The Boy

You might know who I am. Many of you have read about me and one of my oldest friends, Tree. My name is Boy.

It’s recently come to my attention that Tree’s story has been twisted by some in order to paint a picture of me that is not only unflattering, but downright libelous. 

I want to be clear, I’ve read Tree’s account. I don’t disagree with anything in it. Her words are beautiful. But taken alone, without any additional context, it’s rather easy to come to some hasty conclusions about my character. And hers.

Tree’s story is missing some important details that I think give a clearer picture of our friendship. I am not a villain. And Tree was not some kind of weak willed, wistful, sucker. She is the kindest, most generous friend I’ve ever known. 

This is my side of the story. 

Growing up, I was a lonesome child. I didn’t have any siblings, and, as you can imagine, living on an apple orchard meant we were fairly isolated from neighbors. It wasn’t like I could go next door and ask another kid to play with me. 

My mother and father were busy all the time. I don’t think either of them were really happy, but they tried to fake it for my sake. When I met Tree, it kind of changed everything. Life at home was still hard sometimes… most of the time. But I had someone to help me stand under that weight. 

When I was 10, my mom and dad finally split up. I spent more and more time away because my parents shared custody. But I visited Tree every time I was with Dad at the orchard. 

Even after Dad sold the land, I saved for months to pay the new owner not to bulldoze Tree. I lied to Tree from a (probably naive) desire to protect her from the truth.  It wasn’t until much later that I would learn firsthand what I was trying to protect Tree from: Survivor’s Guilt. 

I took Tree’s apples and sold them at a roadside stand. I was young and stupid and I didn’t understand the value of land or money, but the developer was so touched by my offer of $53.47 cents (delivered predominantly in singles and self-rolled dimes), she agreed to save Tree.

I went off to college. I was sure that, with the right degree, I could get the right job; with the right job, I could afford to buy back the land and replant my dad’s old orchard. I could bring back the past. But as I tried, the future crept up on me.

By the time I returned, the houses had gone up and urban sprawl had encroached on this once sacred place. I saw then that there was nothing I could do to turn things back, so I was determined to buy a home nearby. Sadly, I’d been priced out of the market. 

When Tree offered me her branches, I knew the limbs from one apple tree wouldn’t be enough to build a house. But I could see how much it meant to her for me to accept. So I did. I couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking I didn’t still need her. 

I used the branches to start a business. I whittled them into intricate, miniature models of Tree. I actually met my wife when she came into my shop to buy one. She was beautiful and full of life, and I fell for her hard.

I confess, when I had a family, I didn’t make time for Tree. Life has a way of giving you new priorities and keeping you from old ones. I never forgot her, but neither did I visit her. I do regret this. But I don’t regret the life we had together, my wife and I. I don’t regret the three beautiful children we had.

When an act of God took them all from me, I was bitter. I felt cheated. I went back to Tree, the only friend I felt I could rely on. But alas, she is a tree. How many years had she stood before I met her? How many years after I was gone would she be standing there still? When she asked me to play as I had when I was a child, I convinced myself that she couldn’t truly understand the fleeting nature of human life.  

To me, it had been nearly a lifetime since I had the vigor to run and jump and play. To Tree, it had only been the passing of a few seasons; a blip on a timeline too vast to compare to my own. She could sense the sadness in my eyes, the pain snatching my breath away. 

When I asked for a boat, I don’t know what I expected. But when her tender answer offered me everything she had left, it soothed my anger. Even now, at my lowest point, Tree was looking out for me. 

I know I probably should have said no, but then again, who was I to turn away a gift so glorious and willingly offered?

I carved the trunk into a little canoe. I didn’t sail far away, but I did spend many more years apart from Tree. 

Mornings on the lake, watching the sunrise, communing with nature—It brought me healing that I was sure would remain forever beyond my reach. When I made peace with God and with myself, I returned to Tree, and…

Well, I suspect you know the rest.