Casimir Pulaski Day

It was down by the old feather creek that I found the tree. A tree with a carving in it that said “Will you marry me?” Every time I saw it my heart quivered and every inch of my body would ache for the moment when I was older, more beautiful, and a man would kneel down and pop the question. I had first found the tree when I was 8 and since then I had made a habit out of going there every Friday when school was out.

I walked down slowly now, feeling no rush or hurry, just content. I knew where I was headed and therefore I could enjoy the scenery of the walk I knew so well. I looked up to see the comforting bird’s nest that was always there, and realized I honestly relied on that nest being there every day.

Subconsciously I remembered the day my parents split up, the screaming, and the pain of their voices. I had told myself that day that I would defend all weaknesses I had, that I would build a thick wall, or even better a large tower like Rapunzel where no one could reach me. I had kept to that thought my entire life, always pointing out to myself my weaknesses, the spots where I could be hurt and cutting open the memory or thought or reliance and throwing it into emptiness.

But as I looked up at this nest now, I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the one thing I loved. I had already considered the fact that the tree was reliance, that I loved it too much. But I had told myself that if it burned down I would be ok…and I think I would.

It was sweltering, as it always was in Alabama. But because my body was used to it, my hair thrived in the humidity and it flowed around me as I walked, the blonde strands twinkling in the sunlight. I finally reached the edge of the stream and dipped my hands to the clear water, then splashed its heavenly liquid onto my face and let it sit for a moment, waiting for the heat to return. It did, as always, and I stood walking to the tree.

There it stood, tall and shady, surrounded by the other trees around it, but it was special in its own way, though I couldn’t place how. The words were bold as usual and I smiled. I walked to it and touched it, tracing the deep carvings and creating the voice I wanted to ask me those questions. His voice would be boyish but low and it would be nervous. Very nervous and excited. I imagined what my answer would be like I always did.
I would say
“Why, Frank!” (I didn’t know his name yet, so I just used whatever sounded romantic, and frank almost always did) “yes, I thought you’d never ask” and then he would kiss me. And that long awaited moment would be gone and I would move on with my life, remembering that moment forever.

I heard a gunshot in the distance and figured it was just Old Mr. Jenson out hunting. I turned and began walking home, unsure if it was safe to be out and about when Mr. Jenson was walking around with a gun. I laughed to myself at my witty joke and walked a little bit faster.