a tree。 And on the climb down I felt like crying。 Why
didn't I have someone real to talk to？ Why didn't I have a best friend like everyone else
seemed to？ Sure； there were kids I knew at school； but none
of them were close friends。 They'd have no interest in climbing the tree。 In smelling the
sunshine。
That night after dinner my father went outside to paint。 In the cold of the night； under the
glare of the porch light； he went out to put the finishing
touches on a sunrise he'd been working on。
I got my jacket and went out to sit beside him； quiet as a mouse。
After a few minutes he said； “What's on your mind； sweetheart？”
In all the times I'd sat out there with him； he'd never asked me that。 I looked at him but
couldn't seem to speak。
He mixed two hues of orange together； and very softly he said； “Talk to me。”
I sighed so heavily it surprised even me。 “I understand why you e out here； Dad。”
He tried kidding me。 “Would you mind explaining it to your mother？”
“Really； Dad。 I understand now about the whole being greater than the sum of the parts。”
He stopped mixing。 “You do？ What happened？ Tell me about it！”
So I told him about the sycamore tree。 About the view and the sounds and the colors and the
wind； and how being up so high felt like flying。 Felt
like magic。
He didn't interrupt me once； and when my confession was through； I looked at him and
whispered； “Would you climb up there with me？”
He thought about this a long time； then smiled and said； “I'm not much of a climber anymore；
Julianna； but I'll give it a shot； sure。 How about this
weekend； when we've got lots of daylight to work with？”
……… Page 19………
“Great！”
I went to bed so excited that I don't think I slept more than five minutes the whole night。
Saturday was right around the corner。 I couldn't wait！
The next morning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree。 I caught the sun
rising through the clouds； sending streaks of fire from
one end of the world to the other。 And I was in the middle of making a mental list of all the
things I was going to show my father when I heard a noise
below。
I looked down； and parked right beneath me were two trucks。 Big trucks。 One of them was
towing a long； empty trailer； and the other had a cherry
picker on it—the kind they use to work on overhead power lines and telephone poles。
There were four men standing around talking； drinking from thermoses； and I almost called
down to them； “I'm sorry； but you can't park there…。
That's a bus stop！” But before I could； one of the men reached into the back of a truck and
started unloading tools。 Gloves。 Ropes。 A chain。
Earmuffs。 And then chain saws。 Three chain saws。
And still I didn't get it。 I kept looking around for what it was they could possibly be there to cut
down。 Then one of the kids who rides the bus
showed up and started talking to them； and pretty soon he was pointing up at me。
One of the men called； “Hey！ You better e down from there。 We gotta take this thing
down。”
I held on to the branch tight； because suddenly it felt as though I might fall。 I managed to
choke out； “The tree？”
“Yeah； now e on down。”
“But who told you to cut it down？”
“The owner！” he called back。
“But why？”
Even from forty feet up I could see him scowl。 “Because he's gonna build himself a house；
and he can't very well do that with this tree in the way。
Now e on； girl； we've got work to do！”
By that time most of the kids had gathered for the bus。 They weren't saying anything to me；
just looking up at me and turning from time to time to
talk to each other。 Then Bryce appeared； so I knew the bus was about to arrive。 I searched
across the rooftops and sure enough； there it was； less
than four blocks away。
My heart was crazy with panic。 I didn't know what to do！ I couldn't leave and let them cut
down the tree！ I cried； “You can't cut it down！ You just
can't！”
One of the men shook his head and said； “I am this close to calling the police。 You are
trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job。
Now are you going to e down or are we going to cut you down？”
The bus was three blocks away。 I'd never missed school for any reason other than legitimate
illness； but I knew in my heart that I was going to
miss my ride。 “You're going to have to cut me down！” I yelled。 Then I had an idea。 They'd
never cut it down if all of us were in the tree。 They'd have to
listen！ “Hey； guys！” I called to my classmates。 “Get up here with me！ They can't cut it down if
we're all up here！ Marcia！ Tony！ Bryce！ C'mon； you
guys； don't let them do this！”
They just stood there； staring up at me。
I could see the bus； one block away。 “e on； you guys！ You don't have to e up this
high。 Just a little ways。 Please！”
The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks； and when the doors folded
open； one by one my classmates climbed on board。
What happened after that is a bit of a blur。 I remember the neighbors gathering； and the
police with megaphones。 I remember the fire brigade；
……… Page 20………
and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I'd darn well better get out of it。
Somebody tracked down my mother； who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a
sensible mother should； but I was not ing down。 I
was not ing down。
Then my father came racing up。 He jumped out of his pickup truck； and after talking with my
mother for a few minutes； he got the guy in the cherry
picker to give him a lift up to where I was。 After that it was all over。 I started crying and tried
to get him to look out over the rooftops； but he wouldn't。
He said that no view was worth his little girl's safety。
He got me down and he took me home； only I couldn't stay there。 I couldn't stand the sound
of chain saws in the distance。
So Dad took me with him to work； and while he put up a block wall； I sat in his truck and cried。
I must've cried for two weeks straight。 Oh； sure； I went to school and I functioned the best I
could； but I didn't go there on the bus。 I started riding
my bike instead； taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street。 Up to a pile
of sawdust that used to be the earth's most
magnificent sycamore tree。
Then one evening when I was locked up in my room； my father came in with something
under a towel。 I could tell it was a painting because that's
how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park。 He sat down； resting
the painting on the floor in front of him。 “I always liked
that tree of yours；” he said。 “Even before you told me about it。”
“Oh； Dad； it's okay。 I'll get over it。”
“No； Julianna。 No； you won't。”
I started crying。 “It was just a tree…。”
“I never want you to convince yourself of that。 You and I both know it isn't true。”
“But Dad…”
“Bear with me a minute； would you？” He took a deep breath。 “I want the spirit of that tree to
be with you always。 I want you to remember how you
felt when you were up there。” He hesitated a moment； then handed me the painting。 “So I
made this for you。”
I pulled off the towel； and there was my tree。 My beautiful； majestic sycamore tree。 Through
the branches he'd painted the fire of sunrise； and it
seemed to me I could feel the wind。 And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the
distance； her cheeks flushed with wind。 With joy。 With
magic。
“Don't cry； Julianna。 I want it to help you； not hurt you。” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and
gave a mighty sniff。 “Thank you； Daddy；” I choked out。
“Thank you。”
I hung the painting across the room from my bed。 It's the first thing I see every morning and
the last thing I see every night。 And now that I can look
at it without crying； I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me。
I see the day that my view of things around me started changing。
Brawk…Brawk…Brawk！
Eggs scare me。 Chickens； too。 And buddy； you can laugh at that all you want； but I'm being
dead serious here。
It started in the sixth grade with eggs。
And a snake。
And the Baker brothers。
The Baker brothers' names are Matt and Mike； but even now I can't tell you which one's
which。 You never see one without the other。 And even
though they're not twins； they do look and sound pretty much the same； and they're both in
Lyta's class； so maybe one of them got held back。
……… Page 21………
Although I can't exactly see a teacher voluntarily having either of those maniacs two years in
a row。
Regardless； Matt and Mike are the ones who taught me that snakes eat eggs。 And when I
say they eat eggs； I'm talking they eat them raw and
shell…on whole。
I probably would've gone my entire life without this little bit of reptilian trivia if it hadn't been
for Lyta。 Lyta had this major…league thing for
Skyler Brown； who lives about three blocks down； and every chance she got； she went down
there to hang out while he practiced the drums。 Well；
boom…boom…whap； what did I care； right？ But then Skyler and Juli's brothers formed a band；
which they named Mystery Pisser。
When my mom heard about it； she pletely wigged out。 “What kind of parents would allow
their children to be in a band named Mystery
Pisser？ It's vile。 It's disgusting！”
“That's the whole point； Mom；” Lyta tried to explain。 “It doesn't mean anything。 It's just to
get a rise out of old people。”
“Are you calling me old； young lady？ Because it's certainly getting a rise out of me！”
Lyta just shrugged； implying that my mom could draw her own conclusion。
“Go！ Go to your room；” my mother snapped。
“For what？” Lyta snapped back。 “I didn't say a thing！”
“You kn