Olive Branch

The sunset was beautiful once. Endless streaks of bright light strewn effortlessly across a never ending skyline. The last glimmer of sunlight leaving a warmth upon the skin before a soft breeze brings a familiar chill to a bare arm. Forest looked out the window of his fourth floor office upon the setting sun, experiencing none of the things from deep in his memory. There was a time when he knew that the sun wasn’t white or gray. There was a time he knew that it possessed bright colors and brought soothing warmth to the world below, but no longer could he remember the names of those colors, for so long it had been since he’d seen them. It didn’t matter. He didn’t think about those things anymore.

He glanced over towards the clock on an adjacent office wall, it was 7:18pm, just enough time to send another dull email and organize his desk before leaving. The documents on his desk the same documents as the day before, and the day before that, only differentiating themselves by dark words on another white page, proving themselves ever so much the same. He had long forgotten what it was like to do anything else in this world other than file a document or send an email, each day morphing into the last just as one stream runs into another, waters dancing together into one, making it impossible to differentiate which water came from which. He liked it this way. He liked the security such a job brought him. He enjoyed the long hours and the challenges of the mundane. He could no longer remember why his younger self dreaded the prospect. Now, it was his home, perhaps the only place on earth where he felt safe enough to be himself.

Forest walked by the old copier down an office hallway, a stained grey carpet beneath his feet. He turned left and opened the door to the stairwell, and began his journey down the four flights. While he enjoyed the elevator in the morning, he preferred taking the stairs at the end of the day. He found that the hard work of the day was appreciated better during the long walk down the stairs, than it was on the effortless elevator ride. A chance to reflect upon the good work of the day, to feel the weight lift from his shoulders, or to brood in silence.

As he pushed open the door the parking lot he was greeted by a familiar face. Carl. A taller more slender man than Forest, with thin shoulders and sharp cheeks. Always dressed a bit too formally his presence would draw you in, if it weren’t for the overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke. “Good evening my friend. I hope this isn’t inconvenient for you” Forest said with a grin. Carl rolled his eyes. “C’mon ol’ tree, get in here.” When acquaintances heard his friends call him tree they often assumed it was some old joke about his name. It was not. The nickname was born in childhood, when he and his friends were playing together in the woods one evening. On the walk home, after being told a litany of ghost stories, young Forest caught the movement of a branch blowing in the wind. He was so startled that he ran straight into the trunk of a large oak, breaking his nose. His friends found this funny, and the name stuck. It didn’t matter anymore of course, because Forest no longer remembered this, and neither did carl.

When they arrived at Carl’s home the two gentlemen exited the old vehicle and made their way down the side walk towards Forest’s apartment, as was customary in their friendship. The two men talked along the way but Forest would not have been able to tell you about what, for he was not truly paying attention. Just agreeing and nodding along, as he so often did.

“Anyway, that pretty much sums of the whole deposition ol’ tree, if you can believe it.” Carl looked to his left, where Forest should have been, but all he saw was the pavement in his place. Carl paused and looked back over his shoulder. Forest had stopped. It was unusual, Forest never stopped on the way home. It was only two blocks from Carl’s house to Forest’s apartment and they made this walk every day after work for as long as they could remember. Forest never stopped. “Forest, what are you doing?” Carl said, his voice slightly elevated. Forest didn’t move. He was staring at roads median, but it was unclear why. Carl made his way back towards his friend and he noticed an unfamiliar expression on his face. He looked up slightly, towards the top of a small maple tree, his mouth agape, with its corners towards his ears. Carl could not recognize or describe the look on his friends face, but if he had been able to, he would’ve described it as awe.

“What is it Forest?” “Look. Look!” Forest exclaimed. Carl looked up at the maple, and noticed something different, but he did not know what it was. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Forest asked his friend. “I am not sure Forest. I am not sure what you’re looking at.” “The leaves carl, look at the leaves. They’re, well… I am not sure what they are. They look brighter… But not brighter than white… well I am not sure how to explain it.” Both men paused for a moment, to look at the leaves. “They’re not gray. They’re not black or white, Carl. They are something else, but I don’t know what they are.” The men stared at the leaves for a long while before heading home, awe on both of their faces.

***

Green. It took many hours of research in some old books at the library, but Forest found the answer he was looking for. The trees leaves were green, and they were beautiful. It had been a long time since color left the world, and by the time it had, it seemed such the natural progression that it barely made the local news. Or perhaps never made the news at all, Forest truly could not remember. It didn’t matter to him, because he saw color again.

His revelation flooded him with emotion and he had not experienced a moments peace since noticing the tree. That was two days ago. He found his work yesterday to be far more tedious than the day before. He ached to be outside again, along his walk home, staring up at the young maple tree. He had ravaged the house since his discovery, searching for anything else that might bring to his eyes something other than black, white, or some shade of gray. His efforts were unsuccessful, however although he could not see it, he felt something. Or almost felt something. It lingered under the surface, waiting for its opportunity escape like a cornered animal, ever so desperate for freedom.

It was morning now, and Forest had not slept much. His life now restless with anticipation. He labored through his normal morning routine. He ate his eggs on toast as he always did, dressed himself and brushed his teeth. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached in for his morning pill, but as his hand got closer it began to recoil. Forest thought for a moment. He had been taking this medicine for so long that he could not quite remember why he was taking it in the first place. His question may have been answered if he had bothered to read the label on the bottle, but he was quite unaware that this was even an option. He felt different after his encounter with the maple, and more confident. He pulled his hand back and closed the cabinet door, leaving the pill bottle where it was. He left his home in favor of work, to live a day he had lived many times before.

***

Forest left work early that day. He knew this would leave his old friend Carl confused, but it didn’t matter to him. He did not believe it was worth being patient for so long when he so desperately wanted to see the maple. Plus he figured, despite the confusion, that Carl would be able to get home on his own, even though it had been long since he had to do so. Forest’s commute was much longer without the first 2 miles being by vehicle, but Forest didn’t mind. He made sure to look at every leaf on every tree within his vision, just in case. None of them showed his eyes any color but gray, a sad reminder of the truth.

His paced quickened as he began to recognize his proximity to the maple tree. These faster steps felt foreign to him and he wondered how long it had been since he moved at any pace other than a slow walk. Urgency, one of many things long lost in this cold gray world. As he approached the maple a smile made its way to his face once again. “Yes,” Forest whispered to himself. “Oh yes!” He stood in awe as he had just two days before, for he noticed something else strange about the tree. The trunk wasn’t gray either. It looked almost gray, as close as something could be to gray without being it. Very close, yet quite clearly not, and again it was beautiful. For the second time that week, Forests vocabulary lacked the necessary adjectives to describe what he saw before him. The word he did know he repeated over and over in his head. Beautiful.

Forest raced home after spending significant time in front of the maple tree. For the first time in a long time, home called to him. It was stronger than the call to head back to the local library and discovery the word to describe the trunk of the tree. He wanted to be home. Something whispered softly to him that many of the questions gnawing at him, could be answered there.

Forest began rummaging through the house as he had done often over the past few days. He opened closets and old drawers, the storage room and looked under the bed, behind the bookshelves and in the cupboards. He found many things. Many things that were long forgotten from the world, but no longer. Now with Forests new eyesight, they once again lived. He found a box of old board games, photo albums, old bills and trinkets, most of which he did not remember. He rifled through them carelessly, but with great care, quickly, but with slow precision. Each item in his hands memory, each photo before his eyes a feeling, only a small portion of which could he recall. He continued for an amount of time that felt a minute, but could have been many hours, until his hands fell upon a particular photo. Most of the possessions he was observing only for a moment, just long enough to jog a memory deep inside him, but with this one, he hesitated. He examined the photo of a young girl being pushed on an old metal swing set, a beautiful woman on the swing beside her, a spitting image of the young girl. Pushing the swings behind them was a man. A man who, if it had not been for the green leaves on the maple, Forest would not have recognized. Himself. He had no recollection of the day in the photo, but he knew the truth in his heart as he gazed upon its glory, they were his wife and daughter. He had no recollection of being a husband or a father, but the truth stared him in the face and dared him to refuse it. He did not.

Forest continued his search until he stumbled upon another object that caught his new found eyes. Two poorly cut scraps of newspaper held together with a paperclip. He took them apart and studied them, as pain began to flood him. The nights spent at a hospital bedside, hugs that never truly healed, endless prayers to someone who never answered. Day after day spent consoling an inconsolable wife, until she ended her sorries with emphatic finality. The newspaper contained the obituaries of his wife and young daughter. Forest fell to his knees and wept uncontrollably. He writhed, he screamed, and he cried. He cried with blurred eyes for what felt like many days, but could very well have been only minutes. When the tears slowed he wiped his eyes with an old handkerchief and opened them. His jaw fell for the third time that week, for the beauty he saw in the leaves of the maple tree now extended to the rest of his world. He had no words to describe what he was seeing, but his eyes detected reds and greens, blues and bright yellows, the colors of the rainbow in all of their raw beauty. Forest wept once again. Once again he shook and he writhed, but he did not scream this time. Forest felt tremendous sorrow in these moments for what could have been the first time. He wept, and he smiled, gratefully.

***

It was over two months ago when Forest discovered the wonderful leaves of the maple tree. He spent most of this time coping with with his sadness and attempting to fill his empty heart. He found the pain of all he lost almost unbearable. After taking a few days to himself, he returned to work on the same schedule he always had. After much confusion with his friend Carl, he was able to get him to start picking up from work again, and accompanying him on his walk home. Each day spending less and less time in front of the maple tree. Forest remembered what the pills were in his medicine cabinet, and why he used to take them every day. He started taking them once again, even if only just to make the world bearable again. The photos and trinkets and papers he found once again tucked away, in the old cabinets and in the closets and in the old boxes. A futile attempt to dull the senses. The world was sad again, and although he had stumbled back into his old routine, he found that in his vision, he still found beauty.

***

Forest walked by the old copier down an office hallway, a stained grey carpet beneath his feet. He turned left and opened the door to the stairwell to make his journey down the four flights. While he enjoyed the elevator in the morning, he preferred taking the stairs at the end of the day. He found that the hard work of the day was far more effectively felt during the long walk down the stairs than it was on the quick and effortless elevator ride. A chance to reflect upon the good work of the day, to feel the weight lift from his shoulders, or to brood in silence.

He pushed the door to the building open to a familiar face, his friend Carl. The two men greeted each other and entered the vehicle, Carl driving and Forest in the passengers seat, as was customary for them. When they reached Carl’s house the two men exited the vehicle, and made their way along the sidewalk down towards Forest’s apartment, Carl talking away, and Forest hardly listening. Along his way home Forest stopped for a moment and glanced up at a maple tree in the roadway’s median. It was an ordinary tree, with a thin trunk and many branches. The leaves on the tree a light gray, as they were the day before and the day before that. Forest found himself puzzled by his own behavior. Why did he stop here? As he could recall, he had never stopped there before. Forest shuffled his feet a bit quicker than normal to catch with his companion, as they continued down towards his apartment. Carl continued to talk, and Forest did not listen.