Story Part 5 - Under the Willow Tree

I LOOKED IN THE direction where Satchel went but he was no where in
sight. I furrowed my eyebrows.
That was weird, he was just here a minute ago. I jumped when the back
door slammed open by the wind. By now the sunwas nearing its end,
setting over the hills painting the sky a mesmerizing hue.
A light brush of wind swept my hair as I stepped outside into the
yard. I squinted when I could make out a red flagfluttering in the
distance.
I followed it as my navigation point.
My high heels stuck into the grass making me grunt and moan. I had to
remind myself that I'd have to buy some more as the gritty mud would
devalue them to zero.
I shivered a little. I really should have put a jacket on. I was still
in my blousse.
The tiny hutt was visible now as well as Point Lakeand I marveled at
how a few pieces of wood had turned into such an architectural
structure.
It started out with a few tiny pieces of wood that sat crookedly on the ground.
Satchel and I made it partof our pact that we'd transform it into an
enormous hide out. Now it was a tree hutt sitting high in the willow
tree.
The thick trunk knotted around loosely, while theleaves draped to the
ground. The weeping willow tree.
My name sake so my grams used to say. My real mom loved coming here,
sitting under it to read. I'd looked alot like her, but she died a few
hours after having me. She died of a fever. Not so much I knew about
that, my father refused tospeak of her. If it weren'tfor my Grams, I'd
probably know next to nothing about her.
I ached to know her and what it would be like to meet her. I guess I
got myfix by visiting this tree. My dad married a year later like he'd
banished her memory and moved on.
I let my finger skim over the scratched letters that were carved in the trunk.
S.M & H.G was hea Jun 16 1978
I smiled. My parents, Sherri Micheals, my mom and my dad Henry
Garrison ingraved their names in here when theyfirst moved here. They
promised to marry as soon as I was born, but I guess, life had a
differentplan for the two of them.
I moved my eyes further down the trunk and caught myself laughing at
the messy kid writing Ihad done when I was five.
W.G & S.H was hea Feb 1996
Satchel and I had markedour spot here too. I sat down and over-looked
the horizon. Orange and pink brushed over the sky. It was beautiful.
"You really shouldn't sit there, not unless you want to ruin your
pretty clothes. I hear it can get alittle dirty around here." Ialmost
jumped out of my skin. I turned to the voice. It was Satchel.
His hair was hanging freeagain, shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his
piercing gaze reflected nicely with the sunset, he'd gotten himself
dirty...again. I shrugged.
"Figured they'll get dirty from the wind. So I didn'treally see the
point in trying." I said avoiding his eyes. He scoffed.
"That bad?" I grimaced.
No it was worst, but sitting here was nice. Peaceful. I almost missed
this feeling. Having dreams beyond the horizon, Wanting to be somebody
you wanted tobe instead of what other people expected you to be. I
sighed.
New York had shaped meinto a lot of things, but I never thought I'd be
someone I didn't like. Too many people wanting me to be somebody and
I'd been so overwhelmed with pressure I'd changed my whole lifestyle
to fit in.
I had a boyfriend that was more into himself than he was with me. A
BFF that I was sure was sleeping with him, and a life that existed of
cheerleading and mindless parties.
Sitting here made me think of what I'd dreamed of being when Iwas
little. A writer. But that dream was lost and gone with the wind. It
was all about status nowadays. Looks and fashion only went so far. If
you had wealth? You had the world at the tip of your fingers. Or so I
thought.
He pointed to the groundbeside me. "May I?" I shrugged.
"Free country." I muttered.
I skimmed my hands overmy arms and shivered slightly. It was getting cold.
"Here. I promise it's not dirty." he said handing me his jacket. I
eyed him warily and almost smiled.
Here I was being a rude little brat and this boy sitting next to me
was worried I'd get a cold. I took it and he helped me with it,
draping it over my shoulders. The heat instantly warming me.
"I never picked you for the gentleman type." I said a moment later. He shrugged.
"I never picked you for the spoilt type either." Heteased and a smirk
twitched at his lips. I sighed.
"Yeah well, people change." He nodded and looked out over at the sun
that was dipping lower.
"That they do." he agreed. We sat in silence for a while just drinking
in the sunset. I'd almost thought it was romantic, if my head wasn't
so caught up in my life.
"Can I ask you something?" I turned to him in earnest. He furrowed his eyebrows.
"Shoot." I pursed my lips.
"Do you think...that maybe if my mom was still alive, I'd be a
different person? I'd be easier to be around?"
"Ah..." I shook my head.
"You know what? Don't answer that. I already know what I'm like. I'm
reminded of it everyday in New York." I said finally.
"What are they saying?"
"That I'm a self centered bitch with lots of money. Sometimes I think
if anyone really likes me forme you know? Instead of some girl with
gold."
"Well, they obviously don't know the real Willy.The one I remember
didn't care what other people thought about her. She was the same girl
I used to chase around this tree." I giggled and blushed at the same
time.
God that was one of my favorite memories. Satchel singing to me. He
carried a tune even back then.
"I remember that. Even that silly song you used to sing, how does it
go? Under the willow tree..." Istarted humming the restbecause I had
forgotten the words. I almost gasped as he finished it. He sang.
"-my Willow is waiting for me...eyes that sparkle tenderly, sleepy
hollow mystery...my heart goes wild when she looks at me...because...I
finally found my Willow, sitting under the willow tree..."
His sweet voice gave me butterflies.
My ears could listen to him singing forever. It was sensual and
soothingat the same time. A lot deeper and huskier than the boy who
used to singit to me wriggling his fingers at me as he chased me
around the tree.
"God, how'd you remember the words?" I marveled. It had been so long
ago I'd only remembered one line.
He cleared his throat as ifhe were embarrassed. Then he lifted his
head and looked at me with those light green eyes of his. Hair falling
in his long eyelashes. He smiled.
"Because I wrote them."

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And Allah Knows the Best!

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Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA

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