Among those people, there was born a child, whose heritable traits were just different enough from those whom he lived with to provide him with a distinct capability of evolution. His sensibility with emotion was superior to others of his blood, making him unrecognizably unique.
This boy, who was called the forgotten word meaning “aware” to his people, was of a curious type. When he reached 16 winters, he became continuously uncontainable. On many days, he would be nowhere in sight, unless sight was expanded beyond the boundaries of the village. While the village people were fearful to explore too far outside of their home, the boy would refuse this alarm, for he knew the worry of the people was unaccredited to any reason. His favorite location to visit was at a spot three miles up the river neighboring his home. The place was a wide open field, different from the forest area that surrounded the village on all sides. He would often lay down in the center of the field, and gaze up at the line of stars that spread across the night sky.
One day, when the weather was just starting to extend the perfect temperatures into a heat, known as the Warm Time, the boy went to his favorite field, and found something to be rather alarming. A small tree had rooted itself directly in the center, exactly where he would often lay down. Frustrated by the nerve of this tree and it’s desire to take over his post, the boy resolved to yank the tree out, and therefore protect his meadow from the invasion of any other tree that might have a similar idea. He marched to the sapling, and wrapped his hands around the thin trunk, and began to pull. As he threw his back into the effort, a yelp, like that of a young woman, reached his ears. Startled by the thought of another soul possibly being in his presence, the boy let go of the tree, stumbling backwards. He looked around for a moment, and found that nobody was nearby. Assuming that this was nothing more than an illusion, he returned himself to his position at the base of the tree, and prepared for his second assault. But again, a whimper reached his ears. This time, however, he realized that the sound was coming directly from the tree. He stared at the tree in astonishment, wondering if perhaps he was losing his reasoning. Yet the crying continued, eliminating from the plant.
“Please,” said a small voice, that of a girl, though age could not be determined, “please don’t do that again. For it puts a terrible strain on my roots, and I’m afraid that I may not be able to hold strong if your yanking continues.”
The boy again jumped back, landing on his rear end, unprepared for the speech that the tree had given. For it had never been heard of that a plant might talk.
“I’m sorry for startling you,” the tree apologized, still with the sound that tears might be in it’s eyes, had it any, “but I cannot silently sit by as you hurt me.”
“I-I’m sorry for pulling at you,” the boy returned, slowing regaining his composure. “It’s just that… this is my favorite place to watch the stars, and I didn’t want to lose it to yet another tree, for all of the rest have restricted my view of the sky.”
“I see…” the tree sadly replied, “I have been watching you lay here for ever so long. The way that you never fail to return, and the aura of happiness that illuminates from you. I assumed it must be a lovely place to be, so I resolved to plant myself here, too, so that I might sit alongside the boy who ever so loyally rests. I did not realize that my presence would be so unwelcome… for I wanted nothing more than to be beside you.”
Taken aback by the trees honest words of kindness, the boy was unable to speak for a moment. He meditated on the tree’s speech, and wondered just what it might mean.
Again, the tree spoke, “I wanted to know and understand you more. I wanted to be beside you, and perhaps, one day, if your loyalty was everything that it seemed to be from my watching place at the edge of the meadow, release myself from the everlasting spirit of the tree, and walk beside you, as a mortal being. So that maybe I can befriend you, and you befriend me in return.”
The boy thought about this statement, puzzled by the factuality of it all.
“You mean to say,” he began, “that you wish to one day leave the tree, and walk out as a human, should I prove my loyalty?”
The tree was silent, thought feelings of happiness could be sensed by even the most common of the village folk.
“If this is what you desire,” the boy said, “then so it shall be. Every day, for the next full cycle of seasons, until the Warm Time arrives again, I shall come to this spot, and be with you, to prove my fidelity, so that one day, you can leave the tree body, and walk out of this spot, and be with me.”
And sure enough, every day the boy went to visit the tree. During the Warm Time, they talked about the feeling of rain on their bodies, like a welcome coldness on their burning surfaces. In the Cooling Time, they commented on the enjoyment of watching the smaller animals scurry across the ground, unconscious of any event that occurred around them as they gathered food for the coming chill. Amid the Cold Time, they reminisced on the warmer days, when the sun would beat relentlessly, as if this were a kind of relief.
However, during the Warming Time, things began to change. All year, the tree had been in preparation of this time, for it was the time in which it could show off the fruit of it’s branches, and burst into a show of blossoms, vibrant white and with a scent that could be smelt for miles. Yet, for the first time in that year, the boy missed a day of visitation. The tree paid this no mind, thinking that it was only a matter of time before home events prevented the boy from making his daily visit. The second and third time were also considered minor things. However, this soon turned into four times, then ten, and then the visits were widdled down to once every three to four days. And eventually, within thirteen nights of the anniversary of their meeting, the visits stopped altogether.
The boy could be found in his village, not burdened with troubles, as one would expect, but rather filled with happiness. A girl in the village, who had always been shy, and hardly spoke to those around her, had sparked interest in the boy. Her intelligence was far beyond that of the other villagers, though it was often unnoticed, as she was so quiet. The boy began to spend more time with the girl, making his visits with the tree more of a chore. Some days, he would forget about the tree altogether. And in turn, he forgot about the promise he had made to the tree. By the end of the Warming Time, the boy proposed to the girl, and pledged to marry her at the beginning of the Warm Time.
Confused and hurt by the boy’s sudden change in heart, the tree wept. The flowers that it had so diligently prepared fell from its branches like a steady rain, sweeping through the air, and carried in the wind. The petals of the tree flew for miles, around the thick trunks of the older trees, and across the river, avoiding rocks and animals, until it reached the village. In the middle of the community, the boy and the girl stood together, promising to live their lives together until the end of their time. The petals, still coated with their lovely fragrance, swept around them. Through this act, the tree was able to sense the true love and dedication this boy felt towards the girl. And while the tree was hurt, it knew that the boy would be happy, and that he and the girl would work together to make life for the villagers better, something the tree never could have succeeded in.
The boy felt the presence of the tree, the friend he so loyally had visited. He had never been able to find true love for the tree, as the tree had for him, and he was overcome with guilt. Yet he felt forgiveness from the tree, also, for it was the tree’s wish for the boy to be endlessly happy.
The tree was alone.
For the rest of it’s life, it grew in the middle of the meadow, remembering that one year where it had a friend. In the summer, the tree was full and round, providing significant shade for any who might search for rest from the sun, and remember the fullness of conversation from days past. In the fall, the leaves were vibrant and red, a brilliant show of color for the enthusiasm of topics. In the winter, the branches fanned out, catching as much snow as it could, and leaving a trail of icicles, holding the beauty of even the simplest moments.
And in the spring, the flowers still grew, brilliant white as always. But the fragrance of happiness that once graced them was no longer present. Instead, they were coated with the smell of a painful past.
They smelled like raw hamburger meat.
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