"The Oak"
Jordan Lauf
Jennings PTA
Fairfield, CT
I ran, fists pumping, my hair whipping across my face. Tears ran down my face like a waterfall, leaving marks on my cheeks because my face was covered with dirt. I could feel the holes in my jeans growing bigger by the second, but I didn't care. I was headed for my favorite place in the world: the oak tree.
I dropped myself in its cool shade, the leaves whispering BE STRONG, BE STRONG. They had done it again. Those good for nothing losers had again teased me about my family, about my disabled mother, about my unable- to - make - money father, my weak, old grandmother, and me. The girl with raven black hair and robins eggs blue eyes, The girl who liked math, reading, and writing. The poor girl who didn't fit in.
I felt that the tree was the only thing that was always there in my life. My house wasn't always there. We've moved lots of times. My mother was never all there, shouting out random words or saying things that didn't make any sense at all. you never knew when Grandma would be there. Sometimes she would know me, and sometimes she would just stare off into space, caught between worlds. My dad would be out more than he would be in, looking for jobs, begging on streets, anything to make enough money for that night's supper. Sometimes I felt as though even I wasn't all there, thinking about the life I'd like to lead.
But that tree was always there for me. That old oak tree was always there for me. Sometimes, I would pretend to be a rich princess, hiding from robbers in the trees branches. Or maybe a hobo, my home in the trees. It was getting dark. Sighing, I headed for home.
* * * *
" Flybean!!" my mother screamed as I walked in the door. She sat in her wheel chair, eyes rolling. Grandma sighed. "She gets worse everyday."
Dropping my backpack on the dirt-covered floor, I asked, " Is Dad home?" Grandma shook her head sadly. "He saw a help wanted ad in the newspaper and is having a job interview." She threw me the NEW YORK TIMES. "Here, you'd better hide it before that father of your gets anymore crazy ideas." I was about to throw it in the rusty metal trashcan when an article caught my eye. It read:
OLD TREE COMES DOWN
The owners of Salisbury Park, Mr. And
Mrs. Salisbury, have decided to cut
down an old tree in the center of
the park. "We're making a biking path,"
said Mr. Salisbury when our reporter asked him.
"People have been complaining that they
just can't bike on our lush, thick grass,
and we can't have our visitors unhappy, can we?"
COUNTINUED ON PAGE A2
I looked at the picture underneath the article. My tree.
* * * *
That night I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, trying to think of ways to save my tree. The door opened, and my dad was home. His beard was scraggly, as he hadn't shaved in a while. His blue eyes glistened with tears, and I knew he was thinking about my mother. I started to snore, and pretended that I was asleep. I opened my eyes just a tiny bit. He had plopped down in a chair with a coffee. I shut my eyes, and again began to plan.
As soon as my dad was snoring, I threw on a t-shirt and jeans, gathered some essentials, and wrote a quick note. Then I ran.
Once I was there, I had trouble deciding what to do. It was too early to start: there were no trucks. So I climbed up the tree, rested my head in the branches, and fell asleep.
* * * *
In the morning, it took me a while to realize where I was. " Over here!!" a boy about my age ran toward me, arms out, and ready to receive the football that was headed his way. " Hey! We can finish that tree house we started!" I looked up and saw the start of a small shack in the tree. They bareley acknowledged me, nodding to let me know that it was okay for me to stay. Gradually, more and more people came, some resting in the shade, one boy playing Tarzan and swinging from branch to branch. I soon realized that it wasn't my tree. It was our tree. And I knew that we could save it. If Mr. Salisbury knew how much this tree meant to everyone, surely he would not be heartless and cut it down. I got everyone together, and explained our problem.
* * * *
The trucks seemed to appear out of nowhere, but we were ready for them. "WE WANT OUR TREEE!! THIS IS WHAT OUR TREE, MEANS TO ME!!!!" The tree house boy said, " I 'm makin' a tree house!!" The little boy shouted, " I use it for Tarzan!!" A girl in glasses exclaimed, " I use it for homework!!!" A pair of twins chirruped, " I use it for fun!!" My turn. My heart skipped a beat. I managed to blurt out, " And I use it to get, out of the sun!!" That wasn't even close to what that tree meant to me, but it would have to do. We all shouted, "WE WANT OUR TREE. AND IF YOU WANT TO CUT IT DOWN, YOU'LL HAVE TO CUT DOWN ME!!!!!!" And up into the tree we went. The rest of the day was a blur. Mr. Salisbury flew into a terrible rage, but still, we stayed up. Many parents tried to coax us down with honey sweet voices, but still, we stayed up. We stayed up while reporters interviewed us, (in the tree, of course). We stayed up until Mr. Salisbury finally gave up, and scratching his baldhead, said that he would make his biking path around the tree. A great cheer arose from us kids, starving and willing to leave. Only I stayed. I stayed until my father came, worried but eager to tell me the good news. He had gotten a job, and he promised that life would be better now. Before leaving, I needed to have one last moment with our tree for the day. Wrapping my arms around its knobby trunk, I pressed my ear to its bark. THANK YOU. It whispered. THANK YOU. " You're welcome. You're welcome."
