I remember when you said “Daddy, the branches look like they’re arguing.”
The vinyl of the lawn chair creaked against my back as I looked up towards the canopy, branches crooked in crazy, impossible angles.
“Yea Buddy, you might be on to something.”
I said, while your body savored the last bit of momentum on the tire swing. Size three Chuck Taylors bobbing absently in thought.
You were so smart, seeing the world like everything was a version of something and someone else. And each—a friend you just hadn’t met yet.
“What’cha doin?” I heard your voice from below the ladder. Peering down, our eyes had met, yours so big and curious. Of course, you had your tractor in tow—didn’t you always?
“Fixin’ the rope buddy, if it broke you could hurt yourself.” Hemp rope worn thin around the branch of the elm—needed to be replaced. A father’s job.
“Oh. Does the rope hurt the tree?” You asked, probably noticing the shallow groove the old rope had carved into the bark. My hands paused while I considered the question.
“I don’t think the tree minds much. They’re tall and strong.” My beard had itched more then, more pepper than salt. “Just like you’re gunna be one day.” So many knots I still needed to teach you.
“Do you think the tree wants to play with my tractor?” I couldn’t help but laugh, as I finished drawing the bowline tight.
“Well I don’t—” At the bottom of the tree, a little yellow tractor sat between the elm’s roots. You had already run off after a dragonfly, arms spread wide preparing for flight.
The tire swing and chair are still there.
Maybe a little older, maybe with a little more rust in places.
At night, I see the fireflies in conversation with the stars overhead, your voice, soft in the wind asking “Dad? Where do the stars go when it rains?”
“Buddy... I can’t wait to tell you one day.”
-KC
Oh wow. Beautifully written, yet with so much sadness. 💚
Intense snapping of fingers