The Man in the Tree

You wouldn’t think that a tree could have a face, a face just like any other, and that it could die as well. Let me tell you about how I unintentionally killed a tree’s face.

I was seven years old, playing in my grandparents driveway. It was warm and the sun was glistening through the trees. I took it upon myself to grab a hand shovel and attempt to dig a hole on the edge of the driveway. I’m not sure what prompted me to undertake this mission, but I am definitely sure that my seven year old self came up with a good excuse. I began the walk out to the end of the driveway, almost out of sight of my grandmother who was most likely keeping one eye on me as I undertook my adventures. She was like an eagle perched in the kitchen window, proud and steady awaiting a call for rescue, or the alarm on the stove telling her that the casserole was finished.

After a while toiling throughout the afternoon, the sun set and I began to get frustrated. The hole I had dug was not at all the size or shape of what I had hoped. By this time it was almost dark and my parents had shown up for Sunday night dinner. The driveway was eerie and the forest became black unlike the bright green light it reflected during the day.  Then it saw me, it peered out of the night almost popping out of the forest. The face. I was at first bewildered, but then realized what I was looking at. It was a face, specifically two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, all arranged just so to look like a human face. The expression also glowed in the dark giving its frightening appearance.

“Time for dinner!”, my mother yelled from the house. “Ok, mom. I’ll be right there”, I replied with a sense of failure. I had not accomplished my task, the hole was not complete. I got angry, my emotions took over. “Why can’t I just do something the right way for once!”, as I began to slightly tear up like the drizzle before a hurricane. I lashed out grabbing the shovel that had spoiled my afternoon, and I threw it.

Now, I was not intending to hit the great beech tree which loomed like a spirit over the driveway, but that’s just what happened. That shovel had flew through the air and found its mark in one of the worst places I could imagine, the face. Crack, fshe, went the shovel as it hit the tree, bounced off like a human on a trampoline, and landed in the grass. What a disaster, it was ruined, the nose had been broken off of the tree and was now lying in the grass wondering what it had done to meet this untimely fate. I was in shock, I immediately sprinted to the house and told my mother what had happened.

Although my mother was not immediately angry, she seemed concerned. She then told me, “Honey, you need to go tell Grandpa, it’s his face after all.”

I was petrified. How do I tell someone that I broke something that was theirs and not mine? I entered the library, cases of books piled to the ceiling.  Asleep in his chair like a bear hibernating for winter laid my grandfather. I slowly tapped him on the shoulder and he quickly awoke. He seemed happy to see me, but became quite disturbed when I explained to him what had happened.

He screamed, “You what! You broke the nose off of the tree! How!? I can’t believe it! That was a birthday present from my sister, and now it’s ruined! I told you to be careful around things outside!”

Although he screamed, it is not as bad as it sounds, my grandfather forgave me and understood that it was an accident. Fortunately, the eyes were still unharmed and the face was just forced to live without a nose for the rest of the summer.