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Julia Bernstein
I
t started when I was young. I didn’t think much of it back then. My tree
was a playground, a place to roam freely where no one would judge or
interrupt me. But instead of swings and see-saws, there were leaves and
branches. When I was little, it was exciting to climb. I would place my right
foot strategically on a low branch, grab a higher one with my left hand, and
use all my strength to pull myself up. Then I would climb higher and higher;
that part came naturally. But now, rather than climbing that tree, I step up
with little effort. The pathway is musclememory, etched inmy brain where
it can never be forgotten.
This treewas strong enough towithstand countless hurricanes and storms,
and this perseverance made me strong. I was a warrior in that tree. In fact,
I was anything I wanted to be. I could see down, but the leaves covered me
just enough that any person belowwouldn’t be able to spot me. I was like a
bird in its nest, concealed within the branches. But I didn’t go there to hide.
I went there to think.
Sometimes, that tree was a weapon. The older I got, the longer I stayed
there. I would use my ability to stay in that tree as a way to anger my
parents. Occasionally, I went up there when I had a headache and needed
some quiet. Because in that tree, therewas silence. But, this wasn’t just any
silence - it was a special silence, for it wasn’t completely silent. There were
sounds, and each one told a different story. Leaves rustling, birds chirping,
and the occasional drizzle of rain; a symphony of serenity.
There was a day where the stress in my life was eating me alive. It was as if
with each stroke in the sea of life I took, a wave of disappointment took me
backwards. So I ran away. I ran for blocks. I didn’t know where, I just knew
why. It felt like the right thing to do at the time. But, as time dragged on,
the running drowned me of my energy. The anger devoured me, and since
I could no longer run, I walked. I walked a few blocks. And then… I stopped.
The sidewalk curved directly towards my house. It was a straight pathway
back; a sign. I thought about my options. Run away with no purpose, no
destination; a mere motivation. Or walk home, shamefully, to a family that
would inevitably forgive me and move on. I closed my eyes and weighed
the options. I kept them shut for a few more moments, until suddenly, my
feet were drawn by what felt like amagnet. I turned around the bend of the
sidewalk and began to walk. But my steps weren’t powered by my brain.
They were powered by amagnetic force. A force that gradually brought me
back to my house. After a few long blocks, it came into sight.
Later that same year of kindergarten, we were told to write on a slip of
colored paper what we wanted to be when we grew up and to post it on
the board. There were the usual suspects—astronaut, doctor, fireman,
actress, teacher, and professional volleyball player. I remember when all
the parents came to retrieve their kids, some hugged me. One mother’s
eyes fogged up. Mommy walked in and embraced me as usual, then asked
what I did that day. I explained and pointed at the slip of blue paper that
read, “When I grow up, I want to be a stay-at-home mom.”
Mommy cried.When I asked her why shewas sad, shewould not say. I cried.
Alex Schlesinger
Woman
Chloe Chua (Tempera On Illustration Board)