Little Sapling Christina Monson

Christina Monson

Anna sat in the deck chair, staring at the empty backyard, smoking a cigarette. The long tendrils of smoke floated above her head into nothingness. Anna’s hand laid over the empty void of her belly, and a noiseless sob shook her body, dropping ash onto her ill-fitting jeans. Grimacing, she brushed the ash off before stubbing out the cigarette on the deck with her sneaker. She picked up her glass of wine and took a long drink, trying to burn away the cold feeling in her abdomen. The apple slices her husband had brought out to her were turning brown, but Anna continued to eat them anyway. She thought of how he had set them on the table next to her and walked back inside, away from her, a reminder of all that they had lost. She would have been the size of an apple, according to her baby app. A little apple in her belly, but now that she’s gone, Anna felt like she was missing an entire universe inside of her.

Anna spit out a black shiny seed into her palm, and looked at it from all angles. This is how life begins, she thought. Just a little seed. She stood up and walked over to the small box of gardening tools that had been sitting there since they purchased the house. She found a trowel and walked to the center of the yard with it in one hand, and wine glass in the other, the sun beating down on her back as she dug and dug, deeper and deeper into the earth, making a home to harbor the little universe inside the apple seed. “Anna, what the hell are you doing?” Michael cried out, papers in both hands. He had been watching her from the kitchen table while he paid the bills. “I’m planting!” Anna shouted back. She jumped when he slammed the sliding door, but she was focused. She would raise an apple tree in honor of her daughter, she thought, as she tucked the little seed into the earth and covered it in dirt. What a tribute! As she sat back to admire her work, her hand fell upon her wine glass, and shattered it. As she walked back inside the house to bandage her wounds, small ribbons of her blood seeped into the earth and joined the little seed, unbeknownst to Anna.

* “Michael, it’s –” Anna began. But she realized Michael wasn’t home yet. He should have been home by now. Well, she would enjoy the little sapling alone. She sat in the moist grass, marveling at the small leaves, looking almost like a weed, but she knew that it was her apple tree. “Oh!” Anna said, and ran to the gardening tools. She pulled out an old red watering can, filling it to the brim with water. She thought about something she heard once, that it was good to talk to plants. They grow better, apparently. So, she whispered to it, “I’m here for you, little one.” The leaves rustled a bit, and Anna smiled to herself thinking, maybe it’s listening. * “Anna, come to bed,” Michael said, standing just inside the glass sliding door. It was dark outside, but Anna sat in the grass, brow furrowed. She bit her lip in worry over her little sapling out there in the cold, all by herself. How do plants like this survive when it gets this cold? “Anna, seriously,” Michael said. All she could see was his silhouette against the bright indoors. He was faceless standing there, a cold nothing. She’d stay out here with the sapling for a while longer. Just a little while longer. That night, Michael’s half of the bed was cold. Anna held herself as she lay in bed, not able to get warm, not able to sleep. She gave up and threw the covers back, and looked out the window. The little sapling stood taller than before, and shook, leaves rustling, trembling in the cold, the same cold that seeped into Anna’s bones. Just as Anna was about to tuck herself back into bed, she heard a whisper, “Mama.” Anna clutched the curtain tight, but she heard it again; she could swear she heard it again, “Mama.” Anna woke the next morning in bed, covers tangled like gnarled roots around her legs, and felt confused for a moment. She was sure she must have been dreaming when she heard the voice last night. She shook it off and went downstairs to check on Little Sapling. Maybe she’d put a pink ribbon around one of the branches. Just for fun. In honor of her daughter. * “Anna, please talk to me. I’ve watched you with that tree, and it’s like you’re hearing things. You need help, Anna. I need you to see a doctor. I’ll take you,” Michael said.

Anna just shook her head at him, “No, Michael! I’m fine, really. If you would just listen to her…” Anna crossed the room, arms extended to Michael, but he pulled back, a twisted grimace on his face. “Her? Her? Anna, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore,” he said, and headed upstairs to the bedroom to start packing the big grey suitcase. The one they had bought for their honeymoon. The matching carry-on still had her clothing she had worn when they had rushed to the hospital last summer. Last summer? How much time had passed? Her bloody underwear still lay inside there somewhere, in a plastic patient belonging bag. Why did she save those and bring them home? She couldn’t let go of what happened to their daughter, and here Michael was leaving. He clearly did not care about them. She wouldn’t stop him. He was turning her back on her, and Little Sapling. Now a little bigger, taller, she had survived the winter, which was thankfully rather mild. Anna’s gardening books sat in an organized tower in the corner of the room. She looked over to them, and Michael, following her gaze, walked over to the pile and kicked it across the room. He zipped up the bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind him as Anna crouched down on the floor, hands shaking as she straightened the books.

* The noise of the superstore had Anna on edge as she made her way through the aisles. So many people pushing their carts around her, shoving her. She threw a couple of packages of water into her cart on top of the wine. But then she made her way over to the gardening center and felt herself relax a little, thinking of spending her alimony checks on her baby. “Anna?” Michael said, looking nice, in his black trench coat and business clothes, checking out the sprinkler section. She hadn’t seen him now for several years. She looked down at herself, just now noticing what Michael must see, how thin she’d gotten, her dirty clothes, her leathery skin, sharp cracks in her flesh from so much time in the sun with Little Sapling. “What happened to you?” Michael said, brow furrowed. Anna just shook her head and backed away, but Michael took a step towards her. “Anna, please, let me get you some help,” he said, but Anna left her cart right there and ran out of the store. When she arrived home, she heard her right away, “Mama, I’m so happy you’re back.” 48

“Me too, honey. I saw your horrible father at the store,” she said, touching the leaves, grabbing the watering can and watering the thick roots. “Oh, Mama, don’t worry about him. I love you. I will love you forever.” “Yes, you and me forever, my love,” Anna said, and wrapped her arms around the tree. The leaves against her face felt like the smooth skin of a baby, her baby. The tree moved its branches inward, and held her close, so close. Anna realized she was short of breath, but oh, it felt so good to be held so tightly by her daughter. Oh, it was hard to take a breath in her loving embrace. Her daughter would never let her go like Michael did, would never run from her. No, her daughter held her so close, it took her very breath away.

* Michael handed the keys over to the realtor, frowning. He could see the tree in the yard, that wretched tree, twisted and gnarled, bark whorled in way that reminded him of a screaming woman. No one had been able to find Anna. No search party, no police officer. “I know this is hard for you, being here, after everything that happened. Can I give you some advice though, if we’re going to sell this place quickly?” the realtor asked, a hand on his forearm. He shrugged, and she continued, “Can we get rid of that spooky tree?” “Sure. The tree never bore fruit anyway,” he said, and walked back inside to sign the papers.

FRUIT

A plate of apples, an open fire, and a jolly good book are a fair substitute for heaven.

LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY