Fifty Feet Up

 I was walking to the park one fall day. There wasn't one kid my age around hear. All the kids in my grade are too afraid to hang out here on weekdays because it's where all the regular 'gangs' hang out after school. Well, the only way to get to John's house was to walk straight through here. With luck I'd get there alive. Relax, John does this every day, I told myself, but soon remembered that he was safe because his older brother was the leader of the high-school gang that ran everything around here. Though Finnly park is small and miserable-looking, apparently that's the best place for gangs to hang out. I was almost through the park, right at the edge by the big oak tree when I ran into the one and only Drake Marcus and his gang. I took a look around for something to hide by. Drake never really gave me any trouble. You stay out of their way, they stay out of your's; but sadly something as simple as making eye contact with any of them is already “getting in their way” not to mention I was in their territory.

I made my way to the big oak and leaned on the trunk as casually as I could, but I felt them making their way towards me. They all surrounded Drake—five of them in all—in a practiced square. It all depended on what they thought of me that ultimately decided of they'd go easy on me (which did happen sometimes) or hard on me (which happened more than sometimes.)

They got to the tree after what seemed like forever.

“Who's this shrimp?” Drake asked.

“That's Tom Connel,” one of his goons said.

Something flashed in Drake's eyes right then. I'm not sure what but it was gone after a second.

“Tom the Bomb?” he asked me.

It was like I was never gonna live that one down. It was a nickname I got when me and some guys accidentally made a test tube explode on a field trip to some science center two years ago in the fourth grade.

I nodded.

He nodded too.

“You're not bad, Tommy boy,” he said like he was considering his options. “Tell you what: You climb this tree and fetch me that kite up there. Then we'll all go our separate ways, Tommy. No need to look so scared, now.

The boys around him all turned to him in surprise at the simplicity of this task. He paid no attention. The edges of his lips twitched. “That alright with you, Tommy?”

I have to admit that I was surprised too. I had heard a lot of crazy stuff that Drake made people do. Climbing a tree wasn't one of them.

I gave him another nod.

That kite had been there at the top of that fifty foot oak for as long as anyone could remember. It pretty much represented Finnly park.

But I found a low branch and hoisted myself up. Sure, I'd climbed trees before, but never this tall, but the old oak's branches were thick and stable so I started climbing, just like that. I felt five pairs of eyes on me. They'd started making bets already.

Bet he'll wimp out at 20 feet.

Bet he'll fall before that.

I heard laughter under me, but soon enough I was too far up to hear the guys.

I didn't want to look down. I told myself not to but it happened anyway. I took one look below me and I couldn't see the ground from where I had come. I must've been more that thirty feet up now. Then all of a sudden I felt dizzy and started to lose my balance. I grabbed around for a branch but missed and just as I had braced myself for the fall, something caught me. My eyes were shut tight so I couldn't see what. I opened them to see a pair of arms linked under mine.

Someone caught me.

“You okay?” she said.

It was a girl.

“I—I'm okay,” I stuttered.

“Good that. On your feet, then.”

I stood up on the branch I had been standing on before.

“Follow me,” the girl said, “I can get you to the top.”

So I followed her up through the tree branch by branch and we climbed in record time.

Then soon enough I saw a flick of color and I realized that the kite was only so many feet away now. I sped up a bit and then soon enough it was right in front of me.

“We made it,” I said, sitting on a particularly thick branch and put my pack against the trunk of the tree for support.

“You made it,” the girl said, sitting on a branch beside me.

I looked over at her sitting there. Dark straight hair blowing in the wind. Green eyes thoughtful. She looked about my age.

“What's your name?” she asked, turning to me.

“Tom,” I said. “What's your's?”

“Emilia,” she answered.

I looked around to the kite and I started reaching out for it.

“What are you doing?” Emilia asked.

I paused. “I'm taking the kite.”

“No!” she said and smacked my hand away.

“You can't. It's mine,” she said firmly.

“But I can't go back down without it,” I said.

“Well you don't have to go back down.”

And for a second I was willing to stay up here, fifty feet up in the air with this strange girl.

“Fifty feet up...” I thought out loud.

“Better than six feet under.” she said.

I wasn't sure if she was making a joke. I looked around at the view before me. I could see every gang planning attacks, pointing people out. I could see John's house right across from the small street below me. Staying up here wouldn't be too bad. But soon memories of food and water and on-the-ground things and people filled my mind and I said, “I should go back down now.” I hesitated, “You can have the kite.”

She smiled appreciatively, then it faltered and she asked, “Will I ever see you again, Tom?”

“Sure you will,” I answered right away. Her smile returned.

“Then I think I'll stay up here a while,” Emilia said, now leaning back on the trunk of the tree.

“Okay.” I hesitated, then started making my way back down the tree. I looked back up at the girl.

“Goodbye, Emilia,” I said.

She looked down and smiled at me.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

It was only when I had gotten all the way back down that I noticed how much time had passed. The boys had long-since left and I was glad I wouldn't have to deal with them. For now.

I walked around the tree to see if I could spot Emilia at the top when I tripped on something and fell to the ground.

I got up quickly and saw it was some kind of plaque. I leaned down and read the words in the orange light of the setting sun.

“IN MEMORY OF EMILIA EVANS”

Then there was an engraving of a kite under the words. A rotting rose lay next to the plaque along with a picture taped to the tree.

It was a picture of a girl, my age, sitting on a low branch of the tree, with dark, straight hair blowing in the wind. Green eyes thoughtful.

        ***

        Written by Vivien A.

Hope you all enjoyed my new short story, leave a comment below and tell me what you think. Follow this blog to get notifications for new posts!

 Happy Summer and thanks for reading!

~Vivien