It’s gone. But it is not lost. I can still see the life inside the rose colored leaves and the moss covered trunk as if they were still sitting right there in my front yard. I can still see my brother climbing the branches and screaming like a spider monkey. But most of all, I see myself. I see my mark on the highest strong branch, a small scratch in the bark no larger than an acorn.
Happiness as a child is happiness like no other. When you discover something new, it’s almost like you are the only person in the world to know it’s there. When I played in the tree, I was alone, floating with no one else behind me. I could see a hawk diving in the distance towards a mouse and a V of birds flying in the distance. I could also see a parkway full of cars. They were moving, but they weren’t going anywhere important. As for me, I was moving in a different direction. I was moving through the sky like a jet, soaring at speeds so fast, but not feeling like I was moving at all. How could anyone take this away from me?
As I grew older, the tree grew weaker. The branches were dying, and the leaves came in later each year while the flowers barely ever sprouted. But in a way I grew weaker also even though I was growing up. I couldn’t sit on the top branch and gaze out at the sky anymore. I couldn’t jump from there either because the branch was not strong enough. But the tree still lived. It lived with the same fire in its heart that it had had years before when I was a child. My brother still felt like he was king of the world, climbing the tree as I had a few years back. But it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t at the top of the world like I used to be. I wasn’t gone though. The same adrenaline ran through my veins as it did when I was younger and I was still free.
One sunny April day, I decided to climb again. It had been a few years, but I wanted to experience the same thrill that I’d had before. I could also feel the tree calling out my name from my room, sulking because it has not been used for so long. I climbed to the top branch, even with my brother and babysitter advising me not to. I needed to soar again as I had years ago. As I stood on that top branch, I thought about that hawk I had seen long ago. I thought about how it dove to the ground with blazing speed and unmatched strength. I saw myself in its eyes. I wanted to fly. I wanted to feel my hair flowing through the air. I wanted my teeth to taste the chill of the cool, thin breeze going through my mouth. I took a leap of faith hoping to feel that freedom that I was ready to die for. As I flew through the air, I suddenly realized what was really happening. I wasn’t flying. I was falling. What had gone wrong? What did I do that I didn’t deserve freedom? As I land on my feet, I feel a small crack in my knee. Thoughts swirl through my head. How will I continue? How will I be able to play hockey later? The bruise on my knee starts to burn black and blue and scorches with pain. All hope is lost. That sense of begging for freedom; how can I live with this inside of me forever?
Now I am much older. More mature. I would not jump off a fifteen-foot high branch to feel free. I would not sit on the top of a tree to live. And I would not climb the tree to see the world. I would merely sit on a stump and listen to music. I listen to music to feel the freedom I can’t feel anymore. Although most of the tree is gone physically its sensations still live within me.