For over four years I worked at a newspaper in Tooele County, a rural desert county in Utah. I had a coworker once say the county is a collection of almosts—it could be almost a fantastic hiking ... [+]
The spiderweb of the plum tree's bare branches let through a shaft of light just bright enough that it illuminated the sawdust that puffed forward with every stroke of the handsaw. Alynn focused on those tender little clouds of sawdust instead of the ache growing in her arms. They represented progress even as the cut she was making in the branch didn’t seem to deepen no matter how long she worked on it. She allowed herself enough of a break to wipe sweat away from her brow with her shoulder, then got back to work.
Xander, ever the sensitive child, had only requested a small Lego set when she asked him what he wanted for his upcoming sixth birthday. And, true, that was almost all she had the budget for if she decided to keep eating between now and then. But she’d seen his crayon drawings of him playing in a tree house as a stick-figure self wearing a broader smile than she’d seen on his face in months, and he demanded she read him those books about the magic treehouse again and again. She wondered if he would have asked for that if their life wasn’t a high-wire act of budgeting. If she had a better job, would he have just told her what he really wanted? The more uncomfortable question: if he had a father, would he have just told the two of them what he really wanted?
Alynn met Xander’s father at Tuesday Trivia Time at the bar down on Main and 3rd. He was charming and appropriately impressed that she knew that Calvin Coolidge was the only president to be born on the Fourth of July. He was recently divorced, too. Except that there was no divorce. Not even a separation. Just a middle-manager who thought it was fun to take off his ring now and then. The lump sum he gave her to go away when she tracked him down and broke the news ran out long ago. Next time she was going to be an accidental homewrecker, she was going to make sure it was someone who was filthy rich.
At first, Alynn thought she could easily build a treehouse in the big old elm tree that took up the bulk of their small back yard. How hard could it be, nailing a few boards together? Then she went to the hardware store and about passed out when she saw how much lumber was. Which didn’t make sense—it was only wood. And then she remembered that in the corner of their yard was the plum tree that died a few years ago that she kept meaning to rip out. All she needed was to cut the tree up.
There—the saw finally cut through and the end clattered down with three other pieces of the same size. She allowed herself a breath as celebration. When she nailed those to the trunk, they’d become a ladder. And if she used the door to the laundry room—why did her washing machine need privacy?—she practically had half a tree house right there. No Lego set for Xander this year—he was getting his tree house.
Xander, ever the sensitive child, had only requested a small Lego set when she asked him what he wanted for his upcoming sixth birthday. And, true, that was almost all she had the budget for if she decided to keep eating between now and then. But she’d seen his crayon drawings of him playing in a tree house as a stick-figure self wearing a broader smile than she’d seen on his face in months, and he demanded she read him those books about the magic treehouse again and again. She wondered if he would have asked for that if their life wasn’t a high-wire act of budgeting. If she had a better job, would he have just told her what he really wanted? The more uncomfortable question: if he had a father, would he have just told the two of them what he really wanted?
Alynn met Xander’s father at Tuesday Trivia Time at the bar down on Main and 3rd. He was charming and appropriately impressed that she knew that Calvin Coolidge was the only president to be born on the Fourth of July. He was recently divorced, too. Except that there was no divorce. Not even a separation. Just a middle-manager who thought it was fun to take off his ring now and then. The lump sum he gave her to go away when she tracked him down and broke the news ran out long ago. Next time she was going to be an accidental homewrecker, she was going to make sure it was someone who was filthy rich.
At first, Alynn thought she could easily build a treehouse in the big old elm tree that took up the bulk of their small back yard. How hard could it be, nailing a few boards together? Then she went to the hardware store and about passed out when she saw how much lumber was. Which didn’t make sense—it was only wood. And then she remembered that in the corner of their yard was the plum tree that died a few years ago that she kept meaning to rip out. All she needed was to cut the tree up.
There—the saw finally cut through and the end clattered down with three other pieces of the same size. She allowed herself a breath as celebration. When she nailed those to the trunk, they’d become a ladder. And if she used the door to the laundry room—why did her washing machine need privacy?—she practically had half a tree house right there. No Lego set for Xander this year—he was getting his tree house.