Rule Number One

“Club Treehouse has commenced,” stated Smalls to the group of kids helping each other up the wobbly ladder.

Smalls, given the nickname ironically because he was actually very tall, was the one who had found the treehouse in the first place. He had found it while exploring the forest on the outskirts of town with his three legged dog, hoping to catch a squirrel or mouse, which he was going to take home and keep as a pet. That plan was quickly abandoned when he happened upon the treehouse. 

Once each kid was inside the treehouse, some nervously clinging to the walls unsure of how much weight the rotting wood floor could hold, Smalls motioned for them all to sit down.

”First order of business,” said Smalls, “club rules. Anyone have any ideas for rules we should put in place for Club Treehouse?”

A young girl with her hair tied tightly into a high ponytail raised her hand shyly. Smalls pointed to her.

”Be kind to everyone,” she said. When everyone clapped, she sat up a little straighter.

”Very good. Any more rules?” Smalls asked.

Another girl raised her hand. Smalls pointed to her next.

”Not really a rule,” she said, “but a question.”

“Alright,” Smalls said, sitting down himself now, “what’s your question?”

“Shouldn’t we get some stuff for the treehouse? Like furniture? Or books and games?”

Smalls became suddenly aware of how empty it was. He nodded.

”Yes,” he said, “new rule, next meeting, everyone must bring one item to donate to the treehouse.” 

At the end of the meeting, each kid went home excited to look for an item to donate. Smalls, being the president and all, decided it would be humble of him to donate more than one item. He found an empty box in his garage and took it into his bedroom to search for any old gadgets that he felt he could part with. He found a couple of old tennis balls that he and his dog used to play fetch with, but now his dog was too old to play fetch. The tennis balls went in the box. He went through his stack of comic books and magazines and put about half of them in the box. He looked through his closet and found some toques, gloves, and scarves that were no longer his style. He put those in the box. Those would be helpful when they had club meetings during the winter months. The final thing he put in was a flashlight. He figured that if he ever needed a flashlight while at home, he could just borrow his dad’s.

During the next meeting, exactly two weeks after the original commencement, each kid presented their donations. By the end of the meeting, the treehouse had a rug, three folding chairs, a cooler to use as a table, five board games, two decks of cards, a pair of binoculars, a Canadian flag, and a ukulele. Smalls put his box of donations on top of the rug. “Anyone is free to borrow anything out of this box at any time,” he told the kids. 

Members of the elite Club Treehouse spent the rest of their afternoon playing board games, birdwatching, and teaching each other songs on the ukulele, though none of them actually knew how to play it. Only when the sun started to set did the club disband. “We shall meet again in two weeks,” Smalls announced. 

Back at home, things were eerily quiet. Smalls figured that his parents must have still been at work, but it was weird that his dog hadn’t met him at the door. Even when he called out to his dog, he was met with only silence.

”Here, boy!” he shouted. He whistled. He clapped. No response. 

He was old. He was so old.

Smalls found his dog in the basement. It was clear that he had been dead for some time.

”No. No. No. Why?” he asked, tears welling up in his eyes with a sudden feeling of fever and fatigue, “Why now? Why now? Why now?” 

When his parents got home, the three of them carried the limp body out into the backyard and covered it with a tarp. His parents went back inside. Smalls stayed outside. He sat next to the body, not daring to peek under the tarp as much as he wanted to. The rain didn’t faze him at first because he couldn’t discern the heavy, cold drops from his own tears. 

Two weeks later, the third meeting was well underway, and the club members had found that the heavy rainfall had worsened the treehouse’s rotting wood, and some kids even refused to enter the treehouse for fear that they would fall right through the floor. Those brave enough to enter sat inside with Smalls, who had a vacant look on his face. “This is boring,” a young boy with a freckled forehead declared. “We need something to do.”

To cure his boredom, the boy dug into the box donated by Smalls, and retrieved the two tennis balls. “Hey!” he said. “We could play catch!”

He threw a ball down to one of the kids that had refused to enter the treehouse. The kid caught it and threw it to another kid. 

“Give that ball back to me! Don’t touch my stuff!” Smalls berated, his voice shaking despite its immense volume. His eyes bulged and his hands balled up into fists.

”You said we could borrow it,” the freckled boy said. His pale skin flushed red in fear.

Smalls walked up to the kid and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “I am the president of this club. You do not talk back to me.”

The boy pushed Smalls. Smalls raised his leg and kicked the boy square in the chest. He fell out of the treehouse and onto his back, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

”We shall meet again in two weeks,” Smalls announced.