The Tree of Echoes

I don’t know how long I’ve been lost in this place. Time moves differently here, at a much slower pace. And while I remain a child in body, my mind and heart have continued to grow. I’ve also forgotten what my name used to be. I think it might have started with an A, or maybe a V.

As much as I try to remember, nothing of my life before remains. I think I arrived here in the middle of June, or was it November? Over these things my mind constantly frets and complains. Were it not for the constant companionship of these living woods, I think loneliness might have driven me mad. I feel like Alice as I speak with the trees, or when I play with the dancing fairies. There are so many curious things in this wonderland, but I’ve yet to see a cheshire smile, for which I am glad.

More than once I’ve wondered if all of these things are just fanciful reveries, but all of my senses are at my command. I can feel the coarse bark as I drag my fingers across the trees, and I can hear their tickled giggles offered with glee. My tongue can taste the glowing berries picked by hand. My eyes can clearly see the playful sprites that behind me always follow, and my nose can easily sniff out tasty mushrooms that grow in a fallen hollow.

I think I might have had a family before I arrived here, but now my closest companions are hopping rabbits and speckled deer. Imagine my astonished surprise, when I found a squirrel offering words kind and wise.

“What is your name?” he asked me with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“I can’t remember, no matter how hard my mind tries.”

“Then perhaps we will give you a new name.”

“But what a dreadful thing to forget,” I lamented in shame.

“Nonsense, dear child, there is no need to cry.”

I protest with tears, “But I don’t even know why!”

“Ah, I’ve got it! A new name for you to keep!”

“Please tell me,” I say, feeling a despair that runs deep.

“From now on we will call you Willow.”

“Such a peculiar name, but why?”

“Because of the way both of you weep.”

And so since that day all those weeks, or months, or years ago, I have gone by the name Weeping Willow. At first it felt strange to think of myself that way, but now it comes natural for me to say, that is my name every day. It seems now every crawling creature and every flying bird knows this name, and sometimes they even turn saying it into a game.

To them I am a curiosity, as there is no one else here quite like me. One might see my situation and say, that in this forest I am the queen, but I refuse to see myself that way. Although the creatures of this forest that seek after me are earnest and keen, I’d rather just be a friend with whom they play.

Perhaps more curious than anything else, is a peculiar tree deep in the woods. I found it one dark and dreary day while eagerly searching for berries. Unlike the other trees this one does not speak, but I hear words all the same. No one can tell me why it is different from all the other trees, not the rabbits, the birds, or even the fairies. I feel myself compelled to rest beneath this tree as the words I hear give me an odd sense of ease.

The words are strange to me and yet also familiar. Or perhaps it is the voices themselves that speak them. A memory of these voices float to the surface of my mind like images from a fading dream. A curious mixture of something known but also peculiar. Sometimes the words are clear and easy to understand, while other days they are foreign, as if coming from a distant land.

There is one voice I hear more than the others, and it is this voice that gives me the most comfort. I only wish I could respond to her and ease her sadness. But she never hears my words, despite my every effort.

I hear her say things like, “Please come back to us,” and, “We miss you so much.”

When I hear her say these things, I feel such a strong urge to offer a comforting touch. I want so much to let her know I am listening, and that I can hear her grief. But since finding this tree of echoing voices I have found no relief. Even the games I used to play with my friends in this place no longer interest me. Despite every effort of the loving creatures to console my growing sadness, I find myself coming here daily.

I don’t know how long I’ve been resting here beneath what once, I swear, was a tall and ancient oak tree. Over time the tree began to change and now has become a reflection of me, a tall and gentle weeping willow. It is almost as if the sadness in my heart finally spoke, and with its words changed the very nature of the oak. But if that is the case, that just the feelings in my heart can change a tree so exemplary, then is this whispering wood just a dreamland, strange and temporary?

It was this question I was beginning to ponder, when into the nearby glade did wander, that squirrel so kind and wise. Again I felt a pleasant surprise, when he approached me to say, “You’ve finally figured it out, my dearest Willow.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

“This is a dream. While you linger here awake, your sleeping head rests on a faraway pillow.”

“But how can that be? It’s such a dreadful thought to ponder!”

“The time is nearly here. Soon you will leave us forever.”

“But I don’t want to go! I want to stay here, with all my friends together!”

As I spoke these words the glade around me began to fill end to end, with every talking creature I had ever called friend. Each one of them offered me words of kindness, that only increased my growing sadness.

“Why must I leave?” I asked, wiping my tears on my sleeve.

“Because you were never meant to stay here.”

“But what about my friends? What about the rabbits, birds, and deer?”

“They will remain here, in this place you’ve made for us,” the squirrel said with a smile.

“Are you certain I won’t be able to come visit once in a while?”

Just then I heard a strange sound coming from the tree. A rhythmic beeping echoed through the glade. “This can’t be happening!” was my earnest plea.

“Goodbye, my weeping willow. Do try to cry less when you awaken. I promise there will be so many people happy to see you, that you will hardly miss this place.”

I tried to respond but found that my throat was constricted, no words would escape my mouth as I searched the squirrel’s kind and wise face. I think in that final moment I saw sadness in his eyes, or was it simply my sadness reflected contrariwise?

A moment later I felt my eyes struggle to open. They felt tired and dry, like I’d slept for far too long. The constricting in my throat grew worse as I struggled to breathe. The woman that was beside me, whose head had been resting on my abdomen, stirred at the sound of my struggle. She lifted her head and with tears in her eyes she squeezed my hand. Without saying anything to me she leapt into action, running out of the room shouting, “We need a doctor! My daughter is awake!”

I continued to struggle with the breathing tube as my awareness of my surroundings increased. The beeping on the heart monitor to my left increased in speed as my anxiety spiked. A few moments later the woman returned with a doctor and a nurse who went to work disentangling my stiff and aching body from the machines and tubes.

“Oh honey, I missed you so much! I was so worried you would never wake up,” the woman said with joyful tears in her eyes.

Staring at her for a moment, I was finally able to recognize her face. In a raspy voice I said, “Mom… what happened? Where am I?”

“Oh sweetie, you’re in the hospital. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks.”

“A coma?” I repeated, trying to fight the tired feeling that begged me to go back to sleep.

“Yes… there was an accident, sweetie.”

“What accident?”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Just stay with me okay. How do you feel?”

“Confused,” I admitted.

“That’s perfectly normal, and will subside in time,” The doctor said as he watched my vitals on the computer screen.

“Why won’t you tell me about the accident?” I asked as the fogginess began to dissipate.

Giving my mother a sad expression the doctor said, “I’ll give you two some privacy, Ms. Adams. Just press the call button if anything changes.”

“Okay, thanks,” My mother said. After the doctor left the room and pulled the sliding glass door shut, my mother gave me a grief stricken expression before saying, “Sweetie, you were in a car accident. You, your dad, and your sister were hit by a drunk driver three weeks ago.”

A loud and terrifying memory flashed through my mind, but I couldn’t make sense of it. “Are dad and Rebecca okay? Where are they?”

Shaking her head as tears began to roll down her cheeks she said, “I’m sorry honey, they… they didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make it?”

“They’re gone, Violet. You were the only… survivor,” she said, her voice breaking as she pulled my hand to her lips to kiss it.

I wipe away a tear running down her cheek and in a surprisingly calm voice say, “This must have been so hard for you. I’m sorry I was gone for so long mom.”

She shakes her head emphatically and says, “Don’t be. None of this is your fault. I’m just so relieved you’re okay.”

“I am… I had friends who kept me company while I was away,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

I shake my head as my own tears of grief begin to spill out. With a sad smile I say, “I’ll tell you about them later. Right now, I just want to be here with you.”