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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. The Willow Song by Kate E. The sun has long been set behind the tall, forest trees and the stars are in quilted abundance above. It is dark inside too. My hand feels along the wall until I find the switch to the porch light. I open the door as quietly as possible and the light streams in from outside. A swarm of night-time bugs has gathered, in the short time that the light has been on. I make my way off the porch and into the yard. The cool grass feels good on my bare feet compared to the humid summer air as I make my way over to the wooden fence that separates our two yards. The house on the other side of the fence has been vacant a while. I am by now out of the small circle of light from the front porch as I feel my way along the fence. It is a short time until I am at the end. I have reached the hill at the end of our property and run down, feeling like a kid again. Countless times I have run down this same hill. When I reach the bottom, away from the houses, I pull out the flashlight from my pocket, and it stretches to the trees that mark the beginning of a small wood. My flashlight scans the trees for the familiar path. I find it, nearly hidden by four years' growth of weeds and leaves. Many times before, I have walked this way, although usually with, or to meet, my friend. In a short time, I reach a small clearing where a wooden fence blocks the entrance; when we found this place, we wanted to make it our own. At the time, it happened that my friend Molly's parents had been re-landscaping their yard. We used the fence from their garden for our gate. Its rusty hinges squeaked when it was opened and it needed a paint job. It was our fence though, and it was our spot. It was a clearing, large enough for two young girls to have a place to play. A mother's voice could be heard from the start of the path and this was approved as a good play spot. I gently push the gate open and enter the old, yet familiar place. The grass never did grow much in our clearing, as the shade of the big trees prevents that. In one corner of our clearing there is an old gazebo that has served as a house, a circus tent, and a store. I walk over to the gazebo and see that there is still a box of toys and games that have been sitting here waiting for their owners. I am the only one here. In the center of the clearing is an ancient Weeping Willow tree. There is a tire swing hanging from one of the branches, but you cannot see it until you go under the branches. I push some of the leaves away and walk under the tree; it is even darker in here. I can remember when I would to sit under this tree with Molly. We would come here and talk for hours. We were more than friends; we were the best of friends. This is where we were sitting when Molly first told me about her daddy. She told me that she would come to this tree afterwards, and cry, and cry, until the tree had soaked up all of her tears. Molly said that is why it was called a Weeping Willow because it soaks up your tears. Molly was two years older than I was and I believed her. I walk over to the trunk of the tree and, when I look up, a small circle of stars greets me. They provide enough light to see by, under the canopy of leaves. One night, just after Molly broke her arm, we were looking up at these same stars. We saw a star fall and I told Molly that my nana said that, when you wish on a falling star, it takes your wish to the Rainbow Queen, and she will grant your wish. Molly asked if it was too late to make a wish on the star. She looked so sad when she asked me that I told her that the Rainbow Queen didn't know how to tell time, and so it wouldn't matter. We both closed our eyes and made a wish. My wish was that Molly's daddy would put rails on the stairs, so that Molly would not fall down them. That, she told me, was how she broke her arm. I know the truth now! It still scares me to think about it. I walk away from the trunk over to the tire swing. I remember how hard it was to hang this swing up. We found it in my garage two weeks after Molly's mom left. We were looking for flowers to plant in our clearing when we found the tire and some heavy rope. I softly push the swing and remember pushing Molly on this swing. It was so calming, swinging, it felt like you were flying under the willow tree. One night I was pushing Molly in this swing when she told me that her daddy had started to hurt her little sister. Molly had tried to stop him, but all she got was a black eye and a cut on her knee; she was 10 then. When Molly told me about her sister, I said that she should tell on her daddy. Just like in school when you tell on the bully who blocks the slide and steals your crayons. Molly said that it wasn't like stealing crayons, she told me she didn't even like to color. I stop the swinging tire and stand there for a second. Molly always seemed so cheerful, even when she was hurt. She refused to tell anyone but me about her daddy. She just tried to protect her sister as much as she could and keep acting like nothing was wrong. She kept it up for over two years. By the time that Molly was 12, she concentrated more on friends and being normal, her daddy was real sad and tired, he hadn't hurt them in months. Molly had then taken up the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and the raising of her younger sister. I walk over to the patch of flowers that we planted. Many different colors, in no way arranged. We took care of those flowers; we used to pretend they were our children. Molly was the mother and I was their "loving aunt". Molly was the motherly type. She had practice, I guess, with her sister. You should have seen her bend over those flowers when they were 'sick'. The way she went on about them, you would have thought they were real children. One day Molly met me here, by these flowers, to tell me that her sister was in the hospital. Molly said that while she was at her friend Jenny's birthday party her daddy had hurt her sister real bad and Molly had to leave the party early. She told me how small her sister had looked in that big hospital bed, with her head wrapped-up and tubes in her arms. Molly started to cry, and I cried too. She told me that she was too scared to go home, because her daddy was there. Molly spent the night at my house. I said that she should tell my mom and dad about her cuts and bruises. Molly agreed to tell my parents, just so her sister wouldn't get hurt anymore. I walk around the willow tree that had taken in all of her tears. I can still hear her crying that night when she told me about her sister, then I start crying too! Not since the day she left have I cried for Molly. I guess it was just being in the place where it all started. I fall to my knees. I have started the memory, and now I don't know how to make it stop. I remember holding her up, pulling her up the hill to get to my house. It had never taken so long to walk home and we were both out of tears when we reached the porch. All of the pain that had been building up was going to be released. We went into the kitchen. Molly was shaking very badly. She didn't know what to say, so she rolled up her pants to her knees so that my mom could see her cuts.My mom offered Molly a Band-Aid, but Molly said that it wouldn't help her cut or her sister. I helped Molly tell my mom about her daddy and her sister and when we were done, my mom started to cry and then Molly cried to. I didn't like to see Molly so sad, so I gave her a big hug, which made her cry even more. I know now that those tears were of relief. When you are eleven, tears mean that you are sad and Molly had been sad for so long. My mom, had offered her a Band-Aid and she must have gone through a lot of them, in all those years. It must have felt like she was breathing new air that night. I had never seen pinker cheeks than that day she moved away. She cried then too! I know she wouldn't have traded anything for that nice home with her grandmother, not even her best friend. I wouldn't have wanted her to. I can't believe it has been four whole years since Molly and her sister moved in with their grandma. Sometimes I visit Molly and sometimes she comes to visit me. I get letters from her and she writes of happy things, and is truly cheerful. I pull her letter from my pocket. I read it aloud, maybe hoping that the willow tree, our willow tree, will hear and believe.
I realize now that I have been mostly talking aloud and I know why I felt I had to come here. This tree had soaked up so many tears, and had seen so much pain that I want it to know that everything is all right now. I have been out here all night and the sky is turning pink with the dawn, as I turn back to the Willow tree. I have to finish telling the story; I need the last chorus of the song. I take a deep breath and say to the tree. "I finally did find out what Molly wished for that night under the stars; she wanted to be happy. My wish came true too. Molly's Grandma's house has handrails on her steps; Molly hasn't fallen down the steps since she moved away. You don't need to soak up tears for Molly anymore, Willow." I call it Willow as it is no longer simply a tree. It is a friend, a witness, to what happened here. It saw a true friendship bloom and soar, underneath it's branches. Molly is coming for a visit next week and we will come back here. Then, when she leaves, I will keep coming back. I can't stop now. It is just like that memory that will not go away; just like that song that you can't stop singing. I am a singer and this is 'My Song'. The End
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