The Truth

To Nora! Thanks for everything, my Friend.

 

The Truth

Missus King said it was in my mind. But Missus King blamed a lot of things on my mind since we found out about my Tourette’s. She said my bad math was my mind; that my bad writing was in my mind; that my bad grammar was in my mind. Everything that was wrong with me was because ‘I had a bad brain,’ I guess.

But angels don’t just come to people with bad brains. They come for a reason. So I told Missus King, “You don’t just imagine angels coming out of trees,” but she grabbed me painfully by my wrist and pulled me from my chair, bringing me to her desk. She was silent the whole way to the front of the class; I could feel every kid in the class watching me as I coughed and yipped uncomfortably. Was my Tourettes in my mind, too? I always had more tics when I got in trouble. I could feel the other kid’s eyes on me. I heard their whispers: ‘She’s crazy,’ ‘What a dope!’ ‘What did she do now?’ It made me felt like an animal being prodded through its bars at a circus.

Soon, the bell rang. Everyone got up, laughing, and they ran outside. I got up too, anxious to see Friend Tree. Friend Tree was all I had, really. She listened. She comforted. She was patient, even through my worst ticcing spells. I swore, sometimes, she even spoke back to me, to calm me down. But this confirmed it. I knew I had seen woman come out of the tree during first recess. That proved that Friend Tree had some kind of soul. I knew I had to see her again.

But the look in King’s face told me, sit. It said, I am poison; don’t mess with me. I was told to wait until the hands on the clock had moved twice, then I could go outside. Missus King knew very well my Tourettes made it hard to read a clock’s face. What if the angel woman came out of the tree again? What if she was trying to tell me something? I felt like I was going to blow, and my anxiety was building terribly. My head felt heavy, like it was filled with peanut butter. I began to swish my head back and forth—left, right, left; faster! My shoulders shrugged in rhythm, and I coughed uncomfortably. Anxious. Scared. I had to see Friend Tree. She’d help me. She had an angel woman inside her. Angels help people. My mom told me that, and my mother doesn’t lie.

The phone rang. Thank God! Missus King promptly picked up and pushed me outside into the hall. “This,” she scowled over the phone, “Will teach you to tell the truth, Katie.” I stuck my tongue out at her. The look on her face was priceless! She began to put the phone down to catch me, but I had already run outside as fast as my feet could take me. I leaped so far off the steps that I felt like I was flying. I landed painfully on my feet, but I shrugged it off, laughing.

This was it! I started to run to the large row of maples in the back of the playground. Halfway there, I could hear my Friend’s silent screams. It struck me like a terrible blow. My arms felt stiff with anxiety, and my legs had turned to lead. Everything slowed down and I struggled to get to the tree. What were they doing to her? Why? She had nothing against them. If only they knew her like I did! She was my tree. Mine!

I yelled at them to stop, that they were hurting her! But so many kids had taken up tearing her apart that they didn’t hear me, or maybe they just didn’t care. I stood back with tears on my face. Three big boys from grades four and five had joined in.

Friend Tree’s painful cries filled me, and I jumped at the kids—clawing, jerking in and out, only to be pushed aside. In my struggle to save Friend Tree, I could do nothing but sit back in watch in horror. It was my fault that this happened—I had told everyone that she had a woman inside her, and now they were teasing me, just liked they teased me when I ticced. Now, they were teasing me because they didn’t believe my story—how could a bunch of brutes like them believe in angels, anyway? I should have realized this would happen. I started to cry. I had only wanted to share an incredible experience with my classmates, but everything had gone wrong!

The shivering of her leaves was terrible. My body began to tremble as Friend Tree called out. She seemed to be asking, “What have I done wrong?”  Soon the heaviness came back in my head. The green shade was pierced by sunshine as branches were torn from her beautiful trunk: It hurts! She would cry inside my head; Why do they do this? I cried harder, my tears mixing with my friend’s silent pleads for help. I began to bark and cough. “Stop….stop…” Bark-bark-bark, yip, jerk; “You are hurting her!” Yip-yip, jerk, jerk.

My body was in agony from my uncontrollable slapping; I hit my knees and chest, over and over; a girl was taking leaves and tearing slits into them, then taking another leaf and tearing slits into it, cutting them up for no reason. I spazmed, my body jumping back and forth suddenly. They had gotten one bough off and were jumping on it—her arms, her hair, my beautiful Friend’s body, mutilated; I watched, horrified, as another bough came down. “Ughf—Ughf!” I tried to tell them to stop, but all that came out was tics. The kids just pointed and laughed.

“You really think there is an angel in the tree? That’s just stupid! Why doesn’t it come out and protect itself?” an older boy scoffed, bits of bark in his hands, all broken and busted up. I tried to get up, but he pushed me down.

“Some angel. She just imagined it.” He threw the bark in my face. “Yea,” a girl joined in, “I hear she takes drugs. Look at her, she’s a clown. Can’t even talk!” They laughed and ran away, happy in my sadness. I crawled over to Friend Tree and whispered into her roots, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” but she would not answer. The bell rang. I was exhausted. I didn’t care about them. They didn’t like me. And most of all, they had hurt my only friend. So I stayed where I was.

Everyone went inside, and a playground aide came to tell me I had missed the bell. She asked, “Why didn’t you go in?” I sat up and wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve. “I –told—them—“ I began. “I told them about the angel. She lives inside the tree. But then they came and hurt the tree, and I couldn’t stop….” The aide tried to get me up off the ground to take me to the nurse, but I said I needed to be with Friend Tree.

“Hon, there isn’t any angel in that tree. You just pretended there was, so it only seemed real. The truth is, it’s just a tree.” A breeze stirred and rustled the battered branches as if to reassure me. I nodded. The aide helped me up, ands as I walked away with her, I heard inside my heart,

The truth is, those kind of people need to see to believe.

I turned my head to see if the angel was back; but now I know better. She would be better off hiding inside her trunk. The truth hurts. Her branches would grow back and her leaves mend….but I knew what I said was no lie. I never mentioned what happened between Friend Tree and myself to any one else again, and now that third grade was ending, I looked back at Friend Tree’s now-red leaves and I whisper, At least I know what’s real. You are an angel, and that is our secret. She seemed to nod in agreement. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and wondered…how can such a beautiful world make such ugly, ugly people?

Maybe they have bad brains.

 

Reviews

[Peaches]

Beautiful story, I was able to share her pain through your words. Great work.