How to Paint a Pear Tree

Katie-

Before you do anything else – before you read another word – put your hand over your heart and repeat the following:

“I, Katie Barnes, promise to honor my best friend’s memory by loving myself more and loathing myself less” –

Don’t you dare skip this part – do it now – we both know I’m watching, and I’ll find a way to razz you from afar if you squirm out of it…

Tears crept into the corners of my eyes at the matter-of-fact request – penned on thick, cream-colored stationary in Jane’s nearly perfect penmanship. I shook my head, wiped away the salty stream that rolled down the edge of my nose with the back of my hand, and smiled. Only Jane.

I glanced around. The park was empty except for a squirrel that gazed at me for a moment before scampering away to protect an acorn clenched in his tiny, humanlike hands.

I laid the letter in my lap, assumed the “pledge” position, and stammered the words in a hushed, ragged voice that I’m sure Jane expected to be confident and bold.

Heat flooded my cheeks – as if I was attempting to deliver a persuasive speech at the front of the class and failing miserably. I didn’t believe a word that escaped my own lips. But I sat there – more alone than I’ve ever been – on a crisp fall day, doing what Jane asked me to do, two weeks after she passed.

I blew a long breath through my bottom lip that lifted a stray curl off my forehead.

I read on, both hungry for and afraid of what she would say next.

I know you’re not good about nursing a broken heart. For that, I’m so mad that I wasn’t strong enough to stay there, nudging you along – yanking you out from under the covers and making you rejoin your place among the living.

Let’s be honest. I’m 100 percent glad you miss me. I selfishly don’t want you to find another best friend. Got you to smile there, didn’t I?

Of course, I smiled. And I also laughed out loud.

Jane knew me better than anyone else and she loved to remind me of that. To be fair, she wasn’t being pretentious or possessive. We were two pieces of a puzzle – destined to click together in first grade and form a permanent lock.

Jane’s long, strawberry blonde hair and huge, emerald green eyes drew a lot of attention. Back then, we didn’t know that an aggressive form of cancer would number our days together. Instead, we laughed, played, and dreamed of becoming real-life princesses.

I was almost painfully shy. So, she talked a good game for both of us. She talked non-stop if you let her. Teachers called her out for being chatty. She didn’t care.

Now, the silence Jane left behind was so incredibly loud.

I bowed my head against a blast of wind and pulled the strings of my hood to tighten it around my ears.

Here are some things I know about you, Katie:

1. You’re incredibly kind. The fresh flowers on Mrs. Parker’s porch. The books for Billy. Free McDonald’s for three cars behind you. Leaving me notes of encouragement and holding my hand when I was too weak to move. Those random acts of kindness were not lost on me. You inspired me every day. You made me want to be a better person.

2. You’re smarter than me. A math whiz and the next great undiscovered novelist. Write your book. You can do it. Put your voice out there.

3. You don’t give yourself enough credit and you need to get out of your comfort zone. Push yourself a little and think of me when you do. I don’t mean you have to bungee jump or anything – just – put on a flouncy skirt, rock some fancy boots, and take one of those winetasting painting classes. Learn how to paint a pear tree or something. Try something new. Surprise yourself.

4. You overthink things. Tune out those negative voices, stop second-guessing everything, and start believing in yourself. You’re 23 – a fabulous future awaits – go out and get it!

5. You can and should have as many friends as you’d like – I was only kidding! Sort of.

The tears flowed freely now – a full-on ugly cry. I loved and hated Jane for her unwavering honesty and for knowing me so well.

“How am I supposed to do any of this without you?” I said out loud to the blackbirds circling above me in the sky. They squawked a shrill reply and pressed on to some unknown destination.

A musty smell of burning leaves filled the air. I might have been there twenty minutes or two hours. Frame after frame of our shared lives played in my mind. Us at eight – at the beach, building sandcastles. Us at 10, hanging out in PJs and fuzzy slippers, slurping root beer floats, and watching “Hannah Montana.” That Christmas I got a karaoke machine and we never stopped singing.

Six months ago, Jane’s vision blurred when she crossed the living room in our off-campus apartment. She pressed her hand on the wall to steady herself. Minutes later, she slumped over on the couch. I frantically called 911 and was relieved that the EMTs found a pulse.

Later that night, an ER neurologist told her parents that an MRI uncovered a very complex brain tumor. When they finally let me see her, Jane and I hugged and cried on and off for about three hours.

She went to a few post-hospital oncology appointments. The tumor was inoperable and it had already metastasized. She didn’t have long.

In the weeks that followed, she wrote letters to family and friends – several of them were to me. She marked the envelopes with opening dates – the one in my hand read “2 weeks after.”

I looked down at the letter through watery eyes.

6. You’re the best friend I ever had. The sister I choose, that I’m taking into eternity. From Barbie dolls to makeovers to silly celeb crushes – Harry Styles, we’re talking to you! – and the secret dreams and fears I could only share with you. I wouldn’t trade any moment we shared. Because I can tell you anything and everything – I don’t want to leave you. I’d stay 100 more years if I could.

7. You're attracted to Ben and I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about you. Call him! Tell him!

I’m too tired to list any more of your countless virtues. I’m proud of you for coming out to the park to read this. I’m hoping the outing will help you start to ease out a bit, stop crying for me, and move on. I love you! Jane

I folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and headed home. Two weeks was too soon.

The apartment was a mess but that didn’t matter. I wrapped myself in the t-shirt quilt I made Jane for her 18th birthday. Concert tees from 1D, Panic! At The Disco, Coldplay, and Taylor Swift, mixed with high school tees, college tees, Scooby Do, and Hannah Montana, for fun.

She tore at the paper on the big box like an excited seven-year-old girl. When she pulled the quilt out, she looked at it and cried. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. Hands down. The. Best. Ever!”

I burrowed down in the blanket and fell into a fast, dreamless sleep.

***

Two Saturdays later, FedEx dropped a box on my front porch. The return address was from my favorite boutique – Beautiful You. Only I didn’t order anything.

My pulse quickened at the sight of my name on another handwritten envelope. Inside, Jane wrote a simple note on a small blue card. “Wear this tonight to Wine and Paint downtown at 5:00. No overthinking. No stewing about. Just do it. Love, Me.”

The dress was teal, with a billowy handkerchief skirt. A pair of suede brown boots were tucked underneath. I cried for about 20 minutes – wondering how and exactly when - she managed to arrange all of this. Ultimately, none of that mattered. I was going to get dressed and follow it through.

I was nervous, walking into a class full of strangers – but I felt good in the dress. As I made my way forward to check-in, someone caught my arm.

It was Ben. Intense, handsome, and charismatic Ben. Coal-black, wavy hair, and deep blue eyes. The barista from the coffee shop – who I kept bumping into at various places around campus.

Jane’s words flashed through my head. “You're attracted to Ben and I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about you. Call him!”

He looked at me and said, “Hey. If you got the letter I think you did, I have to ask, do you maybe want to paint a pear tree with me or something?”

I smiled, “I thought you’d never ask.”