The Cherry Tree Saved Me

When I was six years old, the middle of my kindergarten year, my family moved from our two bedroom apartment to a three bedroom rental house. I remember being so happy to finally get my own room because up until then, my brother and I had been sharing. I was sad, though, to have to leave my friends and my teacher. My dad was still with the family at the time.

Shortly after moving there; however, my dad left us and it would be over 30 years before I would see him again. My mom had to go back to work and thinking back, that was when my life changed and I would begin to live a very violent life in a very violent home with a verbally and physically abusive mother.

The house we moved into was a side by side duplex. It was a ranch style home with three bedrooms and a huge back yard. The family next door had three children. A boy my age, a boy my brothers age and a girl a few years older. We played and went to school together when my brother and I were allowed out of the house.

I became very close to the younger boy, Steven. He was just the sweetest soul. I grew up in constant chaos, never knowing what was going to set off my mother into a fit of rage. She beat me almost daily and screamed at me constantly. We barely had the basics let alone extras or toys. Steven never judged me for any of it and became a source of comfort.

We had a huge beautiful cherry tree in the back yard behind our garage and big branches laid onto the roof. I would climb the tree and hide from my mother quite often. I knew that she couldn’t get to me up there. Steven soon figured out that that was my hiding spot and began to join me. We would lay up there for hours looking into the sky and talking. It was the only time I was happy or at peace.

From the ages of six to thirteen I found refuge in that tree and in Steven. I was picked on in school for being poor, for never being able to do activities or have play dates. He never treated me like anything other than his friend. One time we got in so much trouble together. They started building an apartment complex next to our house and we thought it would be fun to go play in the construction site. It had recently rained so it was very muddy. Steven lost one of his shoes in the deep mud. I laughed so hard. When we got home we were covered in mud and he had only one shoe. His mom made us write 200 times “ I will not play in the construction.” We learned very quickly how to spell the word “construction.” It was worth it though because we had so much fun.

We had such great fun in the summers because my mother had to work all day and his mom looked after us. We would take big old blankets and wood stakes and make tents. We had some how accumulated a fifty five gallon drum and turned it into a pool! It was absurd but a cherished memory none the less. Those times when my mother was away at work and I could just be a little girl playing with a friend gave me reason to live.

One morning when I was thirteen and Steven was twelve I woke up to have my world shattered. I was informed that Steven was gone. He died. Just like that my friend was gone and I was alone. The next couple days are a blur because of the shock I was in. I attended the funeral and I remember just crying and crying. I was never the same. Just after his death would be when I would begin my journey to drugs and alcohol.

I named my oldest son after him. My oldest son has a sweet soul just as he did. At the time, we were not told anything but many years later learned that he had succumbed to Cystic Fibrosis. I will never forget Steven, or that big beautiful cherry tree!