It all Began and Ended with a Tree... Part 12

Hold your horses! Have you read the first Chapter? No? Well here's the link: Chapter 1

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It all Began and Ended with a Tree
Chapter 12

My moniker is Dave and I live but a humble existence. My age, 30 years old. I’ve been living in this small house next to the lake’s shore for most of my life. I used to be the only son of a rich family who was more attached to his foster father than his real mother.

My mother was a she-devil for her attitude and what she would do for power, my father a martyr for dying to save me from harm. I am a lover, lover for a woman destiny presented to me not too long ago, but wrenched from my grasp just as quick. It is said that time heals all wounds but this one has barely dulled.

The sun is filtering through the windows and the cold breeze is sweeping through my room just like in the days gone by when my happiness was close at hand. I’m lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as in the dull mornings since that day. Lethargy binds my limbs and my head is buzzing with thoughts, but only one sentence is echoing in my mind “Remember the tree… Always remember the tree…”

It fills me with not only joy, but also sorrow, not only nostalgia but also anger. Once more I am ruled by conflicting emotions that I can never put a tab on. Enough of my morbidity and my solemn tone!

I get up from the bed, there’s something in the air today. It is a familiar feeling, a feeling of empowerment, a feeling of energy, just like I had when I was around the love of my life. I get up, I know that my motivation is there and I go to my computer. The chapter name for the first chapter of my book is there and I stare at it, but alas, the energy is not for writing.

I run my fingers across the keyboard, and then I laugh. I remember something. Once, some time ago, I promised an old woman that I would just get enough money from my family’s treasury to get my hut fixed and for a boat, well, I lied. I’m now living in a sizable house, but still by the lakeside, my old hut is visible from the window. I still go there every once in a while, when I feel like I have to reminisce.

I had a wooden dock built near the shore and there, docked, is my pristine speedboat. I don’t live in luxury, but I live comfortably. My house has an air conditioning system for those days when the heat is uncomfortable, it is rarely used. The wind whipped up from the lake is cooling enough, and more refreshing too.

I’ve become a writer, too, successfully published and wallowing in the money I’ve gleaned from it. The very first book I got published was based on a story I once told to my love when we were on that island in the middle of the lake. It told of a hero without purpose and a villain without cause. It told of this hero finding purpose only when he fell in love with a peasant he met, but had to leave her for the sake of the world. It told of the villain that found cause only when the world that once hailed him as genius turned its back on him.

It told of a world torn between evil and good, but neither side fighting. It told of a world where good and evil were just two sides of a coin, both sides capable of what the other could do.

It was a hit, selling almost a million copies within a week. Critics and readers alike muttered that it was a miracle for a relatively unknown author like me to have sold so many copies in so short a time. No matter, many more books followed suit, all of them raking in money for me, but I would have none of it.

I donated most of the money to charity, keeping only a small amount for myself. For a time, all I did was answer questions about my books, appear on TV shows to describe my writing and perhaps write back to the fans that wrote to me. However, there was one thing that I fretted about, something that I never told the press; I couldn’t write the book that my love asked of me. I know she only said “You should write a book.” But I can’t settle myself if I can’t dedicate it to her.

Fifteen years ago, a girl I fancy to call Elle told me to write a book. She’s the love of my life, blimey. We were happy, for a time, but reality caught up and the world conspired against us. The details of what happened are far too painful for me to retell. Perhaps that is the reason why I can’t write our story.
I get up from in front of the computer after minutes of staring at the screen blankly and running my fingers over the keyboard. Nothing is coming to mind and I cannot seem to concentrate today. Something is calling me to the lake.

Ever since that day fifteen years ago, when Elle said “Remember the tree… Always remember the tree…” I haven’t been to the tree we used to take shade under. It’s been such a long time, although I tend to deny that it’s been fifteen years, and I no longer know if those were the exact words she said. I always say that it wasn’t that long a time ago.

But today, the lake is calling to me, like a mother to her long lost son. Unwillingly, I get dressed. I hadn’t realized that I was hardly wearing anything when I sat in front of the computer, my mind being cloudy as it was. On the way down to the beach, I feel something cold tingle against my skin. It’s a silver whistle that I hang from a leather cord around my neck, a reminder of Elle.

Down at the beach, I get into my hut and I blow the whistle as loud as I could. The man who used to come to its call is no longer alive, I was at his funeral. Old man Cesar was one of those that made my love for Elle bloom. He was an old friend, and he remained such even after that fateful day fifteen years ago.

I keep a calendar in my old hut, now that it’s repaired. One look at it and I realize, that turning point in my life was fifteen years ago to the day. This is the exact date when that fateful turn of events happened. I wonder if that’s why the tree is calling to me.

I guess that I am taking a chance; I will go to the island. Without further ado, I scramble from my seat and I dash out of the hut. I run down the dock, the wood creaking under my feet. I jump into my speedboat, feeling it almost bounce from the force. I untie it and within moments I am whizzing down the lake to the island.

There it is, the tree is majestic as I had first laid my eyes on it. I could swear that it looks even more regal in the light of the sun today than it had ever been in the days I enjoyed under its shade. There on its trunk is the marred carving of mine and Elle’s initials. The bark hasn’t yet grown over it.

I wonder how come the tree seemingly called to me not just too long ago. I look up at it and nothing comes to mind. I take a walk around it but still, the calling of the tree is no longer there. After a while I settle in the crook of two roots, where Elle used to lie. I notice something different, something I never noticed before, it is an object like a piece of glass glittered there.

I sit bolt upright, as though electrified. Recognition spreads across my face and I smile like a fool. I dig up the soil around the roots; sure enough there is a bottle there. I knew that on this very day fifteen years ago, I saw Elle bury something, but I never caught up to her as she left immediately after.

Inside the bottle is a small slip of paper, aged and brown. I pry it out and I unfold it, the edges are crumbly, but the message is otherwise intact. It is written in a flowing script, much like how Elle once wrote. The only time I saw her writing was when she signed her art.

My hands were shaking as I read the message, my heart pounding against my ribs. I am ready to bolt, but my knees are like jelly.

“Dave, I know that by the time you read this message, I am long gone. I know that you are wracked by sadness, anger, confusion and God knows what other emotions. I am too, don’t worry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give a proper goodbye, time didn’t allow it. In truth, mom asked me if I wanted to say goodbye, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Dave, I love you, I always will, no matter how the world turns or no matter how far fate takes us. If one thing is sure, it’s this: We WILL meet again.
Love,
Elle”

I’m stunned. I sit there, tears streaming down my face. The stream is bolstered when I turn the sheet around and I see the drawing I made that she insulted. She kept it! I kept mumbling to myself even as I headed back home.

I sit in front of the computer and after waiting the twelve minutes to boot it up, I run my fingers over the keyboard. I know that I’ll be able to write even if the world ends today.

I write the first few words.

“I am Dave, and the girl I love is Elle. Our love blossomed within days and even I have nothing against that. It was a love like a small sapling coming to life underneath the shade of a large tree. Humorously that’s exactly how it began. This is our story and how it all began and ended with a tree”

After that, I stop writing only when numbness takes my fingers, weariness my eyes and hunger my stomach. I give a start seeing the computer clock showing 3:00 AM. I retire, but not for long, the first rays of sunlight wake me. That strange calling is there again.

I go down to the beach and get in my boat without another thought. I am zipping down to the island and something grips my heart when I see the person standing there. The woman takes one look at me and I can swear, we both were hit by familiarity. I can’t help but laugh and blow the silver-wrought whistle as I speed for the island. Perhaps it all began with the tree, but I doubt it will end with it just yet.

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Well, I guess that most definitely ends our story. You've been a great audience and THANK YOU!