The Oak Tree Wisdom
Two days later, Mack dragged his chair back to the familiar spot under the pecan trees. A lot had gone down since their last conversation—phone calls made, bridges tentatively rebuilt. He sat down onto the aluminum frame with a sigh that carried weight.
Tree 1: Hey, you’re back.
The older pecan tree voice sounded, like an old friend speaking to you at the corner store.
Ding.
Mack’s phone buzzed against his thigh. He pulled it out, squinting his eyes at the screen from the sunlight shining through the leaves leaving a glare.
Younger tree: Ohh, oh—it’s a new person.
Whispering to the other tree, loud enough for Mack to hear every word.
Mack: “You know I can hear you”
Mack said without looking up from his phone.
Mack: “And yes, it’s another woman.”
The message was from Destiny, a woman he’d met at the grocery store yesterday. Her text:
Density: Hope you’re having a good today.
Something was crawling on his shoulder. He looked up to see a spider rappelling down from the pecan tree branches on a silky thread, heading straight for his head.
Mack: “Nah, I’m not dealing with this today.”
Mack grabbed his chair and dragged it fifteen feet over to the massive oak tree that dominated the far corner of the yard.
Mack: “Now they got spiders webbing down on my shoulder. I’m going to sit over here.”
He sat down in the shade of the oak’s tree branches, brushing imaginary webs off his shirt. The oak tree shadow was deeper, cooler, different from the pecan trees’.
Mack: “Aww yeah, much better,” he said, settling back and responding to Destiny’s text.
Oak tree: You know they ass been on the chopping block, right?
The oak’s voice was deeper than the pecans’, rougher like someone who’d seen too much and had opinions about all of it.
Mack: “Aww shit, here we go.”
Mack looked up at the thick branches above him.
Mack: “What you mean, chopping block?”
Oak tree: Your grandmother been talking about cutting them pecans down. Says they don’t produce like they used to, and them squirrels are not making it any better.
Mack felt something twist in his stomach. Those trees had been there since before he was born. They watched him grow up, survive scraped knees and broken hearts, witnessed his lowest moments and his comebacks.
Older pecan tree: We been trying to tell him for days. But he keeps running off saying the mosquitoes are start to bite.
Younger pecan tree: Yeah, and now he over there texting some new girl instead of calling Keisha.
Mack’s was looking over his phone screen. Destiny’s message was short and sweet, uncomplicated. She didn’t know about his past, his mistakes, the months he’d spent sleeping on couches and drinking himself stupid. With her, he could be the man he was trying to become instead of the man he’d been.
But Keisha—Keisha knew all of it and had loved him anyway, until she couldn’t anymore.
So what’s it gonna be? the oak tree asked. You gonna let them trees get cut down? keep playing it safe with this new girl, or you gonna fight for what matters?
Another text from Destiny popped up: Maybe we could grab coffee sometime this week?
From across the yard, he could hear the pecan trees rustling nervously in a breeze that barely existed.
To be continued…