by Angela Sapir
I grew you, my little tree, from nothing but a seed. I found you on the warmest day in the park. I remember. I remember. Before I planted you, I tended the earth, making sure it was fertile. I dug a hole, and in you fell. And I fell too. When the first sprout popped up, I cried, like a mother over her baby. I was so proud of what we had accomplished together. However, my little tree, as you grew, I began to wish you were something else. I knew you were an apple tree, and you would someday grow the best and juiciest apples. Sometimes, though…sometimes, I wondered if you could be an orange tree.
So, when you got big enough, I decided I would cut into you, down to your heartwood. As I wounded you, I wept at your strength. From the cut, you would grow an orange tree. How beautiful! When your new limb began to sprout, I was overjoyed! “Look at how much you’ve embraced the change! Look at what you’ve gained… what we’ve both gained,” I shouted—my little tree. But I couldn’t deny that something was growing in my heart. I loved your apples and oranges. I wished though…. maybe. Just maybe. You could be a pear tree, too.
Again, I shed tears and, again, I carved into you and spliced a new branch, careful to tightly wrap the bindings. Every day, I applied a salve, inspecting the laceration and watching it slowly healed around your new limb. I noticed your leaves had wilted a little from the trauma, and your bark looked dry, but still I marveled at your resilience, knowing you would overcome. And you did, eventually. But not before you lost some leaves and your bark peeled off. As you healed, I noticed things, my little tree. Something about you wasn’t the same. While your beautiful new fruit grew, the apple part of you began to shrink. I couldn’t understand why an apple tree wouldn’t want to be an orange tree and a pear tree. Why only be an apple tree? You could be so much more. So, I decided.
To your apple tree, I dissected and grafted on more apples. More apples would be the thing to make you happy, I thought. The ones you began with were red, but the green ones were better. You must agree. Tethering you together to my new augmentation, I added the liniment. Then, I watched you, my little tree.
I watched as each leaf fell from your limbs. I watched as you shrank back, unable to heal from this last lesion. I watched as the once-budding fruit shriveled, turning brown, then black before being consumed by the fruit flies I could no longer control. I watched, helpless. And after there was nothing left of you, my little tree, a question began to burrow into my mind. All these things I wanted for you… wanted you to want. Did you want them, too?