The Wishing Tree

I know mommy doesn’t hate me.

I know it’s my fault for making her mad. Mommy is mad a lot.

I had to leave until she’s not so mad anymore.

I brush my hand through my hair and feel the lump on my head. It hurts. I look at my fingers; they’re red.

I wipe my hands on my pants, then wrap my arms around the big old oak tree as tight as I can. Its broad canopy of branches and stickery leaves spread over me, covering me like a blanket. Comforting me. Protecting me. So big and strong.

Just like my Daddy. I wish he hadn’t left us. I miss him so much.

The leaves rustle in the breeze, full of life, breathing, whispering. I hold on tight.

Why did Daddy leave us? I didn’t even see him go. Mommy said he didn’t want me anymore, said he didn’t love me anymore. Was that true? I thought Daddy loved me.

I think back to all the times me and Daddy came down here to the tree by the river. We came down here a lot because Mommy was mad a lot.

We skipped stones in the water and watched the fish swim, lazy and slow. We saw the crawdads scurry backwards to hide in their holes, then peek out at us like shy children. We admired the ants, bees, and squirrels, busy at work. We sat under the shade of the tree to talk about guy things. And sometimes, we took a nap.

Daddy told me that this is the biggest and oldest tree for miles and miles around. Planted by the Great Spirit to be guardian of the river. On the day the tree was born, the Great Spirit gave it a trunk as hard as iron, and roots deep and long to drink from the river it protected.

“It’s a Valley Oak,” Daddy said. “The largest, most majestic of all the California oak trees. And this tree is the king of them all. A strong tree, like King David; a wise tree, like King Solomon of old.”

Why is Mommy mad at me all the time? Sometimes she gets so mad that she hits me. I don’t like it when she hits me, and I want her to stop. When she calms down, she says she’s sorry, and won’t ever do it again, and she’ll be really nice for a while. Until she does it again. 

I let go of the tree and rub my head. It really hurts. The lump is bigger, and there is more red on my fingers.

Daddy said the natives built their village beneath its branches many years ago right by the river. They lived there until the miners — called the 49ers — came and made them leave when they found gold in the river.

Were the natives sad when they left? Like when Daddy left. Was he sad too?

Daddy called it the “Wishing Tree.” He said if I made a wish, and I believed it hard enough, that my wish would come true.

The tree, so regal, noble, and wise — branches swaying in the breeze — whispers in my ear, telling me everything will be okay. I feel peace and calm. I feel safe. Like with Daddy. I always feel safe with Daddy.

I hope he comes home soon. 

I fold my hands. “Dear tree, I want to make a wish. Please make Mommy happy with me again. Help her feel better. She is so tired today. Amen.”

Wait, I forgot something. “Dear tree, please bring Daddy back home too. I miss him so much. Amen.”

I unfold my hands and remember. Right before I came here to the Wishing Tree.

The look on her face. Her eyes wide, filled with tears, not saying a word. Staring at me.

There was a knife in my hand, the blade covered in red. I don’t know what happened. Why was I holding a knife? Why was she looking at me like that?

Mommy was clutching her middle like she had a tummy ache. Her hands covered a dark red stain on her dress, and the red seeped through her fingers, dripping on the floor. She groaned, then curled up on the couch and went to sleep.

I made a wish. No, I made two wishes. Daddy said my wish would come true if I really believed it. And I really do believe it. For both of them.

I run my hand through my hair again and feel the lump. It still hurts, but not as much. There’s no new red on my fingers, and it’s getting dry and sticky. I dip my hands in the cool water at the river’s edge, wash them, and slosh water all over my face and head. That feels good. I sit at the base of the tree and my mind wanders…

Birds chirp and sing their happy songs in the branches above me. The sun hangs low in the sky and the wispy clouds have turned shades of coral pink and golden yellow at the edges. I’ve lost track of time. How long have I been here? Did I fall asleep? It will be dark soon.

I need to go home and wake up Mommy. I hope she feels better and isn’t mad at me anymore. I hope she is happy to see me after her nap.

“Thank you Wishing Tree. I have to go now.” I turn around and walk back up the hill towards home.

Mommy loves me. Deep down in her heart, I know she does. Even when she is mad. And Mommy is mad a lot.

I want to hug her, and tell her I love her too.