The Young lady in the Tree

Tracy Jo Uninhibitedly climbed a tree one day. A plum tree. The enormous plum tree toward the finish of Miro Road.
"When are you returning?" her folks asked her an hour after the fact.
"Never," said Tracy Jo.

Her mom and father had more inquiries, obviously. Guardians generally do. They alternated asking them.
"How will you respond when you're ravenous?" asked Tracy Jo's mom.

"Eat plums," said Tracy Jo, culling one off the branch as she talked.
"How will you respond when you're parched?" asked her dad.
"Plum squeeze," his girl answered, shifting back her head and pressing the organic product over her open mouth. "Delectable!"
"Shouldn't something be said about when it rains?" (her mom, once more).

"I brought my parka," said Tracy Jo. It was looming over a branch nearby. So was her pad, and her number one cover with the stars on it.
Tracy Jo's dad scratched his head and said, "However what will you do in the colder time of year? Plums don't develop throughout the year."
Tracy Jo thought for some time, and replied, "I'm certain that when individuals see a young lady stood up a tree with no food to eat, they'll share their very own portion when they stroll past. Particularly on the off chance that she sings them a tune."

Furthermore, she began singing "O Christmas Tree," for training.
Her mom thought of the following inquiry.

"And your schooling?"
"I have books — lots of them," said Tracy Jo, facing up. The most elevated parts of the plum tree were loaded with books of each and every sort, similar to lots of beautiful birds. There were picture books, books, even a great deal of thick, weighty books that bowed the branches down low. As an extremely smart young lady, Tracy Jo knew that, as she progressed in years, she wouldn't peruse picture books any longer. Adults like to peruse extremely large, dull books, so she found the greatest, bluntest ones she could find. One of them was a telephone directory.

"Books are a certain something," said the young lady's dad. "In any case, how will you help work out?"
"That is the very thing that the jumping rope is for," said Tracy Jo, highlighting the blue, snakelike thing messed up in the branches.
Tracy Jo's folks murmured to themselves for a couple of moments. Then the two of them said, "Okay."
"Okay?" said Tracy Jo.
Her mom gestured.
"In the event that you truly need to live in a tree for what seems like forever," she said, "there's no way to stop you."
"Truly?" said Tracy Jo.
"Truly," addressed her dad.
Tracy Jo smiled.

***

The days went back and forth. Tracy Jo didn't. No, she remained on her number one branch, high in the plum tree on Miro Road.
Everything went similarly as expected. Whenever she was ravenous, she picked a plum. Whenever she was exhausted, she culled up an image book. At the point when she felt like activity, she unraveled her jumping rope. That generally took such a long time, and was such difficult work, that she really wanted a decent, extended rest a while later.

At the point when winter came, and all the plums evaporated, Tracy Jo sang to individuals as they walked around.

"Cute youngster!" they'd cry, and give her a portion of their food. Such countless individuals gave her terrible things like onions and celery, however, that Tracy Jo began singing made-up melodies with titles like "Cake is Perfect," and "Young ladies Love the Chocolate Treats with the White Stuff in the Center." That helped a little.
Occasionally, the young lady's folks would step outside and agree, "Are you certain you would rather not descend now?" Yet Tracy Jo would constantly reply, "No, much obliged."

Thus the years moved on. The young lady became greater, and taller, and more established, until she was definitely not a young lady any longer. No, she was a lady. Her mom was an elderly person now, her dad an elderly person. Both of them concluded they'd move to Florida, where there's heaps of daylight and squeezed orange and different things that elderly folks individuals appreciate.
"Are you certain you would rather not accompany us?" they asked their little girl before they left. "No, thank you," Tracy-Jo said. Then she returned to perusing the telephone directory.
"Go for whatever you might prefer," said her folks.
What's more, off they went.

***

Numerous years after the fact, Tracy Jo woke around midnight. She could hear a peculiar clamor.
It seemed like . . . wheezing.
Squinting in the evening glow, Tracy Jo saw something she'd never taken note. On the grass across the road, high in the parts of a tall peach tree, was a man. He was about her age — and sleeping soundly.
"Hello!" Tracy Jo yelled. She yelled it a couple of times, as a matter of fact.

"Well? What? Indeed?" said the man finally, scouring his eyes and sitting upstanding.
"How long have you been living in that tree?"
"The tree?" said the man, sluggishly. "We should see..." He counted his fingers for around ten minutes, then, at that point, proclaimed, "For my entire life!"
"Truly?" said Tracy Jo, bewildered. She'd been so bustling perusing and eating plums and unraveling her jumping rope that she hadn't taken note.

"What's your name?" she inquired.
"Preston," said the man. "Preston Rice."
"Not an excellent name," said Tracy Jo.
"No it isn't. Yet, it's the only one I have."
The two hushed up for some time.
"Where are your folks?" Tracy Jo asked Preston, at last.
"They moved away," he said, a little tragically.
"Mine as well," said Tracy Jo — a little tragically too.
There was a considerably greater calm. The greater a calm is, the harder it is to consider the right words. Fortunately, Preston thought of something.

"I'm interested," he said. "At any point do you get . . . forlorn?"
"In no way, shape or form!" hollered Tracy Jo, folding her arms. Then, at that point, she added, in a more modest voice, "Only on occasion."
"Me as well," said Preston. "Sometimes." Then, at that point, he made a sound as if to speak and said, "Well . . . with all of you alone in that tree . . . what's more, me isolated in this one . . . do you think . . . we ought to simply . . . move into a similar tree?"
"That is the silliest thing I've heard!" snapped Tracy Jo. "Also, indeed, we ought to," she added.
"Truly?" said Preston.
"Truly," said Tracy Jo, grinning.

***

If you somehow managed to stroll down Miro Road today, and look high into the parts of the huge plum tree on the corner, could you at any point think about what you'd see? Tracy Jo, obviously, and Preston, both somewhat more seasoned. Yet, other than those two, you'd see six youngsters — swinging from branches, unwinding their skipping ropes, and singing to bystanders. Not one of them has at any point gone to the ground. I don't assume they at any point will.
Who can say why?