DON’T CRY

Lying on the sparse grass under the sad, drooping bowels of a huge weeping willow, I weep with it, talk to it, bare my soul. ‘Tree, what is wrong with me? Graduation day is three weeks from now and four guys I’ve invited already have been asked, but I don’t believe them. I’ve run out of possibilities except for two nerds who are not fun material. My eyes overflow with sadness, Tree. On top of this, I earned the right to be Valedictorian but the seniors voted for Betty, the Boob Queen of Brisbane. ‘

I am sitting on the ground, crying and talking to a tree. Dry up eyes.They do when I start laughing at myself. ‘Get up, fool.’ As I stand a soft breeze makes the willows arms dance. One dances faster than the others and smacks me on my back. The ground comes up and hits me. I’m angry. I hurt but am still laughing. Smaller branches caress me, bind me prisoner. My laughing stops. I’m going to die and rot here. Nobody knows where I am. It takes a bit of strength but I manage to twist my head from side to side and see nobody anywhere. Weakly I call for help. Struggling tightens my bonds. Only the increasing sway of the branches give me hope.

A strange sound passes my ear. It is a fluttering noise. And the flutterer is a beautiful butterfly as colorful as a double rainbow. It tickles my nose, softly rises and rests on my head. Yellow bumble bees buzz, buzz around my arms. I stay perfectly still. The bees go into funnel formation. A drone leads them to a clump of buttercups. The sound of their contentment makes me unafraid. They disappear more quickly than they came. Other strange sounds fill my ears. Someone, something, is playing a harp. The music is soft, tender. A veil falls over my eyes. They close and I try to relax. ‘Tina, Tina,’ a small voice says. Excitement boils thru my veins. Help must be here. ‘Where are you?’ I call. ‘I am here, right here in your mind. Picture a young man, maybe one you know. He’s in a golden chariot racing around the arena. His horses are a full lap ahead of all others. He is strong. Caesar has given him a thumbs up. Does the young man look familiar?’ My concentration is remarkable under these strange circumstances. ‘Yes, I think the driver looks like Rubin, the nerd who hasn’t been invited to the closing prom yet, and I’m not going to be the one to ask him.’ The small voice is louder. ‘T’ina, you don’t deserve to be Valedictorian. You make good grades and have holes in your brain. Rubin is a nice guy. He studies hard, and is surely going to be somebody important before he’s thirty. ‘I’m angry at myself but adamant. Rubin and I won’t look good together. I’d rather stay home and I will. The voice peeps out. ‘You are dumb. It’s your choice. You can stay home and pout or take Rubin to the dance and have some fun. ‘I’ll stay home. Go Away.’

The sun is going down and I am still trapped by this ugly weeping willow. One leg is twisted, may be broken. I call for help again and again. A voice, a real person’s voice and the yip of a small dog brighten my spirits. The voice tells Booksie to ‘make’. There is a short silence and the voice says, ‘Good Boy, let’s go back.’ ‘Help,’ I yell and the voice comes closer. ‘Tina, what in the world are you doing lying on the ground?’ ‘Rubin, I’m playing Tiddlywinks. What do you think I am doing? This stinky old tree has me trapped and I think my leg is broken. ‘

Rubin lifts a few branches, wipes away the dirt, my sadness, my fear. I am free, smiling and walking on both feet. He holds my arm as we and Booksie walk together to my house. Rubin starts to leave and I stop him before he reaches my front gate. The words pop out of my mouth so easily, they flow. ‘Rubin, would you like to be my date for my senior prom?’ I was positive he would say ‘yes’ and he did. He happens to be a good dancer, teaches me a few moves. We laugh and have a good time.

That little inside voice stays with me. It says, ‘You won’t regret your decision, Tina. ‘ And I don’t.