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showed up and started talking to them; and pretty soon he was pointing up at me。
One of the men called; “Hey! You better e down from there。 We gotta take this thing
down。”
I held on to the branch tight; because suddenly it felt as though I might fall。 I managed to
choke out; “The tree?”
“Yeah; now e on down。”
“But who told you to cut it down?”
“The owner!” he called back。
“But why?”
Even from forty feet up I could see him scowl。 “Because he's gonna build himself a house;
and he can't very well do that with this tree in the way。
Now e on; girl; we've got work to do!”
By that time most of the kids had gathered for the bus。 They weren't saying anything to me;
just looking up at me and turning from time to time to
talk to each other。 Then Bryce appeared; so I knew the bus was about to arrive。 I searched
across the rooftops and sure enough; there it was; less
than four blocks away。
My heart was crazy with panic。 I didn't know what to do! I couldn't leave and let them cut
down the tree! I cried; “You can't cut it down! You just
can't!”
One of the men shook his head and said; “I am this close to calling the police。 You are
trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job。
Now are you going to e down or are we going to cut you down?”
The bus was three blocks away。 I'd never missed school for any reason other than legitimate
illness; but I knew in my heart that I was going to
miss my ride。 “You're going to have to cut me down!” I yelled。 Then I had an idea。 They'd
never cut it down if all of us were in the tree。 They'd have to
listen! “Hey; guys!” I called to my classmates。 “Get up here with me! They can't cut it down if
we're all up here! Marcia! Tony! Bryce! C'mon; you
guys; don't let them do this!”
They just stood there; staring up at me。
I could see the bus; one block away。 “e on; you guys! You don't have to e up this
high。 Just a little ways。 Please!”
The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks; and when the doors folded
open; one by one my classmates climbed on board。
What happened after that is a bit of a blur。 I remember the neighbors gathering; and the
police with megaphones。 I remember the fire brigade;
……… Page 20………
and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I'd darn well better get out of it。
Somebody tracked down my mother; who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a
sensible mother should; but I was not ing down。 I
was not ing down。
Then my father came racing up。 He jumped out of his pickup truck; and after talking with my
mother for a few minutes; he got the guy in the cherry
picker to give him a lift up to where I was。 After that it was all over。 I started crying and tried
to get him to look out over the rooftops; but he wouldn't。
He said that no view was worth his little girl's safety。
He got me down and he took me home; only I couldn't stay there。 I couldn't stand the sound
of chain saws in the distance。
So Dad took me with him to work; and while he put up a block wall; I sat in his truck and cried。
I must've cried for two weeks straight。 Oh; sure; I went to school and I functioned the best I
could; but I didn't go there on the bus。 I started riding
my bike instead; taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street。 Up to a pile
of sawdust that used to be the earth's most
magnificent sycamore tree。
Then one evening when I was locked up in my room; my father came in with something
under a towel。 I could tell it was a painting because that's
how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park。 He sat down; resting
the painting on the floor in front of him。 “I always liked
that tree of yours;” he said。 “Even before you told me about it。”
“Oh; Dad; it's okay。 I'll get over it。”
“No; Julianna。 No; you won't。”
I started crying。 “It was just a tree…。”
“I never want you to convince yourself of that。 You and I both know it isn't true。”
“But Dad…”
“Bear with me a minute; would you?” He took a deep breath。 “I want the spirit of that tree to
be with you always。 I want you to remember how you
felt when you were up there。” He hesitated a moment; then handed me the painting。 “So I
made this for you。”
I pulled off the towel; and there was my tree。 My beautiful; majestic sycamore tree。 Through
the branches he'd painted the fire of sunrise; and it
seemed to me I could feel the wind。 And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the
distance; her cheeks flushed with wind。 With joy。 With
magic。
“Don't cry; Julianna。 I want it to help you; not hurt you。” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and
gave a mighty sniff。 “Thank you; Daddy;” I choked out。
“Thank you。”
I hung the painting across the room from my bed。 It's the first thing I see every morning and
the last thing I see every night。 And now that I can look
at it without crying; I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me。
I see the day that my view of things around me started changing。
Brawk…Brawk…Brawk!
Eggs scare me。 Chickens; too。 And buddy; you can laugh at that all you want; but I'm being
dead serious here。
It started in the sixth grade with eggs。
And a snake。
And the Baker brothers。
The Baker brothers' names are Matt and Mike; but even now I can't tell you which one's
which。 You never see one without the other。 And even
though they're not twins; they do look and sound pretty much the same; and they're both in
Lyta's class; so maybe one of them got held back。
……… Page 21………
Although I can't exactly see a teacher voluntarily having either of those maniacs two years in
a row。
Regardless; Matt and Mike are the ones who taught me that snakes eat eggs。 And when I
say they eat eggs; I'm talking they eat them raw and
shell…on whole。
I probably would've gone my entire life without this little bit of reptilian trivia if it hadn't been
for Lyta。 Lyta had this major…league thing for
Skyler Brown; who lives about three blocks down; and every chance she got; she went down
there to hang out while he practiced the drums。 Well;
boom…boom…whap; what did I care; right? But then Skyler and Juli's brothers formed a band;
which they named Mystery Pisser。
When my mom heard about it; she pletely wigged out。 “What kind of parents would allow
their children to be in a band named Mystery
Pisser? It's vile。 It's disgusting!”
“That's the whole point; Mom;” Lyta tried to explain。 “It doesn't mean anything。 It's just to
get a rise out of old people。”
“Are you calling me old; young lady? Because it's certainly getting a rise out of me!”
Lyta just shrugged; implying that my mom could draw her own conclusion。
“Go! Go to your room;” my mother snapped。
“For what?” Lyta snapped back。 “I didn't sa