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Granite Tree

by Madeleine C, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, Age 13

Introduction
“The trees understand me, more than I do. It’s weird really”

Meet Granite – She’s a timid 11 year old. But not up so far from the ground. Her trees are her haven. Parents? Away, or sleeping. School? Only if she wants to. But what will happen if the only thing that makes life interesting for Granite is put into immediate danger? How far will she go to protect what really means everything to her?

A single brown oak leaf fluttered in the breeze. It brushed against my window, and I, lying there at the window seat, opened my eyes and blinked them once or twice.
The trees were inviting me to go and climb them. So I dug out a blue pullover from under the window seat and unlatched the window, on to the roof. From there, I scampered across and walked on my toes across the rigged fence that separated our lot from the Hankins’. It wobbled, but held out from buckling, as it always faithfully had. I grasped a pine branch in my left arm as my right foot came off the fence.

Slowly, I wrapped my legs around the tree and used an old rope to shinny up.

My name is Granite Courts. I’ve been eleven for three months. It’s been okay. My father is a musician. He plays the guitar in a little group that performs to schools across the state. Mum is a chef. She works evening shifts at “J’Adore” a French restaurant, 10 minutes from here.

I’m by myself a lot. It doesn’t bother me. School’s okay, but it’s three miles by bike to go. Sometimes Mum leaves out some books and home schools me. I don’t mind.

The tree was older. Sap folded in clumps along the crevices. I grabbed the last limb and perched myself at the top. This tree had a big branch connected to another tree. There was a nice little seat with another branch rising up vertically. I leaned over and crossed my legs while sitting in the spot. I gazed up at the sky for a couple minutes.

We live right beside the Hankins. Mr. Jenk and his two adopted boys; Liam and Markus. They are seven years old, and can get away with anything, since Mr. Jenk is too busy trying to get rid of the bugs on his lawn. He’s well over sixty years of age!

To our other side are the Smiths. Marsha-May and Maria are identical twins, but they are eighty-five and can’t take care of their house anymore. They might sell their home. I heard Mum talking to Father about it. They used to bring us a hamper of apple pie every November, but I think they are losing much more than their memory.

The sky had almost no clouds. Just a couple whisks of white. I wanted to write everything about that sky down so I could remember it. But it lasts in my mind too. I’m much more of a sketcher than a writer.

I keep a sketchbook in one of the owl holes up here so I pulled it out and took a stick of charcoal. I sketched the tree, and then the sky. I folded up the drawing and inserted it into my denim shorts’ back pocket. I felt like staying up there all day but I heard a voice.

It was Dad’s, he was finally home from a week tour! I slid down the trunk of the tree and ran through the rosey gate to my Father, who was standing there with his guitar case and a big grin. I hugged him long and hard until I had to let go.
“Gran, chap! you’ve got a smear of dirt on your cheek. I hope you haven’t been up in those darn trees again” He said with a smile. I wiped off the dirt and brushed the leaves from my hair.

My parents were always afraid I’d fall from the trees, but I never have, and I never will.

The trees understand me, more than I understand myself. It’s weird really. Up above everyone else makes such a difference. It’s like a whole new world up there.

“GRANITE, STEWART! SUPPERTIME!” My mother shouted. I pushed the door open and kicked off my sandals as it swung.

I slid into my wicker seat. It was leek soup – again. I groaned, inside where no one would hear me and took a swig of my water. I swallowed, and slurped the soup. Mum – being a chef and all was a really great cook. But Leek soup wasn’t my favourite entrée. My father finished quickly. He was always so hungry. My Mother frowned and said she only had enough to make 1st servings. I didn’t mind.

An hour later, Mum grabbed her apron and her purse and rushed out the door. She was departing to her job at J’Adore. I had been to the restaurant a couple times since she started there…

The minute I stepped my foot inside J’Adore, I knew I didn’t belong. I knew my cut off denim shorts and scuffled sneakers were ashamed to be in the presence of red evening gowns and brown suits. I stuck my hands in my pockets and stared at the floor.

A tall, thin woman with sleek auburn hair approached me“ Oh ,La la! Une Mademoiselle! Qu’el Sappelle tu?”

I was flabbergasted. Who was this French lady and what was she saying to me? She understood the look on my face and asked in English; “What is your name?”
After a little pause I replied “Granite”. Here it comes, I thought. Another name comment. Something like “How unusual!” or “Were you named after the stone?” or “Can you repeat that?”

But the lady asked no further questions. I think it was because she was scared she’d say something wrong in English and I’d be offended.

I wandered my way back to where my mother cooked. My eyes fixed on her like an eagle. She looked really different. She was wearing a white-silk chef’s gown and her blond hair was done up. She also had on red makeup – very un-like her. I watched her hands as she cooked. They seemed to spin everywhere. Placing a little goo on one plate, sprinkling here and there, tossing and folding ingredients. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

“Gran! Darling! What a surprise!” I smiled and told her I’d ridden my bike. “Oh, Dear, you shouldn’t have. It’s getting late – and dark. I still have half an hour of work left. I’m sorry” She looked disappointed she couldn’t ride home with me.
“Oh, Kim, I can cover the rest of your shift” A brassy red head piped up. She was wearing the same gown of white-silk my mother was wearing.

“Oh, Mathilda, no. It wouldn’t be fair” My Mum answered.

“ I insist! What a sweet daughter you have there! Go, go! It’ll be no problem” “Are you sure?” “Of course” “Thanks a million!”

“Don’t mention it!” “Bye” “Have a good time”

And that was that. My Mum took off her “disguise” and grasped my hand. I looked around at all the couples dining in the restaurant. Eating my Mother’s cooking. And I wished some day I could eat a meal there…

Soon after Mother left for J’Adore, Dad took out his guitar. I listened to the music for a while but didn’t find it inspiring. It was the same old stuff he played for every school on the map. I wondered if kids actually like his shows. Would I?

I trudged up to my bedroom. It was a spacious room and held; one brown cot, two bookshelves, a chest of drawers, and a window seat. I liked to sleep on the window seat; but the window glass was so thin, I would awake if anything touched it.

To be continued...hopefully!