The following is the second part of an adaptation of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. For Part I, click here.
The sun is lifted high above the Earth today. Her white-hot beams shoot down and warm the boy’s backyard. The grass is greener these days; the leaves are in bloom and full, hanging above the ground.
The giant tree standing in the middle of the yard remains the same. His tall trunk, long branches stretched like fingers, and his newly grown canopy embrace the floor below. A few years have gone by, along with new seasons and changing winds. But with all the years passed, the boy remains.
The boy, now a young man, wears the same Converse shoes and jeans he wore in his soldier youth. He is still armed with one large branch, which he holds tightly in one hand. He paces back and forth, occasionally peering upward toward the top of the tree, observing something. He ponders a moment at a time and continues pacing.
The trunk of the tree stands sturdy and straight. His width has not changed, but nowadays the boy can wrap his arms further around it. Very little seems to have changed over the years. Very little, save one thing. Toward the lower part of the tree, just above the base where the roots begin to stretch horizontal, there is a circle carved into the bark. Inside the circle are the letters ‘M’ and ‘T.’
The young man jumps. He jumps as high as he can and swats wildly at the lower branches above him with his wooden sword. He is not hitting anything except the fresh spring air. He does this three more times, one jump quicker than the last, but not any closer.
“C’mon, man. Help me out a little, here,” he mutters under a few heavy breaths of air. “She’s going to be over soon.”
Feeling defeated, he squats down at the base of the tree and leans back against it. He fiddles with the branch in his hands while he contemplates about his evening. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He looks down at his hands as they peel away layers of thin, healthy green bark. He’s nervous.
“How am I going to do this?”
The tree is unresponsive as the boy searches for answers.
“You’re right, with nothing.”
The boy gets up and drops the branch next to the tree. As he walks up the steps to the back door of his house, he peers over the fence to his left. The auburn-haired girl lives in the yellow house next door. It’s quiet for now. The construction her father has going on for their new deck has stopped for lunch and the boy absorbs the silence. He takes one last look at the tree behind him and goes in the house.
A few moments later, the construction next door begins again. The workers scurry around trying to pick up where they left off before their break. Wood planks knock together, hammers slam away and the sounds of saw engines sing through the windows of the boy’s house. He pays it no mind. The commotion has been going on for weeks.
A worker carries an aluminum ladder from the front of the house to the backyard. He carries it above his head leaving a few rungs in front of him and few rungs behind. Just as he is about to set it down, the back of the ladder leans too far behind him and slides out of his hand and over the fence. It slams on the ground with a cacophonous rattle that seems to resonate for miles.
The young man is startled. He walks over to the kitchen window that overlooks the yard and notices a ladder leaning up against his side of the fence. He suspects it came from the neighboring construction and waits for a worker to come around to retrieve it, but no one appears.
The boy heads outside, takes the ladder over to the tree, and leans it up against the side of it. He can’t help but believe the tree helped him.
“Get over here and help me!” is heard from beyond the fence. The young man doesn’t notice the call. “Who cares about the ladder, get it after…” The sounds fizzle into the distance.
The young man grabs a hacksaw from the backyard shed and climbs up the ladder. He is now at the perfect height to reach the branches that eluded him earlier. He chooses each branch carefully and cuts them down. As one falls he looks up at the tree in gratitude as his plan begins to unfold. The tree’s branches and leaves dance elegantly in the wind, sharing his feeling of happiness.
The young man jumps down and gathers the wood he cut down from the tree. It was only a few pieces but the tree seems thinner now…
He piles the pieces at the top of the yard next to the house. He begins cutting the branches in smaller pieces, disposing the jutting twigs. Once he is finished he has a collection of small pieces of firewood. He examines it knowing that it’s not quite the size or width of normal firewood, but maybe with this much, it’ll work as he intends it to.
Before he piles it all up into his arms to carry into the house, he looks back at the tree and gives it a gentle salute. “I owe you, buddy.” He heads into the house.
Just as the backdoor shuts behind him, the worker who lost the ladder peers over the fence to look for it. He’s confused as to how it got to where it is now, but shrugs it off, climbs over and reclaims his tool. The boy never sees the man in his backyard.
Inside, the young man is neatly piling the fragments of firewood he has cut into a pile beside the fireplace. He makes all the proper adjustments to get a fire ready and then dusts his hands off on his chest.
He looks around the living room and begins to shift things the way he wants them. Making trips between the kitchen, his bedroom and back to the living room setting up cans of soda, drinking glasses, a photo of a young dark-haired boy and auburn-haired girl hiding behind the giant tree in the backyard and empty dinner plates. He finds extra candles his mother had set up around the house and places them in the picnic area he constructs at the fireplace. He sets it all up meticulously; it’s clear his imagination is running wild. He wonders what will happen, if it’s perfect enough for her, if he’ll do it all right…if she’ll fall in love with him.
He heads into the bathroom to wash his hands and face. The doorbell rings but he doesn’t hear. It rings again and he stops washing. He quickly dries off, swats the light switch down and jogs to the door. It’s the auburn-haired girl.
She stands humbled in the doorway. She is nearly as tall as him now. Her hair is long and wavy, loose out of its normal hair tie and it drapes itself over her shoulders. Before he says anything, he soaks in her body from the rolling curve of her hips to the subtle heft of her breasts as they gently stress the buttons of her plaid flannel shirt.
“Hi, Mark,” she says.
“Hey. Come in.” He shuts the door behind her trying not to allow himself to watch her walk by and stare as the denim of her jeans shift with each step. “You can head into the living room.”
As she walks in, the fire illuminates the room in a soft yellow glow. Candles flicker romantically atop the table.
“It’s beautiful,” she says as she inches more into the room.
“You like it?”
“Yes, it’s perfect.” She turns to him, “it’s a perfect first date, Mark.”
He slides his head forward as if it were on a track to kiss her but quickly decides to retreat. “Here, let’s eat,” abruptly changing the mood. He leads her over to the pillows on the floor beside the fireplace. She takes a seat on the ground laying her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles.
Mark goes over to his mother’s champagne bucket where cans of soda and iced tea are perched in ice. He takes out one of each and as he does so, he looks out the living room window where he can barely see the tree in the center of the yard and winks.
The tree stands motionless as he gazes up at the fresh twilight sky and the chimney feeding thin smoke into the air.
The tree and the boy are happy.
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