Central Etobicoke High School - Etobian Yearbook (Etobicoke, Ontario Canada)

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The tree is dead . W We had planted it early on a fine spring morning in a solitary spot of the flower garden, where it would flourish with the aid of the warm summer sun, and the water from the drain pipe at the corner of the house. It was a very tiny pine tree, only six inches high, but the frailty of its branches was offset by the proud way that it tossed its topmost tassle of needles. As I was firmly patting the last handful of the moist earth around its base, Ed had yanked my hair and laughed, If ye let tha wee tree dae, I wiI'na longer court ye. No tree, no me! I remember staring with horror at the stain on his white wool sweater made by that last handful of moist dirt that I had thrown at him in mock anger, but he had iust laughed and had given my arm a playful twist. As the tree grew taller, and the needles grew more numerous, our good times grew more num- erous too. We laughed together at school plays, dances, and parties, we explored together on hikes, canoe trips on the lake, and window-shopping in the iungle of city skyscrapers, and we were quiet together listening to records, and playing endless games of chess. M the tree grew stronger, so our friendship grew stronger. In fact, the tree seemed to be a symbol of our friend- f ' ship, and I shrank from the thought of what might happen if the tree should die . Last spring, on the little tree's birthday, Ed and I spent our - I ' last evening together for the duration of the summer. I was to 519- hfe' W f-A nl Y , ff 4 ' E ff-'E x take a summer trip with my family, and I would not see Ed until X - . z' I the coming autumn. We could almost smell the warmth of the J' .., 'W dying day that evening as we watched the sun set, and a full moon grace the heavens with her twinkling iewels. A cool breeze danced over every blade of green spring grass, and the early I summer flowers scented the air with their perfume. I remember ,' I I . I Q gf:-.i!iL .,,,,.--. 5 I O V N thinking, What a beautifully romantic evening it is , and I had had hopes until Ed leaned toward me and whispered softly, I'II race ye 'round tha block, Stinky. Tha winner decides on his ane prize. I know what I'II demand when I win, I thoughtasl tore down the road. I'II make him take advantage of the beautiful even- as Q I F1 ing and-, It was too late! He was sitting grinning at me when I finally reached the house. WeII , what do you want for a prize? Hoot mon, that isa wee problem, Lass. A wee bit of candy perhaps? Just like a little boy, aren't you? I sulked. Besides I have none. Then let's gae intae tha hoose 'n see wha your mither hae tae eat. Must you always think of your stomach? Ed laughed, I forget sometimes, Lass, but it always reminds me somehoo! Oh, he kissed me good-bye before he left-right in the middle of me wee bit of a nose . But, iust before he left, he said gently in his soft Scotch burr, I'lI watch tha wee tree, Lass, until ye return. I knew that he would too. Ed left for college early last fall, and at that time our little tree was in the best of health, but winter can be cruel to such a little tree. The record-breaking snowstorm, and the freezing winter wind broke the little tree, and it died the other day. No one has ever wept for the loss of a tree as I did, nor could any tears have been shed in greater despair. I wrote to Ed to tell him, and I have his answering telegram here in my hand, but I dare not open it. Did he really mean what he said on that fine spring morning so long ago? Have I always imagined that he might care for me a little in his own way? The tree was always the closest symbol of our relationship. Are my deep- est fears to be realized? I cannot stand it any longer. I must read it now! Turn funeral into engagement party stop Iwill bring ring stop Love Ed. ' I4