Once Upon a Symmetrical Tree

Inspired by my friend.

Leslie sat quietly by himself at a table in his high school cafeteria, working on another chronicle of his fictional world, undisturbed by the voices of his multitudinous peers. He was deeply inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien and could only dream of having a realm as intricate as his, but an unfulfilled dream as such brought him no grief, as he found tremendous joy in the act of creating. He would invest no less than fifteen minutes into devising a mere name for a location on the map, no matter how small it was. He could even write amidst of the clamor of the hormonal vortex that was his school. Everywhere he looked, he could see individuals just like him, people who were willing to undergo every conceivable step to achieve their goals. All of these people were faced with a dilemma today when they had awoken, and that dilemma was to either close their eyes and get a good sleep or carry their tired carcasses out of their beds and use what minimal energy they had to make themselves look presentable and get themselves inside this building so they could be so bored that they could throw themselves out a window. They all had something to pursue, and they all had things they had to endure along the way, and one of those things was judgment. When a student walked by, he or she was judged for everything that was perceived, including hair, attire, weight, height, facial abnormalities, etc. Everyone was judged, and everyone judged. Leslie judged, but he was a little more appreciative with his judgment than what he was accustomed to hearing people convey. The effect of judgment certainly varied. A person can be flattered, angry, confused, indifferent, or completely and utterly devastated. There was a warrior in everyone. Not all battles have the same enemy or last the same duration, but no pursuit of a goal would be without obstruction. 

As he took a moment to instinctively study his surroundings, he saw a girl he had never seen before. She was sitting by herself directly across from him at her own table. She was lovely. She had medium length pale blonde hair. Her bangs were down, and the back was tied up. She had a nose ring in her right nostril. She had a grey and black plaid bow-tie on the left side of her hair. She had two necklaces. One bore an array of red jewels and one bore an array of black, the red sitting above the black. The necklaces laid there upon a portion of her chest revealed by a black V-neck long sleeve shirt, which was matched by her black nail polish. She was drawing. Leslie saw a sketchbook and a box of Prismacolor Verithin colored pencils on the table. She was smiling. It wasn't the kind of smile that you get when you're told you just got a raise. It was as if she was looking at something beautiful and she was at peace. Her eyes were glistening. Her head would sway from side to side as she gave life to her imagination. As Leslie looked upon her, a mirror image of her smile appeared on his face, for he was beholding a beautiful spectacle himself. He saw innocence, and he saw love. He decided that he would be delighted to join her. Suddenly, he detected something unsettling.

A group of sketchy looking guys were standing up against the wall behind her, scoffing and chuckling at her. The artist seemed oblivious to it, but Leslie wasn't, and he didn't appreciate what he saw and heard. What was so funny? Was it that someone was doing something artistic? Was it her outfit? These guys were dressed fairly similar to her, actually. They looked like skater kids. They weren't dressed to an extreme, but they looked like they'd make a few senior citizens uneasy in a church. This kind of behavior was typical among high-schoolers, as disgraceful as it was. The tallest guy among them approached the girl from behind her. He stopped a few feet away from her, somewhat over her right shoulder. The girl didn't look away from the sketchbook or stop smiling. She was just in her own little magical world, it seemed. "I like your drawing," said the guy, smiling as if his words were sincere. The girl slowly turned her head, not making eye contact with him, her smile unchanged. "Thank you, sir. You are very kind," she said. "Did your therapist ask you to draw out your feelings?"  

At that moment, he and his crowd of friends burst into abhorrent laughter. It was a laughter that reeked of cruelty. However, the girl's face remained the same, her smile and the glint in her eyes unaffected. She simply turned back towards the sketchbook and continued her art project, as if her mind were immune to such behavior. Their noise was attracting the attention of numerous people around them who simply stood and watched them enjoy this moment that seemed so comedic to them. The guy walked backwards towards his friends and stared at the back of her head as he laughed. Leslie felt sick. He backpacked his notebook and pencil, he shouldered his backpack, and he marched through his peers, making his way over to the antagonist and catching his eyes before Leslie stopped in front of him, hearing his laughter fade. "There's something very wrong with you," uttered Leslie, his expression accurately depicting his disgust. The face of the antagonist turned into a cocktail of shock and rage. "The f**k did you say to me, b***h?!" barked the antagonist, moving his arms like he was in a rap video. "You gave that girl a compliment and it meant something to her. Apologize," demanded Leslie, not expecting the antagonist to actually comply even though he simply had to make the demand. The bell rang, and lunch ended. Leslie and the antagonist were glaring at one another motionlessly in the midst of the traffic. The antagonist slowly lurked away towards the double doors on the left of the hall which opened to one of the stairwells, keeping his eyes fixed on Leslie, as did his friends. Leslie had never fought, but he was prepared to if it was ever necessary. He practiced Wing Chun. He was still a beginner, but he understood some basic principles. If the antagonist attacked, Leslie would have tested his training thus far. After the guys went through the doors, Leslie turned towards the girl. She was backpacking her things, and Leslie approached her.

"You okay?" asked Leslie. The girl looked towards him, without making eye contact. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked. Leslie had no idea if that was sarcasm or not. "I couldn't sit back while he treated you like that. I hope he didn't upset you," said Leslie. She laughed, then inhaled deeply. "Not the right word," she assessed, before turning and walking away. Leslie went after her, astonished by the obscurity of her character, and walked by her left side. "Then what is?" he inquired, looking upon her exquisite face and trying to maneuver through traffic with her. She exhaled audibly. "Confused," she confessed, with a rising inflection on "-fused." They came into the center of the middle floor which had much open space and a stairwell leading up to the third floor."About what?" asked Leslie, partially shocked that she would say that. "Why you would waste your time on someone like me," she said, still smiling the same smile she had on as she was drawing. Leslie was not expecting this at all. "And how would you describe someone like you?" asked Leslie, as they went up the stairwell. Leslie was coincidentally going the right way to reach his next class, but he still would have followed his girl even if he wasn't. The girl was silent, but he waited patiently for her to respond. They set foot on the maroon carpet of the third floor, which held somewhat of a "Y" shape with halls on the left and right, and they turned into the left hall. "Tell me. How would you describe yourself?" asked Leslie, hoping she would answer. Once again, she released a deep exhale, as if she were growing weary of Leslie. "A horrendous monster who deserves to be ridiculed, tortured, and unloved," she said, with a high inflection on "-loved", as if her intent was to be informative. Leslie was mortified. 

Abruptly, she turned into a classroom on the left side of the hall, causing Leslie to stop in his track. He watched her sit down at the closest desk to the doorway as students passed by him. For a moment, he couldn't move. He was intrigued by this girl's mannerisms. She took off her backpack and placed it on the desk. She turned her face towards Leslie, but didn't exactly look at him. She appeared to be looking at the wall behind Leslie but still perceiving him. She raised her right hand and waved. Leslie was provided with warmth, and he waved back. Leslie was afraid he had angered her, but if she had any contention with him, she was not expressing it. His class was directly next to hers on the right, which he deemed convenient. He began walking again and went straight into his class, heading for his desk. Leslie would not allow that to be the only interaction they had. He realized he didn't even know her name. Leslie could not believe she could think such an unspeakable thought about herself. He wanted to know why. If Leslie concluded that her assessment of herself was unwarranted, he would do what he could to change it. Maybe she just needed someone like him around. 

After Block 7, he made haste to the entrance of her class to ensure he caught her. There she was, putting her sketchbook and pencils in her backpack. She got up, put on the straps, and walked towards the door, and before she left the room, she waved to Leslie, without looking directly at him. "Hey," said Leslie, as they walked together down the hall. "What's your name?" asked Leslie, looking upon the side of her face as they passed the central stairwell and went down the other hall. "It's not important", she remarked. Leslie was hoping that at least once she would give him an answer that didn't puzzle him.  "Although I know virtually nothing about you, I must insist you don't speak so negatively of yourself," said Leslie, unable to refrain himself from honesty. They came to the double doors to the right at the end of the hall, which opened to a stairwell leading to the second and first floors, and the girl went through, followed by Leslie. "I speak accurately of myself, Spook," she said. Leslie raised his eyebrows at the nickname. "I'll reciprocate. Oceana," said Leslie. He went with the first thing that came to his mind. Oceana was a band he'd been listening to a lot recently. "Call me anything you want, Spook," said Oceana, as they descended the metal stairs along with numerous other students. Leslie was intent on accompanying her until she would not allow it. He wanted to explore her mind, but he respected her and would never do anything to violate her comfort. 

"Where are you headed?" asked Leslie. "Home," answered Oceana. "How ya getting there?" asked Leslie, as they came to the bottom floor. "Walking," responded Oceana. There was a pair of doors in front of the stairs that opened to the lobby and one to the left that opened to the outside, and Oceana went outside, with Leslie behind her. "I hope I'm not bothering you with my presence," expressed Leslie, hoping to delve more into her perspective of him. She scoffed. The autumn air had hit Leslie in the face as gently as it could. "Aren't there more interesting and beautiful people out there?" wondered Oceana, as they walked down the concrete ramp that led from the main doors. "If there are, I haven't met them," admitted Leslie. "Go and find them, Spook. There's no one less interesting and beautiful than I," declared Oceana, with a familiar high inflection. "With all these atrocious things you have to say, I can only wonder as to how you came to believe such things," confessed Leslie. They walked side by side outside the building, exiting the shadow of the long roof that lingered above the portion of the school sidewalk that was parallel to the school bus pathway and lingered above the three portions that were perpendicular to it, leading to the three entrances to the school. The buses were lining up as Oceana and Leslie walked straight down the sidewalk that led to the street. There were several townhouse complexes beyond the street, and Leslie assumed she was heading for them. "All I have to do is look in the mirror and the truth is as clear as this light," said Oceana, her soft, innocent voice soothing Leslie's mind. Leslie wondered if Oceana sincerely believed all of this or was the most extremely modest human being alive. "I'm afraid I cannot agree with you," admitted Leslie. "Then I'm afraid you are blind, Spook," judged Oceana.

Leslie was growing an affinity for the nickname. "If this is blindness, what is so great about vision?" asked Leslie, determined to debate Oceana's self-perspective as much as he could. They came to the street between the sidewalk and the townhouses, waiting for an opportune time to cross. "Need me to hold your hand?" asked Leslie, being playful. "If someone ran me over, he'd be doing the world a favor," declared Oceana, before they started crossing. Leslie no longer felt surprised whenever she made a negative remark about herself. He'd be surprised if she ever agreed with him. They came to a playground right next to the street. They walked over grass and set foot onto mulch, and it appeared to Leslie that Oceana was heading for the narrow area between the fenced backyards of a line of townhouses on the left and a line of trees on the right. "So, you like the scenic routes?" asked Leslie. "Of course," said Oceana, as they exited the mulch and hit grass. "I love fantasy and I love nature. You strike me as someone who does too," assessed Leslie. "Nature is a vengeful entity. It creates magical works of art and retaliates when anyone destroys them. It's fascinating," said Oceana, causing Leslie to smirk at her level of insight. "You have a gorgeous mind. I just want to dive in and take a swim," uttered Leslie, as they walked behind the fenced backyards of numerous townhouses. They walked over grass, soil, and roots in the earth, in the shadow of the homes and trees. "My mind would kill you, and you would never be seen again," said Oceana. Immediately after Oceana finished that statement, Leslie felt a massive impact on the back of his head, and his vision went black.

"No one will see this f****t again, but it got nothin' to do with your fucked up mind." The antagonist from the cafeteria struck the back of Leslie's head with a heavy plank of wood, and Leslie was face deep in the dirt as the antagonist stared into the eyes of Oceana with the plank in hand. "You say a word and you're dead," he said. Oceana was silent and lifeless, and she was no longer smiling. The three were hidden from the public behind the fence bordering the backyards of the townhouses. The antagonist marched over to Oceana, dropped the plank, and stripped the backpack from the statue that was Oceana. He unzipped it, removed the sketchbook, dropped the backpack, and began aggressively tearing at the pages of Oceana's creations, producing a snow of dismembered art that covered the ground. He spit in the mutilated book, chuckling, and pressed it up to Oceana's face with his right hand, shoving her backwards with it with a single thrust and dropped it to the earth. Oceana's upper body bent backwards from the push, but her legs were steady and her feet did did not leave the ground, and she never even blinked. Her eyes were focused on nothing. They were just gaping open, like the eyes of a corpse. The antagonist stepped backwards to evaluate her body. "Even though you're one sick little b***h, you're pretty f*****g sexy," he snarled. He approached her again and placed his fingers in the crease of her tight black yoga pants and the crease of her unseen underwear with a smile of sadistic lust. He got on his knees and yanked as hard as he could, bringing both her pants and underwear to her shoes. Oceana didn't say a word or move a muscle. The smile of the antagonist faded away, and he looked away, his eyes on his right shoulder. He trembled, and he slowly rose to his feet. 

He covered his mouth with his right hand and turned around. For about ten seconds, he was as still and silent and Oceana. Then, he broke the silence by whispering under his breath. "I'm... not... a f*g..."  He removed his hand, and he turned around to face Oceana, and there was a fire in his eyes that could melt every glacier on the planet. "You... You..." He pointed at her face with a shaking right hand. "You're gonna f*****g die..." Before he could take another step, a right fist struck the antagonist in the center of his back and a left palm struck him in the back of his head, causing him to fall to the ground, landing on his hands and knees before Oceana. He rose to his feet in a mere second, his face overflowing with animosity, and saw Leslie standing before him. Leslie had his guard raised and created a solid fighter stance. The antagonist was breathing heavily, and by the look of his face, he was trying desperately not to cry. Leslie maintained his composure and his centre-line, preparing for the antagonist to attack. Leslie had seen that Oceana had been stripped and could infer that his sketchbook had been destroyed, and a fiery hatred had grown within Leslie for the destroyer, but he was calm and would not let his fire hinder him from an efficient defense. As predicted, the antagonist ran toward Leslie, furious and lusting for blood, and a chop from Leslie's left hand hit the antagonist dead in his throat, followed by a punch from his right hand to the chest and a palm strike from his left hand to the jaw, each strike causing the antagonist to grunt hard in pain, and after the left hand hit his jaw, the antagonist lost his footing and his tailbone hit the ground, followed by the back of his head, leaving him unconscious in the dirt, mere inches away from Oceana, who stared into nothing and stood without motion, his lower half exposed to the autumn wind. 

Leslie had awoken right before the antagonist had issued his threat. He awoke with the smell of earth, a throbbing pain in his head, and a vision of shredded paper and a partially bare Oceana. He was slightly disoriented, but his awareness was fully revitalized when he heard what the antagonist had to say. Leslie's hands were sore and his heartbeat was in a frenzy. He approached Oceana, lowered himself, and pulled his pants and underwear up. Leslie arose, looked into Oceana's unblinking eyes, and placed his hands upon his cold cheeks. "Stay right here, okay?" asked Leslie. He picked up Oceana's backpack, and he crouched over every piece of artwork and placed it inside, not allowing them to be lost to the wind. Some he had to chase, but none were beyond his reach. After every piece was safely inside, he placed the sketchbook itself inside, zipped up the backpack, shouldered it, and took Oceana's left hand with his right hand. "I'll take you home," whispered Leslie. Oceana said nothing, but when Leslie began walking with Oceana's hand firmly in his, Oceana was walking too.

They passed the fallen antagonist, Leslie not caring to put him in his focal vision. They moved onward in haste, as Leslie would not risk the antagonist awakening and seeking vengeance. Leslie predicted encountering him again in the future, and if he ever did, he would simply act accordingly. When they came to the last townhouse in the long row, Oceana opened up a door in the fence and walked into a backyard with a shed on the right, followed by Leslie. They went forward and ascended a few wooden stairs that rose leftward, stepping onto a patio. Oceana opened up a sliding glass door, and they both entered kitchen. Oceana went directly to his right and opened up a freezer next to a window, retrieving an ice pack from within, as Leslie stood by the kitchen table, which stood by the left wall. Oceana closed the freezer and approached Leslie. "Have a seat," said Oceana in his familiar soft voice, his familiar smile returning. Leslie was provided with comfort, and he did as he was told, removing the backpack and placing it on the table. It felt good to sit down after all that, and it felt much warmer within the confines of this kitchen. Oceana walked around him and placed the ice pack on the back of Leslie's head, the cold overwhelming at first, but eventually soothing his pain. Leslie was greatly enjoying how gentle Oceana was with the cold remedy. She was patting his head as if the ice pack were a kitten's paw trying to make bread from a soft blanket. Leslie closed his eyes and felt a tingle up his spine that he cherished very much. 

"I'm sorry about your artwork. That broke my heart," said Leslie, softly. Oceana scoffed. "It was justice," asserted Oceana, still pampering his head. Leslie's inner peace was too strong to be disheartened by Oceana's words. "I can piece together every shred of every drawing for you. However, if you are truly satisfied with what he did, I can piece them together and keep the drawings for myself. I can frame them and decorate my walls, and they would serve me well," said Leslie, not expecting Oceana to reject his suggestion. "They're all yours, Spook," said Oceana. In spite of everything that happened, Leslie was overjoyed. Leslie's head did not hurt anymore, although his hands were still sore, but he cared not. Leslie just did not have the heart to stop this unambiguously kind gesture. He merely sat silently and stared down the hallway in front of him, observing the back of the front door. "You didn't run. You didn't scream. I don't understand," muttered Leslie, hoping to receive an explanation. "Being used is the only thing I'm good for," said Oceana, with a recurring informative inflection. As much as he was savoring Oceana's alleviation, Leslie arose from the chair, walked around it, and stood before Oceana, who looked upon Leslie's chest and held the ice pack in both of his hands. Leslie removed it and placed it on the table before placing his hands on Oceana's cheeks again, feeling no trace of the cold outside, but heat and softness. "I wish with every fiber of my heart that I could convince you that is not true. I can't promise you I can, but I can promise you that I will be one less person to use you. You can think I'm blind, brainwashed, or stupid, and I will never hold it against you. You don't have to agree with me, tell me your life story, or even tell me your name. You let me see whatever you want me to see and hear whatever you want me to hear. Just be you, and I will be happy," said Leslie. Oceana laughed, wiping a tear from Leslie's right cheek. "You need help, Spook. You need a psychiatrist," said Oceana, his eyes rising to come into contact with Leslie's. Oceana had never done that before, and when Leslie became conscious of it, his heart skipped a beat. They were both wordless, and not even their breathing was audible. When Leslie looked down at Oceana's smile, Leslie's mouth imitated the same shape once again. Leslie could continue to ask him questions, and Leslie could deny that assessment of him that he just heard, but when Leslie thought about it, he just did not deem it necessary.