The Highest Branch
Daniel Yetman November 29 2013
Two starlings flutter among the top branches of an oak tree towering
over the city street. They sit, perched high above the power lines and gaze
upon the passersby. They tweet melodically back and forth in a language that
seems nonsensical—a series of chords that they both tend to understand. They
give a curious glance to all those who walk below, even the most nondescript of
figures who leave the nearby stores.
At the base of the tree a man, who incidental goes by
the name of Thomas, caresses the bark of the tree in much the same way he did
the last time he stood in this spot. However, on his last visit his stature did
not reach five feet tall—he was a boy, lost and confused. Today, he
scrutinizing the tree with lust in his eyes, for this tree represents so much
more than a statuesque series of leaves and branches. This tree holds the key
to his heart. This tree is the cause of his rumination and inner toil. He lets
his hand slip from the bark, reluctantly, until only his fingertips remain in
contact. He stands with his head tilted towards the top branches, watching the
birds flicker and roost among that leaves.
As far as trees go,
this one is certainly an oddity. It is probably the only spot in the entire
city that the sidewalk is interrupted to make way for a living being. The base
of the tree is about a meter in diameter—the sidewalk splits in half, around
the trunk, and reforms again at the other side. It is an unusual sight,
considering it rests on a street in the heart of the city. It seems
appropriately out of place compared to the lamp posts and power lines that droop
precariously close to its bottom branches
Thomas shutters in
surprise as another hand comes to rest upon his. He finds himself in contact
with fingers much more delicate and slender than his own. He swivels his head
to meet her gaze, and is already smiling even before their eyes meet.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asks, in
reference to his initial unsettlement.
“Of course,” he responds. “I
just forgot I was here with a beautiful woman, is all. The last time I was
here…The last time I glanced upon these leaves, and this monumental statue
before us, I was quite alone. In fact, not even in my most ravenous and tangent
of dreams could I have ever imagined that I would one day stand here again with
you, somebody whose image keeps me awake when I desperately need to sleep…
Somebody who perpetually steals my conscious thoughts and whose presence alone
makes me feel like the luckiest person alive.”
He weaves his fingers between
hers and guides her towards the footing of the tree, where they both sit.
“I remember coming
here as a boy, with you. We couldn’t have been any more than twelve years old.
I remember gazing upon this tree with a curious visage. I put my hand upon the
bark, just like today.” He runs his fingers down her arm before resting his
hand in the nook between her shoulder blades.
“I was instantly taken aback by the stature of the being before me. I vowed to come back someday, holding your hand, and it looks like I very much succeeded.”
“I was instantly taken aback by the stature of the being before me. I vowed to come back someday, holding your hand, and it looks like I very much succeeded.”
She smiles, and glances back
at him with sly amusement. “But why this tree? Why here? Surely there are trees
far larger than this one, there are trees more lush and full of colour.”
“Perhaps… But this tree
radiated an aura that I cannot describe—I could tell even from the first time I
rested my hand against the bark that my soul had become a wedded part of this
form. This tree once stood alongside its brethren, creating a lush forest that
was home to countless species of birds and other small animals. The park that
was once here lived a short life. Perhaps it was greed, or perhaps it was just
the natural course of events that was bound to take place. But one by one the
timber fell. I watched—we watched—as a tornado of houses, barber shops and
grocery stores tore the park apart. Little by little, the tree that we were
destined to protect was reaching its demise.”
“But still it stands,” she
says, perhaps for no other reason than to show that she is attentive.
“Serendipity is a beautiful
thing sometimes.”
“Are you saying it was luck,
then?”
“Perhaps a little bit of
contrived luck, I suppose…” Thomas says while drifting off into a memory.
***
The forest is silent, as the first rays of sun begin the gleam through
the tips of the greatest saplings. The sun breaks apart the nightly shadow as
it climbs high in the sky. There is one lone cicada making a summer noise that
only cicadas can create—a high pitched insectoid buzzing. Thomas watches from
the branches of his favorite summertime spot as men with hard hats and chainsaws
begin to unload their trucks, preparing to continue the termination of what
Thomas recognizes as a beautiful place to be. Already, the trees that once
stood east of here lie in a pile of woodchips that may continue to grow.
One man in particular,
with an evil set of eyes, gives Thomas a loathing look before stomping out his
cigarette beneath his work boot. An odds mixture of nervousness and turmoil
plagues Thomas as he clings to the comfort of the branch he rests his backside
upon.
“Thomas!” A distinctly female
voice calls out, seemingly from thin air. He looks around, not seeing where his
name had been called from, although he knows definitively from whom the voice
belongs.
“Sarah!” he echoes, as she
races up the bottom few branches. When she becomes near he offers her his hand
and helps hoist her to the branch he is sitting on.
“Have they started yet?” she asks.
Thomas does not respond at first, not because he is unsure of how to answer but
rather because he is so tongue tied that his speech evades him to no end. Pretty
girls tend to have that effect on him. He struggles to find the words that
should easily be spit from his mouth but instead seem to stick to his teeth and
linger.
“Have they started yet?” she
asks again.
“No they haven’t,” he finally
responds. It is a dastardly curse, being unable to speak freely with the one
person he would like to communicate with the most.
She smiles, and seems to inch nearer, but
perhaps that is an illusion created by Thomas’ wishful thinking. The construction
crew below the tree turn their attention to the two kids dangling above their
heads, not looking pleased that their job has been delayed.
“Come on down from there!” One
of them yells. “It’s not safe.”
Sarah puts her hand over
Thomas’ hand. “They’re just trying to get us to climb down. Don’t listen to
them.” He nods in the affirmative, but in all honesty, no matter what she said,
he would have probably nodded in agreement—the feeling of her light touch is
enough to send a shiver down his spine and nearly knock him from the branch.
“We have work to do, come on!”
They continue to yell with clearly building frustration.
“What if they cut it down
anyway, with us in it?” she asks.
“They won’t,” Thomas responds
with certainty.
A crowd of people begins to form below, as they all cluster to examine
the scene that is beginning to develop. Thomas reaches into a lunch box hanging
in front of him. He reaches in and pulls out a sandwich wrapped in a plastic
bag. He takes one of the triangular halves and passes it to Sarah. She gladly accepts
it and soon the two of them fill their mouths with peanut butter and jelly,
while jovially throwing crumbs to the witnesses standing below.
One
of the workers grabs a chainsaw and pulls the cord. It rumbles and cuts the
tranquility of the midsummer morning. Sarah shifts nearer to Thomas once again,
this time he knows that her motion is not a figment of his imagination. He
inches his hand towards hers as the man with the saw walks towards the roots.
“What if we die here?” she
asks sincerely. At first Thomas assumes that she is joking, but her arms begin
to shake and he can tell that there are goosebumps forming on her skin. Little
does he know that she is bound by the same passion he is, and that her apparent
fear is not of their immediate demise but from excitement—anticipation. Thomas
foolishly believes that she is naive enough to believe that the men hovering
twenty feet below will actually sacrifice both of their lives for the sake of cutting
down a tree. As well, he is foolish enough to believe that she is here for the
sole purpose of protecting this tree, and not to sit next to him.
“We won’t die here. I won’t
let them cut it down,” he says innocently, trying to comfort her. Somewhere
from deep within he finds courage that surely must belong to another person—for
not in his wildest fantasies is he able to put his arm around her and bring her
near. He blinks once, to make sure he is not asleep, and he blinks again to
make sure he did not fall from the branches and is lying on his death bed far
from here—far from her. But no, she is indeed next to him, leaning precariously
on the same offshoot that they’ve been on all morning. Truly, it is her
heartbeat that he feels pulsating through her sweater and his own that causes
the tree to shake with a perpetual /textit{thump,
thump}.
The man with the chainsaw
places it against the trunk to feign cutting it down. Thomas and Sarah are lost
in a moment that cannot be separated by hints of death or falling—for they are
falling, but not to the ground. They are diving deeper into each other’s eye
and becoming lost in a lust that both of them are too young to understand.
“I have never met anyone like
you,” says Thomas.
“What do you mean?” asks Sarah.
“I never met anybody with such
a kind heart as you. I have never met anybody who makes me feel the way that
you make me feel.”
“We can’t die yet,” responds Sarah.
“Why’s that?”
“I haven’t even had my first
kiss yet.”
“I can change that…” responds
Thomas. For years afterwards, whenever Thomas would tell the story of the
pretty girl he kissed in the oak tree, he left out the fact that his voice was
shaking so much that he had to tell her twice.
“I can change that…” he says
again.
Keeping one hand on the tree
for balance, he migrates his right arm, which is still wrapped around her lithe
figure, to her right cheek. He drapes a lock of her dark hair across her face
and tucks it behind her ear, like he saw in a movie once. He shifts his weight
towards her, and puckers his lips into a loose oval shape. He’s nearly falls
from his seat, and incidentally, he nearly misses her lips. But somehow the
gesture is met and her lips find their way to his.
He is not sure what to say
when their faces finally part, so he says, “Thank you.” She giggles and dismisses
his sentiment.
Both of them have forgot about
their audience below—and the man still pretending to cut down the oak tree. They
forgot about the walkers who have stopped to observe the show. Sarah looks to
the crowd bashfully, regaining he previously coy disposition. Thomas eyes the
crowd until he notices a boy he recognizes from his homeroom class. The boy
gives him a subtle nod which Thomas replicates. It is an unwritten code of
respect between two twelve year old men.
Sarah rests her head on his
shoulder and his arm regains its previous position around her body, with a mind
of its own. They remain in each other’s embrace, speaking in soothing tones and
enjoying each other’s company until the sun begins to show signs of falling
from the sky. The early evening brings long shadows and the workers, who have
cut down every other tree in the immediate vicinity, pack their tools and head
back to their dwellings, fitfully putting this entire day behind them. Sarah
and Thomas don’t dare regain their footing on the ground until they are absolutely
positive that they are left alone.
“Finally, they’re gone,” says
Sarah.
“It’s been a long day, I didn’t
think they’d ever leave.”
“Do you think that they will
be back again tomorrow?”
“Oh, more than definitely,”
says Thomas.
“Then I guess I will see you
again tomorrow,” she says with a warm smile. She kisses Thomas on the cheek and
skedaddles back to her house to have dinner with her parents. Thomas places a
hand on his cheek, and he can feel his entire face become flush and crimson.
The entire walk home he is plagued with a stupid grin which he just cannot seem
to wipe from his face.
***
“Oh wow… That was one hell of a summer, wasn’t it?” As soon as she asks
Thomas’ face begins to blush.
Thomas looks down with a shy
smile upon his lips, “Yes, it was.”
The two of them turn their
heads systematically as two pigeons land about four feet above them.
“But why…” he begins to ask. “Why
did you have to leave?”
“I didn’t want to, but I didn’t
have much choice in the matter. One day my parents told me we were moving, what
could I do?”
“You could have moved in with
me. We could have gotten bunk beds. It would have been amazing.”
“If only…”
“But I am incredibly grateful
that we found each other in the end. I can’t imagine my life without you. In
fact…”
He takes her hand and drags
her to her feet. He scampers up to the first branch of the tree, still holding
her hand.
“You can’t be serious!” she
exclaims. “Thomas, we are not twelve years old anymore!” She can barely get her
words out through her laughter.
“Oh, come on now.” The two of them climb as
high as they dare. If they climbed any higher they may start to tread
dangerously close to the power lines. They end up on a branch that looks suspiciously
similar to the one from fifteen years prior.
“I came back, you know.”
“I know.”
“I came back so often… I felt
that if I returned to this spot that somehow maybe you would come back too. I
missed you so very much, I would sit here and pray that you would be brought
back to me. I watched as the tree that we once sat in together became more and
more out of place. Now there is a city here! I never would have dreamed that we
would be sitting here staring at the roof of a grocery store!” He takes a deep
breath to continue his soliloquy.
“But Sarah, as much as I know
the sun must rise I know that I want you in my life. Seeing your smile—yes,
that’s the one—reminds me of why I wake. I’m so incredibly happy that you returned.
I am so thankful for your kindness and all that you have given to me. I know
that I need you in my life to survive.” He reaches into his pocket and subtly
pulls a ring from his pocket. It is carefully crafted to appear as two gold leaves
intertwined.
“When we first met, when we
were kids, I was so nervous whenever I tried to speak to you my voice would quiver
and I became dizzy just thinking about you. I assumed that would go away as we
got to know each other. I assumed it would go away after our first kiss. It
didn’t. Even today I’m still shaking and I feel as though I have been stricken by
a case of vertigo powerful enough to knock me out of this tree.
“Sarah, my love, will you—”
“Yes!” She
instantly grabs hold of him, nearly knocking the two of them from the sky. They
lock in an amorous embrace that doesn’t end until they look to the sidewalk
below and notice that, once again, they have created a scene. There are about
fifteen people standing around the base of the tree, some of them looking angry—perturbed
by the audacity the two people sitting in the branches. Most people however
seem amused and a little bit jealous that it hadn’t occurred to them to climb
aboard.
“Sarah… I am
so incredibly grateful—” She puts her index finger on his lips with a wide
smile.
“Let the
moment be… Let us just let the moment be…”
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