Waiting in the Apple Tree
The lady watched from the darkness of the apple tree’s clothed boughs. She leaned casually, with practiced ease, in a saddle of the highest branch. There was no wind to show her presence amongst the thick spring leaves and blossoms; yet, her shade-filled drapery twisted in deceptive living patterns.
The three children danced on the ground, jumping between patches of sunlight. A girl child, her twin brother, and their friend romped with effortless ease. The friend pushed the girl and she returned the favor. The brother bore the shoves of both with good natured patience, never initiating the attack. Grins swallowed the three faces, gaps showing darkly against bubble-gum flavored whiteness.
There were fresh scrapes and developing bruises on the sister’s right arm and elbow. She sat down heavily at the base of the tree and said, “Okay, I got the most leaves. Twice. So, what are you going to do?”
The friend was picking at a healing scab, “I caught the cat, remember? It was going under the tool shed and I caught it. So, what is he going to do?”
The brother was laying on his back watching the clouds roll by overhead. He was twisting the cotton with his mind, fluffing a rabbit’s tail, when he heard his sister say, “Well, what’s a good one? How ‘bout knocking down the wasp's nest in the front yard?”
“We did that last month. We can’t do that, think of a new one.” The friend and the sister sat side by side, wondering what would be a good dare; something original, something spectacular to add to their list of accomplishments. The Three had a reputation to maintain, their pranks and dares were the envy of all the other kids in their class. They no longer thought of themselves as “three,” but as The Three. They were never apart; it was an unofficial pact they’d made early in their friendship. Sometimes they’d have to take turns in a dare, but they all did it. Always.
On Monday, the sister had seen the cat creeping along the back of the orchard’s fence. The cat was a trespasser and needed to be caught. She bet that it could be caught in less than three minutes. It took three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, but no one was counting. On Thursday, the friend wondered if the limbs on the oak tree beside the swing set couldn’t be touched when someone jumped in mid-swing. It took four tries, but the sister finally managed it, and held a handful of leaves as proof. After one had done it, the effort seemed easy for them all. The dare became realistic, and now it was Friday; what could they do on Friday?
“Let’s see what’s in the top of the tool shed,” the friend suggested. That was a dusty unexplored corner of their realm. They’d have to find a ladder, a flashlight, some water for the long exertion, maybe some food in case they became stranded. The friend was envisioning ancient finds: perhaps a skeleton, a treasure map, or at least a dead bird. It could be a real adventure.
“Bill locked it. He said it was dangerous,” the brother spoke, not taking his eyes from beyond the tree's limbs.
“Well, how about we fill up the kiddy-pool with soap bubbles, and see how high we can get them. You know, like that lady did on TV.” The sister’s eyes glazed slightly remembering the feat with admiration. She had a suspicion that the lady used something other than dish soap and garden-hose water, but that wasn’t going to stop The Three from trying. They could do it if they put their minds to it. Maybe they would set a new world record for highest soap column and get on TV, it could happen.
“Mom will be home soon, and she won’t want the yard to be messy. Bill is supposed to barbeque tonight, remember?” The brother didn’t even bother looking at her as he spoke. There was a plane passing overhead. He knew it was going super fast, but it looked so slow, or maybe he was going by and the plane was sitting still. He didn’t want to take his eyes off it, just in case. “Besides, The Babysitter wouldn’t let us. I heard her telling Mom about some four year old drowning in an inch of water.”
“Well, duh. Four year olds are babies. We’re not three. We’d be fine,” the friend's eyes rolled towards the sister for agreement.
“Yeah, but Mom is a little crazy about things like that. Ever since Bill came home with her, she’s been all ‘Don’t do this’ and ‘Don’t do that,’” the sister agreed with her brother, disappointment in her voice. She wanted to make a soap giant.
“Then, what do we do? I’m BORED,” the friend said. He produced the last word with a groan that made his friends feel their own restlessness. They were always bored when school ended and they had to go stay at the twin’s house while the Babysitter did her algebra. When Mom got home, she would half-heartedly debate the value of "x" until Bill arrived. Then Bill, The Babysitter, and the twins would walk their friend two blocks down the street. The Babysitter would keep walking and Bill would turn with the twins and walk back two blocks. Five days a week, every day, the routine never varied.
“We’ve got to do something, we’ve still got an hour before Mom gets home,” agreed the sister. She scooted over and laid down beside her brother, wondering what he was looking at. She liked the clouds too, but they couldn’t hold her attention like they could her brother’s.
Reluctantly the friend reclined on the brother's other side. There was no breeze to stir the limbs above their heads, and it was hard to see the sky through the leaves. “Let’s climb the tree."
“Lame,” said the sister.
“Mom would get mad if we break any of the blooms off. She likes the apples,” the brother said.
“But your mom won’t be home for another hour, and The Babysitter is busy with her books. Come one, I dare you to go first,” the friend had raised up on one elbow to face the brother.
The words had been spoken. "I dare you to go first." They would all go now, it was inevitable, but the brother would go first. He stood, dusted dry grass off the back of his faded pockets, and turned to face the tree. He looked up into the silent gloom. He couldn’t see beyond the shadows of the shade.
With a shrug, he reached up and found a handhold amongst the joining of the tree’s three largest limbs. Using both hands and a hop, he pulled himself higher. Small white flowers on emerald cushions swallowed his sneakers. He became aware of the air suddenly chilling around his shoulders.
Below him, his sister’s voice sounded gleeful, “We can’t see you anymore! Go to the top; see if you can see the neighbor’s yard!”
He climbed higher, careful not to disturb the delicate apple blooms. His legs and arms reacted to the shouts of, “Higher, go higher!” Then, looking up towards the daylight just beginning to filter between the top branches, his foot slipped and he felt himself falling. Blossoms succumbed to his flaying, failing, attempt at flight. The limbs bruised his back, his sides, his gut, his head—
He never hit the ground. The Dark Lady cradled him gently and sang him a sweet, dark lullaby that only he could hear.