*This is just a short story, none of this actually happened to me in real life, an idea just hit and I wanted to use it. Please DO NOT steal this short story or any of my others that I will write and post, and if you would like to use this one or any future others for whatever reason in something, please please please credit me and leave a link to my blog. I worked really hard on this and even though it is rough and needs improving, it's just a little story I wrote for you guys, so I would appreciate it if no one tried to call it their own. Thank you and please enjoy! I will polish this up and post a finished version later if requested:)*
Our Old Cherry Tree
When I met you, you were just a little girl, a few months younger than I. You were sitting underneath that old cherry tree, down in the hidden bits of Commons Park. You were sitting with onyx coloured hair, tied up in two braids. Later, I saw bangs across your forehead as well. You were wearing that little pink, denim jacket over a white t-shirt and baby blue jeans. Your shoes were worn and loved, a pair of purple converse. Back then, you were six and eleven months. I was seven and two months, and to the exact day I was three months older than you. You sat alone on the ground, staring at the sky, under that old cherry tree. When I approached you, you gave me the sweetest smile, and your brown eyes lit up against your pale skin. You held out a tiny hand to me, and we exchanged names. You said you lived only minutes away from the park, and I said I did too. And then we sat in silence, quite mature for six year olds, watching our first sun set together, until our mothers called us back for dinner. It had painted across the sky in strokes of brilliant pinks and oranges and yellows, the start of something bright, something new. You might wonder how I still remember every detail of that day, but I can't fathom ever forgetting it. Yes, I still remember that day when we sat, side by side, under the leaves of that old cherry tree. Later on, we kept that tree, we even called it ours.
Five years later, we sat together, both of the age of eleven, this time on a concrete bench outside of Wallbrook Middle School. We sat, waiting for our first day of junior high to begin. If we were to stand, I would still tower over you three inches to your 4'11. But we stayed sitting, laughing nervously, watching people pass, determined to stay together. You and I, we went in as best friends. I'm quite happy to say we left the same way. But that first day, we had both changed so much, from that first time we had met under that old cherry tree. And later that day, we left seventh period together and raced each other to that tree, collapsing upon each other when we reached it. I threw my head back onto your lap, and your nimble fingers braided my hair the same as yours. And while you worked, I pulled out the violin I got when I was eight, the one you and I chose out, the one we both fell in love with. You with it's sound, me with playing it. And lying down, I strung it up, and played a sweet, sweet melody; it was one of our favorite songs. And you hummed along, and I closed my eyes, memorizing the notes and getting better as I played. You swung your black hair over your shoulder, and I watched you watch me watch us fall more in love with the instrument, noticing how your light brown eyes danced to the rythm, not realizing my blue ones were already closed, feeling the music. When the song ended, it continued in our ears as we completed homework and talked of our days, though they were the same. Those times, yes I remember them still. I remember every last detail, from how the sun danced on your pale skin and sent shadows across your face, how your laugh resounded through the air. Little did I know, you were watching me, watching as the passion for the violin and music grew in my eyes, watching how my hair came undone and danced in the wind. Watching how the tan of my skin blended in with my freckles. We both watched each other that day, do you know? And that day, is when we realized that the love we had for each other, it was like being the sister the both of us never had. Then abruptly, we had started calling the other's parents mom and dad, and then they really were. And we weren't just best friends; we were alike sisters. That day, the sun set with a million shades of red and pink and orange, and yellow flew about highlighting the darkest spots. When we ran to your house for dinner, the wind made music of the leaves on that cherry tree, a melody quite unlike any before. Yes, I remember even that day, when the park played its own song and when we carved our names side by side in the bark of that cherry tree.
Fast-forward, and then we sat next to each other once again, side by side, but with an arm rest between us and white walls around us. Your hand I held tightly, my hand you held just as tight. From habit both of our other hands' were in our mouths, biting our fingernails. You, your eyes were red, your face stained with tear tracks and my shirt stained from drying those tears. Me, my eyes were dry and I tried not to feel. Because I was the older sister, and the older takes care of the younger, so the older has to be stronger. But sitting there, muted from the world, when I couldn't feel anything but your hand, I felt so much. Fear being the biggest factor. Because at fifteen years old, neither of us should've been sitting there, wondering if our parents would ever say our names again. Waiting. Wondering. Me? I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault. And you? You felt the same way. Because if we had made them stay five minutes longer, it wouldn't have happened. If we had made them leave five minutes earlier, it wouldn't have happened. But even then, when you fell apart and I wanted to as well, I didn't. I kept holding on to something. Hope? Faith? I wasn't sure. But when they called our names, I brushed the hair that turned from onyx to dark brown through the years out of your face and wiped away your most recent tears. I pulled you up and held you close. You took a deep breath, and together we followed the nurse. I'm not sure how I knew. Perhaps the look he gave us as we walked past him into both of our parents' room. Maybe it was the way I could feel his hand hovering behind my back, as if to catch me if I fell. Or maybe, it was the way my heart was already aching, already breaking. But I already knew. You, you did too, didn't you? Because when I stopped in my tracks and my breathing faltered, it wasn't a shock, to me or you. When the world around me went silent and everything moved in slow motion, I wasn't surprised. When the same happened to you, although you didn't want to accept it, you also weren't surprised. When you fell to your knees, I caught you, I was ready. When they removed you, to where I didn't know, and I heard my hoarse voice call for you and you for me, I expected it, as did you. But I didn't expect to fall to my own knees and feel the tears on my face when you left. To fall apart. To finally break. Where you couldn't see me. That night when we finally left, the hospital was silent, unoccupied, as it was the meek hours in the morning before dawn. And everyone's hearts broke for us, the two best friends, the two sisters, who left alone, who left without a mom, without a dad, and who had no idea what was going to happen next. We didn't know. But we walked away anyway. Away from the pain. Away from it all. We walked, hand in hand, silent, for eternities. And unsurprisingly, we ended up there again. Underneath our tree. The familiar smell of the cherries lowering our eyelids. And when neither your nor my mother's voice rang out through the park to call us home, I left you there. I walked to an empty home, I opened an unanswered door. When I came back, the rosin was ready and my bow was strung. That night as the sun thought about rising but neither of us were sure if it ever would again, a sweet, oh so sweet, but sad, oh so heart breaking melody sang out, filling the ears of the park, the notes dancing with each other in the sky with the stars. Your eyes, they watched me, and they looked like glass. Broken shards of glass, but they somehow smiled softly when my own eyes closed before you could see them, how destroyed I really had been. And your eyes, they smiled a bit more when you saw the tears, finally, come down on my cheeks. And a broken melody, the most beautiful of all, or so I thought at the time, took all of my passion, and painted the sky its own new story. As I had spun to the music, and strung on, I had just kept singing through my bow the words I couldn't find, and we both looked up. Through our tears, four bright stars had danced together to a terribly sad dance, and as my golden hair fell around my vision, I finished the song. But the night, the night kept it going. It danced, it sang to my story, and together you and I had fallen asleep to the same song I had concocted from my pain, from your pain, from our sorrow. When we woke, it was already sunset of the next day. But we didn't move. You laid your head back against my chest and I my chin on your head. Against that cherry tree we had owned for ourselves for nine years, we channeled our strength, as we had none left. Through memories, through the past, too afraid to face the present, and terrified of the future. And we stayed there. We watched the sun set like it had fallen, and the beauty of the sky that night broke your heart, and mine as well. Painted in tiny dots and wide strokes, as though done so haphazardly, was a vast void of dark blues and indigos and purples, no pinks, no reds, no yellows. Yes, this day I still recall every detail of, this day I tried so hard to forget, this day I am so terrified of never remembering again. We sat, side by side, your head now on my shoulder, underneath the only thing we knew; the comfort of that old cherry tree.
A month later, two different foster families were to come for us, and once again we sat, on your bed, right across from each other. Our things, they were all packed. Your room, it was empty, as was mine. Our mom and dad's, they were too. Everything we ever knew, we were about to leave, so far behind. But most of all, each other. We were about to leave each other behind, so far behind. For a minute, we sat, staring at each other. Taking in the last of each other, for who knows how long. You, your skin so pale, had set off your bright, if broken, brown eyes so well. Your dark brown hair shone in the light, revealing new highlights. Your face, so developed. In this instant, you were so beautiful. So accomplished, so smart, and so incredibly strong, still fighting for me as I was for you. And you observed me. The way the light made my blue eyes crystal clear, so much so you could see the pain, the sadness, and the fighting strength I had been hiding. You watched the way my golden hair fell in waves, framing my thin tan face, mesmorized by the way it had seemed to be dancing like fire. We took each other in, then I took your hands. And one last time, for a long time, we made our way to Commons Park, to the hidden bits of it, down a well worn path, and back to that old cherry tree, where so many of our best memories occured before. But this time, the branches above us were bare, as it was the middle of Winter. But the smell was still there. The smell of the past, our best and worst memories, our childhood, the first time we met, and finally, the last time for a long time before we might meet again. We stayed there all day, silent, holding each others hands, feeling salty tears fall down our faces, not bothering to wipe them away. Through the leaves of nearby trees and through the whistling of the grass, through the buzzing of the bees, and the laugh of children so far away, and through the ripple of the pond, we could hear a lovely melody play. It played all day, and when it came time for night to come, we watched the sun set a final time before we parted. It was overwhelming, the beauty. The emptyness, was so full of the tiny dots, the multiple strokes, the wide brushes, of a brilliant color scheme. Through depth, we could see the dark blues and indigos layering behind the reds and pinks and oranges, but through all of that, yellow and golden beams highlighted everything, and somehow I knew. Then, I didn't, or wasn't ready to know it. Perhaps you knew too, but maybe not during the moment. But I knew. When we finally left, I knew there woudn't be another time to leave, I knew there wouldn't be another time to return. At least not the same way again. And for the first time ever, we left, no longer side by side, perhaps that being the last time, from our old cherry tree.
A few years passed, and finally we were both eighteen. I was still staying with my foster parents, who I grew to love very much, but now by law I had freedom to go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. It was during this time you called me, early morning, like you had every morning for the past few years, and I answered with a smile. This time, though, you sounded different. Your voice, so sweet, so soft, had sounded slightly torn, a bit sad, and if only I had listened better, broken. And though your requests were odd, I listened to them, as I told you I always would. You said, finally, we could meet, and I cried that I finally might see you again. But you said, in exactly a week, come to our place, a bit before sun set. I said I would. You also requested I bring my violin, and that I play you a new song, a special song, just for you. Of course, I said I would. But what struck me the most odd, was your final request. When your voice had cracked a bit, and you said you were going to call me after we hung up. You begged me, sincerely, to not pick it up, and to listen to the voicemail only when I arrived to our place a week from now. Looking back, I feel so stupid. But I shouldn't have known, I don't think I was meant to. So I granted your request, your last request, and hung up the phone. I let it ring out and let it record. I held true to my word and didn't pick up the voicemail, I didn't press play. Instead I responded to your text of "I love you" with my own, no questions asked. Well a week passed by, so I jumped in my car, thinking I'd make up a song on the violin as requested when I arrived. I had the voicemail ready for when I met you, and I'll be honest, you had me quite curious. I got to Commons Park with about ten minutes before sunset, and I walked, phone and violin in hand, down a well beaten path to the hidden bits of the area. The aroma, it hit, and it all felt so familiar, it all felt like us, our past, our childhood, our pain, and our laughs. And I smiled as I knew, not too far away, were the places we both called home. I smiled that now instead of tears, I smiled, when I thought of our parents, both pairs of them. Oh, how I wish I could've said the same for you. When I arrived, to our spot, the emotions and memories hit hard. Our names were still carved into the bark of our old cherry tree, and I remembered in more detail, every last tear, every last smile, and every reason behind each. I didn't see you yet, and sunset was coming fast. As I was about to call you, I noticed, in the spot you usually sat, a small, elegant gray stone lying set in the ground and risen above the grasses. When I read the name, I didn't believe it. But it was there, in large, black writing.
It was your name, and beneath that, it said: "
To a daughter, but also a sister. To a girl who wishes to tell another, that she will always remember, their old cherry tree." And when I subconciously hit play on the voicemail, I heard your sweet voice one last time. "
I love you, my best friend, my dear sister. And like my stone will say when I'm done with it, I will never, ever, forget our old cherry tree."
The whole world, if it hadn't been spinning and moving so quickly, would've heard my cries. They would've heard the sound of my heart breaking. But deep down, in a place everyone fears, a place no one wants to be true, I knew. I knew. I knew, and I couldn't do anything. Because did I really know? Yes. I knew. And as the sun sat, for the last time I ever went back, you and I sat, one final time, at last side by side again. I pulled out my violin, remembering my promise. And I let loose a beautiful melody, a happy one, made of broken chords, and I played all the rythms and notes you loved to hear together. My eyes closed, and I poured out all of my heart, all of my soul, everything I was made of, for my sister, my best friend, for you. And I made our last memory, at that old cherry tree. I made the colors of the sun set dance to my will, I coloured the sky my own way. I made it a rough pink, a light purple, and a soft blue, and highlighted it with white. I placed browns near the top, and a deep, dark onyx black by the horizon. I put our first memoryof us, when we met, in the sky as I made our last, and I watch a single, lone star, brighter than the others, join the four that you and I saw that tragic night years ago. And as I played, the park played with me, and so did our tree. And those five stars, they danced along through my tears, and I let them. When finally, your song ended, I put my violin down, against your stone. And I never picked it up again. I sat, one last time with you, side by side, under our old cherry tree, and made our last, our very last memory, by ending with the first one we created. Then I stood, leaving it untainted, and turned around. I felt so broken, and lost, but finally, at peace. Of course, still loving, still missing you. As I walked away, I heard two little voices and turned around. And in another hidden bit of Commons Park, I saw two little girls. One sat under a peach tree, and the other, looking slightly older, stood and introduced herself to the other. And then they both sat, side by side, together, under their tree. And as they watched the sun set, they carved their names into the bark of the peach tree, then sat again. And ironically, from their view, the sky was painted in soft and bright pinks and yellows and oranges. As I watched, I sensed the stare of a younger girl, perhaps wiser than her years, watching me. Little did I know, you know, what she would mean to me later on in life, throughout my life, even as my last days came. But for then, I just ignored it all, and I allowed myself a single small smile, a single gentle tear, and the lone feeling of deja vu. At the thought of one tragic sibling love ending and another, perhaps more, beginning. Then I turned my back and walked away. From the little girls, just like you and me. From the other little girl, perhaps not so much like you and me. From the sun, setting. From my violin. From our past. From our childhood. From our memories. From you. From us. From our place. I turned away and I never walked back to our old cherry tree.
Oh I remember every detail from that day. I prayed as I grew older without you, but loving someone younger and new, that I'd never forget, as you once promised me. And I never did. Now as I lay on my deathbed, I hear your voice from a taped recording of that voicemail, one last time. I feel the prescence of a little girl, not so little anymore. Then I close my eyes, a slight smile on my face. And when I open them again, after what feels like eternities, you're there, smiling at me, and everything is surrounded in a gold haze. We are both in the form of when we first met; young. And once again, we hold each others hands, and we sit side by side, waiting for someone we both met and loved, in our own way. And then, one more time, we sat together underneath our old cherry tree.
