johnny. We dropped our lines and watched the strings dance in the moving river. It was just about as perfect a June afternoon as I could dream up.

It wasn’t long before Johnny grew restless.

“The fish aren’t biting,” he complained.

“We’ve just started! All that splashing in the water—it’s going to take them some time to come over here.”

“Nah, it’s just not the day for fishing,” he insisted. He looked up at the scaffold of branches high above us. “Did you ever climb that high?

“Not me. Not that high.”

“I bet you couldn’t.”

“I bet I could,” I countered, “but why would I?”

He shook his head. “You’d be too scared.”

“If you’re so brave, why don’t you show me?” I snapped. Johnny swallowed hard. He looked up into the branches again. Then he nodded with a determined look.

“All right, I will.”

He stood carefully, balancing on the wide branch that had been our seat. The next limb wasn’t much higher, and he climbed it easily. He scampered up through the leaves until he was about five feet above me.

“This right here,” he called down, “this is the top of the world. You can see for miles from here!”

Just then the wind blew, rocking the tree like a cradle. A shriek escaped Johnny’s lips and he hugged the tree trunk.

“Is that as high as you’ll go?” I teased.

“It’s as high as anyone needs to go,” he retorted. “Unless you think you could do better. I bet you wouldn’t make it any higher.”

“Bet I could, if I wanted.”

“Bet you couldn’t and you’re too chicken to even try.” He was scared, which always made him angry.

“What if I do want?” I said as I stood to my feet.

I reached for the nearest branch, then the next and the next. I forced myself to look ahead, paying no mind to the shining waters farther and farther below. I reached the spot where Johnny still stood clinging to the side of the tree. Setting my jaw, I climbed on. Another branch, another step. It was easier as I climbed higher. The branches were closer and closer together.

“This is nothing!” I taunted. “Piece of cake!”

I swayed with the tree, feeling like I was practically at one with it. I didn’t even need to look at the branches now, I just reached out and there they were.

I stretched my arm high up, feeling the rough wood in my palm. I brought my foot up to join when I heard a creak! I shifted my weight uneasily, holding tight to the limb. Another creak, and then a pop, and then, CRASH!

There was a flurry of green and brown as I felt the ground rushing up to meet me. Hollow thud! sounds told me I was falling through the branches that had carried me so high into the tree, and I knew the pain would follow later. I was numb, falling through space. Flashes of light through the leaves whipped past me faster and faster until, SPLASH! I felt the coolness of the river envelope my whole body.

I never saw Johnny climb down from the tree, but by the time my head surfaced in the water, I could already see his silhouette against the skyline, rushing across the field toward home.

I laid still in the rippling waves, staring up to the sky and marveling that I was alive.

Before I knew it, faces appeared in the periphery of my view. Mom’s face was pinched and pale, and I knew she was planning my funeral in her mind. Dad was scowling at me already, though I could see the slightest glint in his eyes as he leaned over me.

“Son,” he called, touching my shoulder, “Son, are you all right?”

“I’m not sure, Dad,” I whispered. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Right here,” Johnny waded into the water meekly, like a newcomer in a Sunday morning service. “I’m here.”

“I told you,” I said weakly.

“Told me what?”

“I told you I could climb higher,” I grinned in spite of myself.

Two weeks of confinement. It seemed a fair punishment for such a reckless stunt. Once Dad knew I was alive, he was just about ready to kill me.

Two weeks. But every minute was worth it for the look in Johnny’s eyes.

I beat him. Once and for all.