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Under the Willow Tree

Under the Willow Tree

By Gelena Nicole BrownPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 9 min read
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Under the Willow Tree
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Can you hear them? The quiet sobs. The screams into the pillow. The begs and pleas. The songs of the tortured soul.

I can. They keep me up at night. Terrorizing me. Why won’t they stop? Please just stop.

__________

I have reemerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. The caterpillar is no more.

Years have passed. Seventeen, to be exact. A long time to be gone. So much has happened during that time. So much has changed. Yet, the Louisiana interstate has not changed at all.

The afternoon sun radiates across the terrain. Blinding me as I look for a gas station. Convenience stores are littered across the exits. I choose one that I recognize. Keeping it safe. Never breaking routine. Never straying.

Sweat immediately pours from my hairline as I open the car door. Burning my eyes beneath the sunglasses. The heat was not missed. Nor the humidity that sucks the air out of me. Like a blow to the stomach.

There is so much about Louisiana I did not miss. So why have I returned?

No long-lost lover is waiting for my arrival. No childhood innocence to be redeemed. No vow I made to my family. No, that’s not why I came back. I have returned for her. To save her. I owe it to her. An unpaid debt.

The cities ebb into country landscapes. I am close. With my windows rolled down and music blaring, I feel a sense of wonderment. Refreshing. So familiar. Yet forgotten.

I pull into my childhood home. Also unchanged by time.

The anxiety kicks in. I stare at the house. You can do this. She will forgive you. Time heals all wounds. The thoughts rattle through my mind. Trying to soothe me. A coping mechanism.

I have learned to talk through my anxieties. A change from pushing them below the surface. Never revealing them. Building like a tea kettle over an open flame.

There are vehicles in the drive. My siblings. Here to see my arrival. Welcome the long-lost sister who chose to run from her mistakes. As opposed to fixing them. Time heals all wounds. You are not a bad person. Simply a good person who made bad choices. Still talking myself through. Like a child on the first day of kindergarten. You can do this. You are so brave!

I open the car door. My hands shaking as I slam it closed. I am nervous. Why am I so nervous? Why does she make me so nervous? Get it together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It’s my 38th birthday. Everyone is standing around a chocolate birthday cake. My absolute favorite. Each year I lived at home, my mom came through. Before her life got too chaotic, she would bake the cake from scratch. Now the local grocery store supplies the goods.

Happy Birthdays fill the room. Hugs come next. I secretly scan the area after every embrace. Looking for her. Every nook and cranny. She’s not there.

Maybe she is outside? I chat for a few minutes. Then grab a slice of the cake and head out the back door, unnoticed. Like a snake in the night. The laughs and chatter from inside the house echo outside. I will be back before anyone realizes I am gone.

I head to where the yard and the woods meet. I sit atop an old stump and take the first bite of cake. Delectable and soft. Each bite brings back a whirlwind of memories. Opening doors that have been locked for so long:

I am six years old. My cousin is carrying me into the house, upside down. There is lots of talking. A surprise birthday party awaits. I feel so happy. So loved. So important. I never want the moment to end.

It’s my 9th birthday. I got a new bike. Only to wreck it. My ankle sprained. Sitting on the couch opening my gifts and eating my cake. My parents taking care of me. So loved.

Sweet sixteen comes around. My girlfriends and I go bowling. The local boys hovering around us like bees to spring flowers. So hopeful. So loved.

Where could she be? I grow impatient. So much I need to tell her. So many things left unsaid. Thoughts never spoken aloud. Letters thrown into the trash. Never read.

I want to tell her so many things.

The crickets are singing all around me. Putting on a show. A beautiful symphony. The locusts chime in for the chorus. The woods are alive. Even when the rest of the world is asleep, the woods are awake. Just like her. She never sleeps.

Another bite of the chocolate cake. Another memory:

I’m eighteen. Such a wonderous age. An adult. So much opportunity. But I never arrive to the celebration. I started too early. Now I am passed out in the back seat of a car. Somewhere. I have no idea. Forgotten about. Unloved.

Twenty. The smell of cocaine fills my nose. There is a man I barely know beside me. His hands all over me. He’s very handsome. My reality fades in and out. Maybe he will love me. He will definitely love me if I give him myself. He doesn’t. So unloved.

There is a rustle through the woods. I snap back to the present. She must be at the spot. The secret spot. Why didn’t I think of that first?

I trot deeper into the woods. It grows darker with every step. Junglelike. So much green. Branches reach for me like tendrils. A squirrel overhead knocks leaves from the tree. The leaves fall all around me.

I tiptoe to the creek bed. Quietly as to not disturb her. I see some movement. She is there. Finally, I can tell her. My eyes water. My heart is hammering in my chest. I feel like it will pop right out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I sit and watch from afar. She is under the willow. She puts something on the ground and emerges from under the canopy. Her eyes wild. Hair dirty and unbrushed. Clothes ratty and torn. So feral. So free.

She spots me. No longing smile crosses her face. She’s not running towards me to prepare for an embrace. No. There’s only disappointment. Anger. Can she ever forgive me?

As she draws closer, I see the circles under her eyes. Purple on her fair skin. She is still not sleeping. Will she ever sleep again?

She plops down on the ground beside me. I sit down as well. “You want some cake?” I ask.

She grabs the cake from my hands and takes a big bite. Chocolate smears across the corners of her mouth. She wipes them clean and looks straight ahead into the beyond. Never making eye contact.

I have been preparing for this moment for so long. Rehearsing my speech over and over like a broken record:

I am sorry I let you down all those years ago. I was too busy trying to be something I was not. I let them hurt you. I knew it wasn’t right. But I turned a blind eye. Too scared to tell anyone. You were so pure. They took that away.

I am sorry I never told you about the beauty that radiates within you. Your caring nature and divine heart are rare. Let them shine. Do not try to hide them.

I am sorry they treated you that way. Said so many untrue things. Hateful things. You were just a child. They were unable to see the real you. So stuck on themselves to care.

I am sorry you loved them when they didn’t love you. A one-way street. Everything they wanted, just not all the time. They came and went. So many broken promises. You didn’t need them.

I am sorry for the things that were taken from you. Things you can never get back. No returns welcomed.

I should have been stronger. Braver. More confident.

I wasn’t. So much damage was done all because I was weak. Please forgive me.

So many things I want to tell her. But the words never come. She knows though. She can feel every emotion radiating off my body. The tears come. I shake with the sobs. Together we embrace, tightly. Like mother and daughter. Like we would do it every day.

She grabs my face and looks into my eyes. “It’s ok.” She says. She smiles at me and disappears back into the willow tree. Like a ghost, she is gone. Leaving nothing behind. No trace.

I stand up tall. With a newfound perspective. So many years of needing to find the closure. Needing to apologize. Never finding the words to say. A sense of release comes over me. The tears continue to stream down my face. I wipe them clean.

I head back to my childhood home. My family still gathered around. Chatting about things that are unimportant, yet so relevant. I grab another piece of cake and sit on the couch beside my children. They are so beautiful. So pure.

Thirty-eight. Love fills the childhood home. Laughing of children. Stories of our past. It is beautiful. I lost so many years. I finally chose happiness. Life threw so many curveballs. But I hit each one of them out of the park.

There are the beautiful memories now. Each a puzzle piece in the game of life. Fitting together perfectly. No cracks. No room for things that don’t fit. All the hard work. Forming something beautiful.

Life has a way of correcting itself. Finding homeostasis amid chaos. It just takes time. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes seventeen years.

I wasn’t running from my life here in Louisiana when I left all those years ago. I was running from that version of myself. The girl who was scared to speak out. Scared to go against the grain. Scared of not being loved. Sweet girl, you were always loved.

The girl is gone now. Laid to rest under the willow tree by the creek bed. Finally sleeping.

____________

Can you hear them now? I cannot. Only silence remains. After all this time. Finally at peace.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Gelena Nicole Brown

Mom. Wife. Veteran. Nursing Student. Amateur Writer. Lover of adventures, coffee and good conversations.

Choudrant, Louisiana.

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