methinks

The Third Friday of April

Along the far wall of the Riverton Middle School cafetorium, several feet beyond the lunch-line register and directly under the painted horseman mascot, the school's Environmental Club was selling saplings for Arbor Day. Derek approached the end of the line, picked up a skim milk, and heard a delicate yet heartfelt "Help save the world," followed by a forced mid-pubescent bass, "Buy a tree!" in a tone which implicitly added a derogatory, "bitch." Either convinced or coerced, most students with a dollar bought one.

One dollar seemed a decent sum to Derek's sixth grade mind, but a chance to save the world came cheaply at that price. With feigned disinterest he mumbled a, "Sure." He handed over the dollar and she handed back his own jack pine sapling, short needles on a flimsy trunk, moist roots stuffed in a tiny plastic sack. "You need to plant it soon," she called as he walked away. "Uh huh," as he dangled the bag from a free finger under a lunch tray laden with tater-tots and soggy rectangular pizza.

He left the tree in his locker until school was out. When that time came, he hastily dropped it inside his book bag and zipped it shut. He rode the bus home without incident.

At home he gently pulled the tree out to tend to it. He gave it water, even though it wasn't dry. He propped it up on the counter near the window to give it light and air. As he stared at it, its potential, his mind was racing with one question, "Where should I plant it?" There were so many factors to consider. The obvious factors of adequate light and water were complicated with aesthetics and permission - after all it wasn't his yard. The whole issue was doubly complicated for his young mind because, while he knew that these things were factors, he didn't have enough experience to know what was important for each. Just how much sunlight does a jack pine need? He took a nap to find some answers.

His mom returned home from work while he slept. When he came out of his bedroom she asked, "Is that your tree?" "Yeah, I got it at school. It cost a dollar. It was for Arbor Day today, for the Environmental Club's fundraiser," he replied, answering all potential questions in one breath. "Where are you going to plant it?" his mother asked. "I'm not sure. I haven't decided," was his distant answer. "Well, you need to plant it soon." He looked at the floor. He took the tree and went to his room to ponder.

He could only imagine the worst in each location. Scorching in the southern sun, freezing in the northern winter, being stifled near the house, getting mowed down in the open. He had no experience and would ask for no advice; he chose to reason with his musings.

Hidden in his room, he debated all Saturday and brooded all Sunday and still he broke no ground. The lustrous, supple needles waned to dull, brittle stalks. The pine scent faded to nothing. Sunday night he went to sleep praying for answers. Monday morning he had one. The tree was dead.

Its death gave birth to blameful, subjunctive fantasies. What he would have done, if he'd not been given such a weak tree. If only his yard had been more suitable. Its death gave relief but not release. His problem had been solved but not resolved. He threw away the dead tree, washed his hands, and got on the bus to school as normal.

Time passed and the third Friday of April came again. Derek approached the end of the line, picked up a skim milk, and heard a mature and heartfelt "Help save the world," followed by a bassy, "Buy a tree!" He hesitated. One dollar seemed a decent sum to Derek's mind. He swelled with the coward's bitter courage, "Why? So it can die? I'd rather not waste my money." He stood there, hoping she'd ask him again, that'd she try to persuade him to reconsider. She didn't. She was too busy selling trees. He stood there still, lost. The bass broke the silence, "Get lost, bitch."