#mapletree
I slid into the kitchen in my bleached white socks as my mother sways to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon at the stove. The amber glow of 6 am melts across the kitchen; the bountiful red maple tree leaves are on the brink of draping across the lawn. I plopped myself down on the couch to watch my cartoons and enjoy my buttery pancake breakfast.
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10 years since the move, I drive by. My brother has since sold the house as well, and a new family parks its car in the cobblestone driveway. The tree looks small and dull. I don't remember it ever looking that way as a child.
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Stumbling down the maple out front, for what seems to be the hundredth time, I add another scar to my legs, pausing and darting right back up to admire the boys playing soccer next door.
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I still can't stand the look of my bare legs in short dresses.
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We gather green leaves to concoct a “soup” of leaves and flowers. We giggle and serve our concoction to my older brother. He holds the spoon to his mouth and rubs his stomach, laughing and leaving a raving review of me and Grace's "restaurant".
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Grace and I lost touch after a fight over a mutual crush on William in the 3rd grade who we made a pact neither of us could marry. We signed the contract in my pink barbie diary at our 4:00 meeting spot after school, under the maple tree.
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I desperately itched to roam the block, or I itched because of the cheap polyester of my witch costume. I stood under the tree waiting for the neighborhood kids to gather in front of my house to begin our hunting route for the fancy full-size candy bars. Julie’s mom threw a jacket over her shoulders, destroying the essence of her Princess Ariel dress.
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The cat got out and must have attacked him that morning. My eyes burned with tears as I ran to my mother's arms; I had never seen anything like this before. A wild rabbit was torn apart under the tree. This sight caused me to avoid the tree for a while… as well as the cat.
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My father tossed the rake on the lawn, giving up on the task. He despised cleaning up the leaves.
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The boxes were packed up and scattered; there was no Christmas tree that year. My father gathers me and a few lingering strands of lights to drape upon the bare winter branches of the maple tree out front. A makeshift tree will have to satisfy this year since my brother and his wife already began moving in their belongings as we prepare to hand over the key to them.
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The clean pink bedroom, with the beautiful view of the maple tree was destroyed. I walked in from school and there were strange men painting my walls. My brother hired painters and my father packed all my belongings, with no chance to say goodbye. I picked up a small pink paint chip and slid it into my pocket before I walked out into the hall in shock.
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I picked a leaf from the front lawn when no one was looking.
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Both the paint chip and dry leaf reside in the current scrapbook under my bed.
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Our new house had no tree for me to climb.
Apr 27, 2022
Apr 27, 2022 at 2:16 PM UTC