Imposter trees

To a child, there are only three types of trees:  ones you can climb, ones you cannot, and climbing imposters.  Climbing imposters are the trees that look so inviting to climb, but when you do the branch starts to give way, and will snap if you don’t  quickly retreat.  Down you tumble, just like Alice through the looking glass, but not quite as gracefully as the illustrations in the book make it look.  In the defense of these trees, I don’t think they are purposefully impersonating climbing trees, but try telling that to a child who is a crumpled heap on the ground, crying because not only was their ego assaulted, but also their derriere.  Trees and all sorts of other high places were a huge part of my childhood because up there I could see everything without being seen.  It’s amazing how often people don’t look up.

“Lorraine! Are you up there?” my mother called as she circled several of the trees in our yard.  She only had a choice of three trees to call up to; the rest were either imposters or not-for-climbing trees.  Unbeknownst to my mother, I had very specific reasons for picking which tree I would climb into on any given day.  Yes, I know, people don’t generally climb “into” trees, but rather, “up” them, however,  the refuge these wonderful giants of nature gave me made me feel safe and invisible.  So, yes, I climbed into them, and would spend hours and hours just lavishing in the feeling of the leaves and branches hugging me while I watched people go about their daily routines.  You see the true nature of people when they don’t think anyone is watching them, and often, you will also get glimpses into their hearts.

“Lorraine!” cried my mother, looking up a tree, “I’m not going to call for you again!”  I giggled because it looked like she was cross with the tree and angrily shouting at it like a woman who had lost her marbles.  Her head spun around in the direction of my giggle and she proceeded to stomp towards my voice with such purpose that I knew I was in trouble. Actually, I knew I was in trouble way before that, simply because she used my full name.

“Come down now!” she roared.  I tried in vain to stifle my laughter because she looked like an angry lion with her hair all wild like a mane.  “I’m not telling you again.  Get down here, now!”  It’s funny how parents, especially mothers - well, my mother, would often yell that they aren’t going to tell you something again, but then proceed to go on and on and on and on...

“Why?” I asked.

“Don’t you back-chat!  Do what I say!”

This wasn’t quite going the way I wanted, she seemed to be getting angrier by the minute.  I tried to think about what I had done to make her so angry, but couldn’t think of anything.

“I’ll come down if you promise you won’t give me a hiding,” I negotiated, “Otherwise, I’ll just stay here.”

“I said get down.  I’m not playing with you, Lorraine!”

“But Ma,” I begged and started crying.

“Stop crying, and come down,” her voice softened which caused me to let down my guard.  Slowly, I inched my way down, stalling as much as I could, and hoping with my entire being that her anger would subside with every prolonged second it took me to climb and slide from my tree.  It didn’t; honestly, it probably made it worse. As soon as my feet touched the ground, she yanked my arm and swiftly pulled me towards the house.  I went limp like a rag doll, hoping that she would let go and leave me in the yard like a discarded toy.  Instead she pulled harder and ordered me to get up and walk. I tried turning on the waterworks which caused her to pause, “Stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about!”  That left me with only one choice - I screamed bloody murder.

“I don’t care if the whole neighborhood hears you, so you can scream and carry on all you want!” she yelled pulling me inside the house and slamming the door shut.  I knew very well that what she screamed was true, that she didn’t care about the whole neighborhood, that in these moments, the embarrassment and humiliation rested solely on my shoulders.  I would always peer around when she was angry to see who was watching, but not her, unfortunately for me, I had her undivided attention in those instances.

She took me inside the kitchen.  What I saw made me cringe further into myself;  there was the smooshed Rice Crispies box on the table, along with the crumpled, empty plastic bag that had been hurriedly ripped open.  A few stray Rice Krispies were on the floor near the rubbish bin.  Immediately, I started to cry so hard, I couldn’t catch my breath, gasping with each sob, crocodile tears streaming down my face, I meandered in a circle. “I’m…” gasp, sob, “sorr…” gasp, sob, turn, “rrrreeeeee...” gasp, sob, “Ma…” gasp, sob, turn.

“How many times do I need to tell you?” she demanded, and opened up her hand, “Where is it?”

Through my tear-filled eyes, I looked around for Shaggy, my only partner-in-crime.  I was hoping he would intervene and either take the blame (like a best friend should), or divert her attention from me (as a best friend should) by biting her.  Instead, he stayed in the corner with his head bowed, and tailed tucked, looking like the shameful traitor he was in that moment.

“Lorraine, I’m not asking again.  Where is it?”

Guiltily I put my hand in my dress pocket and felt it.  I really didn’t want to give it to her.  Slowly I pulled the silly little plastic toy out of my pocket and placed it in her palm.

“Lorraine, how many times do I need to tell you that you can’t throw a brand new box of cereal away just to get the toy?”

“I know, Ma,” I sobbed, “I’m sorry.”

“Just go to your room and think about what you’ve done.  There are children starving and you throw food away!” She muttered something unintelligible but I knew better than to ask her to repeat herself.

Sulkily I shuffled to my room, threw myself onto my bed dramatically, buried my head in my pillow, and cried.  I kept watching out of the corner of my eye to see if she was going to come into the room and stroke my back and play with my hair the way I loved.  But she didn’t.  Instead, Shaggy came in with his eyes begging for forgiveness, tail wagging slowly with uncertainty.

“What do you want?” I asked him.  That was all the invitation he needed to jump on my bed and start licking my face with breath that smelled of Rice Krispies.