In Branches and Leaves

In Branches and Leaves

“You know, when I was your age, I made the greatest tree fort known to man. Mmhm. I’m sure you hear all sorts of folk talking that way, but when I tell you I did it, by God did I do it.” My grandpa was going off on a tangent. Again. I paid as little mind as possible while maintaining the illusion of attentiveness. My parents were, after all, paying me to spend [i]quality[/i] time with Grandpa - not to play with my Game Boy (Which they still believed was hidden in the back of the pots and pans drawer. Come on, really? I was going into middle school the very next year, not kindergarten.).

“Nursing homes are a scary place for old people,” my dad would say. “Especially someone with memory problems like Grandpa. How would you like to end up all alone in a strange place? Strangers at breakfast, strangers at lunch, and strangers changing your bedsheets?” So every Saturday from noon to five I would grab my Game Boy, hop in the van, and ride off to Sunset Valley Nursing Homes to meet Grandpa. My parents usually went out for dinner or dancing - what did I care really? It was like being baby-sat, except I got paid instead of Grandpa. He got what he wanted and I got what I wanted. Of course, it all depended on his on his testimony as to the evening’s events. Usually the reports came back well.

“Tommy’s such a nice young man,” he would say when they came to pick me up. The fact that he knew my name at all times sparked a lot of chatter by itself. I mentioned that Grandpa had memory problems, right? Well I was told that he didn’t remember anyone that well any more, but he sure had a handle on me. It got my dad absolutely beaming, like that look a dog gets when you pat him on the head, you know? And every week it was the same reaction, the same shock and surprise, like somehow they thought he was getting better and next week it would be “Hi Mark and Marilyn Kensey. How are things at the Post Office Marilyn? Did you enjoy that card I sent last week?” And maybe the next week he’d get out of his wheelchair and do a dance! Completely unrealistic, of course. The name he remembered was mine, and mine alone. I suppose I should have been glad of it, maybe even proud of the fact that amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces, mine was the beacon of light that guided him home, but honestly? I just want my money. At the time there was this nice red sports car in the used papers, and my dad said that if I could save up for half of it... well, you know. Five more weeks of [i]quality[/i] time with Grandpa and that ride was mine.

“This was no ordinary tree fort, I can guarantee.” Grandpa may have had memory problems, but he could stick to a story like gum to a school desk. This was unfortunate for me of course, because this week’s story was unusually lame. I grew up in the [i]city[/i], get it? Not only had I never made a tree fort, but I was completely content never to do so. Our backyard (if it could be called that) consisted of 20 square feet and a single poplar tree. Not the best for fort making. Anyway, I had no problem letting Grandpa run his course. He might ask a question every now and then, but other than that I could just shut down, relax, and dream about that sports car... just five weeks until I had it for myself, and a mere four years until I was taking it through hairpin turns, catching air off of giant city hills, just like in the movies, and then bursting through a ring of-

“Have you ever built a tree fort Tommy?” I hated it when he snapped me out of daydreams like that. It was such a delicate operation, and no matter how hard I tried I felt that car sputter and die before it faded away, waiting for the next dream.

“No sir, I haven’t.” I answered. Simple answers were the best. They let me get off without saying much and opened a world of possibilities for him to keep the conversation moving.

“A damn shame,” he said in response. I chuckled and shook my head. Of all the things to miss in the world, tree forts?

“Well anyway, this tree fort was special. The first thing you’ve gotta know about tree forts is what constitutes a good tree, and then you check the branches, see, and you’ve gotta do that step, it’s the most important one...” And I was driving through the countryside, wheat grass waving in the wind… And what better to complete the picture than a dazzling blonde in the passenger seat? She asked me where we were going but I wouldn’t tell her. ‘Just a bit farther,’ I’d say, and she’d get that mysterious smile on her face...

Grandpa was still rambling on. I nodded every now and then, making sure he saw that I was paying attention (I did feel bad from time to time), and after a few more minutes dismissed myself to the bathroom. At least, that’s where I told him I was going every week. I usually waited in the hall and pulled out my Game Boy for a solid half hour. Race Rock 3 - Expert mode. It was hard, but what made it even harder was the fact that no matter which car was best for the track, I always took the red sports car... and there was my dream girl, waving the flag at the finish...
This week was different. No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than Grandpa decided to come with me. Horrified, I stammered for a response. You know that feeling you get when you’ve been building something up, something you’ve been waiting on for so long, and then you realize that you won’t be able to do it?
“I can go by myself,” I told him calmly. But I could see he wasn’t going to back down.

“Nonsense. I’ve only gotten to the best part.” I sighed inwardly and agreed. Inside of the bathroom I waited two or three minutes, then ran the water pretending to wash my hands. Then, thinking about the nursing home I washed them anyway. Another week without Race Rock 3... What was Grandpa so excited about that he would follow me to the bathroom to talk for all of the 30 seconds it took to get there?
When I came out of the bathroom, he was down the hall, looking out the back window. Across the patio and the lawn was a small forest, the same one which bordered the river. It wrapped itself along 4th and Sprague and died out near Town Hall. I lived across the river to the North, where city streets and sidewalks left only those trees which served an aesthetic purpose. And Grandpa just sat there at that window, looking out. I remember that something felt different, almost foreign about him when I approached him.

“There.” He pointed, making me squint. His voice was softer than usual. Soft but strong.

“There what?” I asked

“There he is. Trent.” He brought his shaking hand up to cover his mouth and a small sob escaped his lips. It escaped me then, but looking back I should have been more surprised. Whereas his delicate memory sensors could only previously recall “Tommy,” there had been another name in there, another name waiting to come out.

“Trent?” I asked again, not seeing anyone among the trees.

“My best friend. The tree.” And tears rolled from his eyes. “We haven’t talked since I was 13. And I promised him and he remembered.” His sobs grew louder and I remember I was afraid. I thought maybe something was happening to him, or even worse, that a nurse would come by and think that I had done something wrong.

“Do you think we could... do you think we could go out and see him? One last time?” It occurred to me that he wasn’t asking. He was begging.

“Grandpa, I don’t understand.” I whispered close. “Who is Trent?” And I’ll never forget the look he gave me, completely defeated but at the same time valiant. All he said was please.

So I got a nurse and we made our way out the back onto the trails, into the forested area. Grandpa surveyed the area from his wheelchair like a king over his loving subjects. We’d gone maybe fifteen feet when he asked her to stop.

“Tommy,” he said. “That one right there.” He pointed with a shaky hand. “Could you roll me up next to it?” I looked at the nurse and she nodded.

It was difficult placing the wheels among the roots, but I did it well enough so that Grandpa could reach out and touch the bark with his hand.

“Trent...” he said softly. “Trent, I’m back.” The nurse gave Grandpa an odd look. “Remember, I promised and I came back.” He gave a small laugh. “Here’s us at the end then, huh old buddy?” He patted the trunk and looked around. “We were always getting into trouble, weren’t we? Staying up late, skipping dinner.” And then he smiled a deep smile and looked at me.

“Did you hear him?” He asked me. His eyes seemed to look [i]through[/i] me, and I didn’t know what to do. The nurse looked at the sky and saw clouds gathering.

“Mr. Kensey, it looks like it’s going to start raining soon. We should go back inside.” Grandpa ignored her. He went on muttering to the tree and the nurse looked around helplessly.

“Mr. Kensey, we need to go back inside.” She said again, a bit louder.

“No...” Grandpa answered softly. “No...”

“Mr. Kensey, I must insist. It is getting far too cold out here and I will not have it be the death of you, now come along.” She moved forward as to grab the wheelchair.
“NO!” Grandpa shouted. “Tell her Tommy, tell her! You can hear him, can’t you Tommy? You can hear him, listen to him speak!”

“Now Mr. Kensey, this really is too much.” She grabbed the wheelchair and made as to pull it back onto the path, but grabbing the bark my Grandpa lurched forward and fell at the foot of the tree.

“Mr. Kensey!” The nurse yelled in shock.

“Tommy.” Grandpa said softly, beckoning me forward while hugging the tree as a sailor would hold onto a mainmast on a stormy night. “Tommy, can you hear him? He says I’m going to live forever Tommy. He says I’m going to live in him. I’m going to grow in him and... and I’ll be in his branches, and his leaves and...” his voice dropped lower. “And I’ll never be alone again.” He reached out with his right hand and grabbed mine, and I knew that it was the end.

His eyes closed and he saw no more.

The nurse rushed him back into the home but nothing could be done. I cried that day, for the first time in a long while. My parents had never seen me so depressed. The funeral came and went, and that next year I entered middle school. I was afraid and anxious (not to mention five weeks short of my sports car) so I was really put off of the whole idea of school. Grandpa talked me through it though. I talk to him a lot now, as often as I can spare time to sit under the tree in my backyard. And every time I look up at the branches and the leaves I whisper “I’m sorry. I should have listened more.”

“Forget about it,” he says. “Let’s talk about getting you that sports car...”