Treehouse in the Forest

Before him stood a creaky, old, and falling apart structure. Wooden planks hanging by a single nail wedged into the tree, some clinging to other boards, worn and partly eaten away over time by termites. It was a pathetic sight to behold, but despite that, it held value and past dreams in the shape of a crumbling treehouse.

Grazing his fingertips against the tree trunk, it felt like he was witnessing the past unfold before him, where the grass beneath his feet wasn’t so yellow and the trees that loomed over him still had their vibrant green leaves. His younger brother was darting around with joy, not a single care within him, filled from head to toe with life instead of the crushing exhaustion brought by college.

Himself as well, young and free. The summer breeze was flowing through his hair and breathing into him liveliness, giggling, quick on his feet, and happy. They didn’t think about getting lost, they encouraged it even—no matter what, as long as they knew where the treehouse was, then home was not far.

Back then, things weren’t so bleak. He and his brother were closer, worrying about naught, cheering away sadness. They would remain until sunset, when their father would come calling for them to return, and he’d chase them playfully home as if he were herding cattle. Some days, they would retire early when his brother would get hurt, holding back tears. He would grab the younger boy’s hand and lead him home for early ice cream.

It was a hideout, a play space, a hangout area. A forest behind their backyard, scary to some, intriguing to others. Until it wasn’t.

The brothers stared blankly at the house, “SOLD” plastered over a sign on their yard in big, red letters that mocked them. It wasn’t something they had a say in; one day at the dinner table, their parents said they were moving, and that was that.

Overwhelmed with feelings, his younger brother sprinted away from the front yard and past the back, running to the safe space that they created together. Without missing a beat, he followed in a frenzy, not wanting him to get injured. Muffled sobbing rang in his ears, and when he climbed the rope ladder like a hundred times before, hauling himself onto the wooden platform, he was greeted by his brother with knees up to his chest.

They spent their last moments at their treehouse together, where he consoled his sibling and assured him that they could always come back if the new house owners were nice enough. They talked some more, cloud gazing from their familiar spot, reminiscing about the memories they created here. No running around, no play fighting—this was the most civil they’ve ever been at the treehouse.

Forever was not long enough. Their father found them and urged the two back to their family car. It was the end of a chapter, where they left behind everything familiar and sowed the seeds to plant something new.

It did not birth something brighter and new. Instead, as he left his childhood behind, his world transformed into gray. The many trees, as silly as it sounded, were like family to him, although they were no longer accompanying him. They breathed life into him, made the world colorful!

Walking through unfamiliar hallways, hearing nothing but silence, it was eerie. His brother became more invested in school work and that left little time for them to hang out like they used to. He was getting shut out each day that passed, undoubtedly a distant memory now. Very few words would be exchanged at the dinner table, only meaningless small talk that provided little entertainment.

Admittedly, there would be times where he would take the bus to visit their old house, yet he would stop at the front of the building and only stare wistfully. He couldn’t bring himself to return to the treehouse, to see its condition and whether or not the new house owners took as much care for it as they did. So he didn’t.

He would walk the rest of the way back, listening to children’s playful shouting that just didn’t sound the same. It didn’t sound real.

When he arrived home, he pressed a hand against his brother’s room door—they didn’t share a bedroom after the move—and peeked inside. His brother was at his desk, scribbling down notes that he knew were for school.

“Hey,” he’d say gently.

“Studying,” would be his brother’s curt response, barely even acknowledging him. He looked tired, focused, determined to stay on task.

He understood the cue he was given and backed off. It was his last year and he was going to move into the dormitory soon to start college. He felt disappointed that he couldn’t spend at least a second with his brother before then.

Even years after, they were never able to repair the rift that formed between them without the treehouse to help. There was no reason to play, no forest to explore, and nowhere to hide when they needed time away from their home.

Today was a little different. Not by much, different nonetheless. He texted his brother, “Come with me to the treehouse,” and for the first time, in lieu of a straightforward no, he was given “Studying, sorry. Maybe next time,” as a response. There was time for them to revisit it, although despite that, he felt compelled to approach it alone.

Maybe it was because he didn’t want his sibling to see the potentially upsetting sight of their safespace, or maybe it was because he wanted personal closure alone. What he did know was that he took the same bus down the streets until he reached an unfamiliar house, changed from the one he knew so long ago by a makeover he thought was unnecessary.

One might think that it was trespassing to worm his way through the small path leading to the backyard entrance, but the forest belonged to nobody, and rest assured he wasn’t going to be in the backyard itself.

He wasn’t sure if he should have returned, or if he should have lived his life blissfully unaware of the warped wood and groaning trees. With their weak branches, they reached towards him, welcoming him back after so long. Although worn and damaged, they told him stories of what happened in his absence, the negligence they faced from their new family, the storms they endured, and within him was a small fire of anger that crackled to life.

They also told him, when he grazed his fingertips along one of the tree trunks, that they kept all the memories safe. That he was always welcome back to relive memories that he would be unable to achieve again, because they were so familiar with each other. He was relieved to find that his safespace will always be his safespace, no matter how much time would pass.

Taking a deep breath, he felt life fill his body from head to toe.