| Pear Blossoms |
| by Draco Meir |
| The moving van stood bright white against the trees, its driver and logo almost blotted out by shadows. Everywhere around me, trees sprang from nowhere � there was hardly any place to feel the sun on my skin. The copses of fruit trees that fringed the corners of our new house did not have that planned, subdivision look that I had secretly come to love. No, the trees that imposed in my vision were short and bent, with black, dry�smelling bark that came off in dying flakes. We � Mother and I � moved from Atlantic City at the start of my senior year. She received a much-needed transfer from the teller job she had at the Casino Royale, and so we settled down into a smart, two-story house in the suburbs, a real step up from the city. I liked it there. The surroundings were friendly, the schools were good � and the gardens and trees were all in neat rows. I don't know what it is, but something about a straight line intrigues me. I often wonder where they would go if you drew them on a page and they just continued forever. Lines contain so much possibility and look very pleasing � at least in my eyes. That's why I like my plants straight, my room clean, and my world filled with sharp, contrasting colors. And that's where trees mess things up. They're just all over the place, not following any sort of pattern or rule. Their leaves ruin the light with rounded, fuzzy edges, and intangible, soft hues. In our first house, the trees were at least tolerable because the lot was less than a year old and technically, the plants were still saplings. In fact, I found the lines that their thin trunks cut across the lawn to be quite comforting. Then my uncle died. Great uncle to be exact. He lived in western Jersey, just a day's drive away, where the subdivisions become few and far between, and the countryside more rural. You know the story � it's been plastered on feel-good Disney movies for a while now. Mother hardly knew my uncle, visiting with him perhaps three times in her childhood. In truth, she forgot about him, unknowingly shunning him as did everyone else in his old age. Mother remained a happy memory in his mind, though, so we got the house. Same story. Happy ending. Yes, ultimately a happy ending. |