The Tree

“Young man, you get out of that tree right now!”

Tim looked down at his mother. “I won’t break it,” he said.

She shook her head at him. “It’s a young tree, and you’re going to ruin it.” She turned away. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

He started down the tree as she walked back toward the house. It’s a stupid tree, anyway, he thought resentfully. Who would care if he broke a branch, as long as he didn’t break an arm or something when he fell? It was just a tree.

His mother was on the phone when he came through the kitchen door. “He was up in the tree Grandma gave me last year right before she died,” she said into the receiver. “Yes, I got mad. Why shouldn’t I? It’s all I have of the only person who ever really mothered me. You would have been upset, too.”

Copyright ©2013 Loretta Miles Tollefson


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