7 December 1998
This was another fiction paper written in a Fordham English Composition and Rhetoric class in my freshman year. The teacher randomly handed out little slips of paper upon which were written a speaker and, in some cases, a scenario. One person had "a native american girl who wants to leave her reservation to go to college regardless of her mother's contempt for people not of native american descent." I received, "a tall, old, oak tree." Here's what I did.
I Remember. . .
I like where I am. The house is about twenty-five yards away and the road is about thirty, so I get my peace. There's a cliff behind me that marks the valley. The families that rent out the house always look out of the back window at me. The owner of the house put a swing on me - the first owner, that is - about seventy years ago. Has it been that long? It went so fast. I wonder how much I can remember.
I was here about ten years before the first family bought the land and built the house. They had to chop down a couple of my cousins, beech and chestnut trees. I was young then. They were already old and ready to go on to the next phase. People think it's sad, from what I've seen, anyway. I accept it. I accept everything for what it is, nothing more.
The days before the Frosts moved in were slow. When they moved in, though, the days and nights became alive with people and parties and bar-b-ques and bon fires. They all smoked Lucky Strike cigarettes and talked about the economy. The children came out to play in front of me while the parents drank cocktails on the back porch. Mr. Frost hung a swing from my lowest branch for the kids to play on. There was also a slide nearby and a couple of balls that the kids would kick around.
Then, the parties because less frequent and talk of the economy was avoided. Soon after, Mr. and Mrs. Frost stopped holding parties altogether and the kids wouldn't play on their swing. The slide rusted with the rainy season because Mr. Frost didn't put a tarp over it. The chains that held the swing on me rusted too. The Frosts moved out seven winters after they moved in, on the night of the first snow fall. I miss Mr. Frost. He always stopped where the paths in the woods met; and he sat and thought and wrote. Then he'd go. I don't remember which road he took. I guess it doesn't make a difference.
I don't remember much of the next couple years. I know the swing fell. There was a lot of rain because I grew a lot. I didn't have any people to keep me company though. Sometimes, young kids would carve their names in my trunk. In between the names would be a heart pierced by an arrow. I don't mind, although, it must hurt to fall in love. I wouldn't know. Every once in a while, someone's car would break down. I remember seeing a sports car running right into another oak tree that was closer to the road than I am. The young man died and his car was demolished. He drove a rebel's sports car. Some people die without a cause. Another time, men in black suits dug a hole about twenty yards from the road. They seemed to be in a hurry. They put something in a bag in a hole they dug and covered it up. They came back later to get it though. They seemed like pretty good fellows.
The next owner of the house tore it down and opened a gas station. He lived in the gas station. Whenever I'd see a car in the distance, over the tops of the trees, I would be able to tell whether or not it would stop for gas. The fast cars don't stop but the ones going slow or being pushed do. The man who owned the station was strange. He never talked to anyone or said anything. The only thing he ever did was sit in the rye field about thirty yards behind me, close to the edge of the cliff, and write. I know it's crazy.
Those years were strange. Once, all these people with flowers in their hair chained themselves to me and the other trees. Later, they all met in a distant field and they were all dancing to music. There were so many of them. Several other families bought the house but I don't remember anything special. After a while, more cars came down the road. Then, the road was expanded. Large signs were put up on the sides of the road. Soon after, houses were built. They weren't as grand as the Frosts' house. They were small and there were a lot of them. Now, the land in front of me is being used for several new houses. They cut down a lot of trees for the houses and added more roads. Tomorrow, they lay the pavement for the house that's supposed to be in front of me.
I can see farther now that the trees are cut down. The valley behind me isn't as deep as I'd thought. There are mountains past the houses that I've never seen. I can see the sunset now. I'd never been able to see it. Now I can. Because of the construction, I can see the sunset. I like the sunset.
I hope you enjoyed it. Just in case you missed allusions, here's the list: "The Frosts stoppped holding so many parties and talking about the economy because of the Great Depression. "Mr. Frost," was, of course, Robert Frost. The last line of paragraph 4 refers to the last line of Frost's poem, "The Road Not Taken." The line is, "And that has made all the difference." The man who "drove a rebel's sports car" and was one person who "died without a cause," refers to James Dean. The men in black suits who burried something, who were pretty "good fellows," refers to the Goodfellas. Paragraph 6 refers to The Catcher in the Rye. The owner of the station is Holden, the rye field and the last sentence, "I know it's crazy," refers to the passage in the book that reveals Holden's true self, usually on page 173 of softcover books. The people with flowers who later danced were the people at Woodstock. Finally, the signs and the house building is the rapid commercial growth of the U.S. Also, I DO know that none of these events happened at the same place. I also know it's very Forrest Gump - esque. I KNOW these things, but I still like the story.
(C) 2000 RIGHTINGS (R)