第7部分(第1/7 页)

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　cheek