User:Hypnagogia/The Talking Tree (Nathilus)

Outside my parents' home in Houston, where I grew up, there is a large maple tree. It is a good four or five times taller than the house, and made an excellent vantage point of the surroundings for one who was light and crazy enough to perch on the upper branches. I'm still pretty shocked my parents let me do this, because had I fallen from where I used to be able to climb to, it would have been almost certain death. Their response when asked about this is 'You were a very good climber. There's no way you would have fallen'. They would leave a window open so they could hear me if I needed help but would otherwise leave me unsupervised. At any rate, I would spend good amounts of time far up in the tree, surveying my suburban domain and playing games with myself as children are wont to do. I also likely enjoyed my perch because there was no way in hell any adult could get there.

One Christmas day, I climbed up into my tree to test a new set of binoculars while my father napped and my mother was busy in the kitchen making supper. On the way up, one of the slimmer branches that had to be used to climb higher without making a jump for it snapped under my foot as I put my weight on it. I had already gotten a handhold above so I was in no danger, but as the branch snapped I heard a hauntingly familiar yet at once unfamiliar female voice say from the tree, 'OUCH!' Stupefied and still hanging from the next branch, I looked around and saw a few kids playing with new toys down the street, but no one outside close enough to account for the voice.

Shrugging it off, I pulled myself up and sat. A few seconds later, the tree said, "That really stung! You should be more careful, I'm nice to you aren't I? You should be nice to me." Convinced, I stammered a "S-sorry" in apology. Over the next fifteen minutes I had a loving conversation with my tree. I agreed to cover the broken stump of the branch with some of that sealing tar or whatever it is, talked about climbing, and discussed seasons with the tree.

I swear to god I'm not making this up.

After a few minutes, the tree grew less verbose, and eventually would only acknowledge my conversation every now and then, as if its attention was being diverted elsewhere. Finally, it said it was tired and had to sleep. I said, "Okay. But I have a question. Why have you never spoken to me before?" It replied, "It's part of the rules. Everyone knows trees can't talk, so we can't. Except for certain very special people that are connected to us, and even with them only during certain special times. Today is one of those times." With those final words, my tree fell silent and I went back inside, my head swimming with the arcane knowledge I had chanced upon.

After all, I was one of the only kids in the world that knew THE BIG SECRET. I was special, somehow attuned to the Earth that would ignore and be ignored by others. It was kind of like getting a superpower. I didn't tell my parents or friends at first, understanding that no one would believe me. In my mind though, that was okay. As my tree had explained, it was part of The Rules. I think my patience with that lasted until into the next day, when I told the one person in the world who I thought might believe me.

It was my best friend and of course, he didn't. I brought him over, and once we were both safely perched I attempted to get the tree to talk. Of course, it didn't. Upset at being made to seem like a fibber and hurt by my tree's unwillingness to back me up, I went and told my mom about what had transpired. I was shocked to find that, even being the down-to-earth person she is, my mom instantly believed me. She suggested that when the tree said 'certain special times' and this time being one of them, it obviously meant Christmas and therefore holidays.

Armed with my new knowledge, I hauled my friend back up into the tree at midnight of New Year's eve, convinced that I would prove my story once and for all. "Tree, tree?" I called. "I know about the rules and my friend isn't connected to you, but he's my best friend and he's connected to me so will it be all right if you talk to him too?" Several seconds of silence passed and my friend started snickering. Then came a distant, drowsy voice, "Yes, I suppose that would be fine. You really shouldn't tell anyone I have though, I might get in trouble." Wide-eyed, my friend glanced around for the source of the voice. As before, there was no one outside in range to be talking normally. "MMMmmmm," the tree added as a breeze sprung up, "The wind is telling me that this is going to be a good year." I smirked at my friend as he turned to look at me, belief now in his eyes. "I told you so."

Over the years my friend and I kept our secret, for the tree's sake. No need for anyone to get in trouble. Some holidays we would sit up in it and chat for a while, some we wouldn't. The tree always had trouble keeping up a conversation for more than a half hour or so. It eventually explained to us that was because trees are not like people. Trees dream and sleep like a person stays awake, and they only rouse themselves briefly for special times, which apparently meant momentous occasions as well as holidays. I learned a lot from my tree, some of which I still hold true to this day. It was a wise if capricious companion, free of the hubris that friendship with an adult usually entailed.

Eventually, my tree stopped talking to us, or we stopped talking to it. I don't remember which it was, though I could probably ask my parents. I also don't remember what the last thing my tree said to us was, so it must have been something unimportant. Years later and into my adolescence, I learned the truth behind my tree, which some of the more astute of you might have already guessed from hints in the story. At first I was disappointed, after all it was during the years of my life that tend to bleed the sense of the magic of the world out of you. Only once I was no longer a teenager did I rediscover the sense of wonder and wisdom that the talking tree had given me.

Even now, knowing what I do, whenever I visit I make sure to stop by my tree, climb as high as I can get, and offer a warm greeting. It never talks back anymore of course, that's The Rules. I've become too old and skeptical to listen with an open mind for the voice of the tree. Now that I'm an adult and know the secret, my parents no longer open the window when I partake of my little ritual.

The tree is very large now, and its roots curl beneath the foundation of the house. Occasionally my dad grumbles that he needs to get rid of it because it's going to crack the foundation, but I will have none of that. It's always a very short argument, he knows what that tree means to me. It's a symbol of my childhood. Innocence lost and wisdom gained, that kind of thing. I'd rather the house be destroyed than the tree.