The vibrant green leaves of the infamous massive oak come into view well before I roll up into the lot of John F. Kennedy Park. I thought the tree was gigantic as a kid, but I figured I had exaggerated its height. Seeing it as an adult, however, I see that’s not the case. It’s easily over a hundred feet tall, having only grown more over the years since I’d last been here. The other changes to the park are easy to spot as well. The old manually powered Merry-Go-Round has been replaced by a couple of seesaws, horse-shaped Spring Rockers take the place of the chin-up bars, and the jungle gym dome climber that was always concave on the top has been completely gutted out. The monkey bars, swing sets, and enormous pirate-themed play fort, however, are thankfully still intact. With the rising temperatures and the early hour, the entire park is vacant, so I don’t feel too ridiculous climbing the ladder to the upper deck of the fort.
Working through the maze of bridges and tunnels, I finally come to the bright yellow crawl tube leading to the top platform of the equipment, and taped to the pirate wheel in question is another envelope. I expect to find a note inside, but instead, it’s a picture of the same oak looming overhead. It also shows a boydressed in a Steelers jersey standing on a lofty bough halfway up the tree and clinging for dear life to the thickest branch near him. Oh, and the fire department is working to get him down since he slipped, twisted his ankle, and was too afraid to continue climbing down.
I turn the picture over to see Jase’s familiar scrawl declare,“The Crow’s Nest. Only the bravest of the brave attempt to climb the towering branches of this ancient tree. To this day, the record for highest ascent goes to Brian Mayer (as seen here), but I know something no one else does…”
I look inside the envelope again, wondering if I’ve missed another part of the clue, but nothing else is there. After a moment, the planks of a nearby bridge pound as footsteps gallop toward me. I look over the large tube, but I can’t see anybody. At least, not until a set of light blue eyes and plump cheeks greets me as a little boy scuttles out of the tube beside me. He pulls out a creased envelope from his cargo shorts and hands it over.
I try to ask him who gave him this, but the boy merely giggles and races over to the giant blue slide, dropping out of sight. I open the next envelope to find a collection of wrinkled photographs of the Crow’s Nest. I look closer to the first one, seeing a bright yellow mass hiding in the very top of the branches. I flip to the next image, seeing long, stringy black locks, a yellow shirt, and matching shorts hanging off a skinny little girl. The third photograph makes me laugh, seeing giant black-rimmed glasses as she climbs back down the tree.
I look up from the picture to the oak overhead and realize that not only is this the same infamous tree, but the vantage point of the photos matches up perfectly as well.
“X marks the spot where I first saw the girl I would inevitably fall for. As you may remember, dear old Brian had climbed higher than anyone else had dared to. It may have only been halfway, but the accomplishment still made him a legend in these parts. So, color me surprised when I spotted this odd little black-haired Bird climb to the very top of the Crow’s Nest every single day throughout the spring and summer that year. I wanted so badly to talk to her, to ask a million and one questions. Why did she only climb it when no one else was there to witness it? Why was she always alone? Why did she look so sad? But then I heard about what happened to her mother, and I realized the “why” behind everything. It was why she insisted on showing up here at odd hours of the day. She was there to escape the noise of it all the only way she could.”
Jase is right. After my mom passed away, everyone at home refused to be still, to digest the silence, to cope with her loss, and it made for a torrent of constant motion and chaos. There was never a moment to breathe, to think, to grieve.
But when I climbed that tree, I could escape it all—not just the chatter but even the mundane sounds most people consider white noise. There were no car engines, no music blasting from inside the vehicles, no cell phones chiming—just pure, uninterrupted quiet.
And Jase had seen it.
Seenme.
Even back then.
My heart does a little summersault, and it only continues as I read the next clue.
To Jase’s good fortune,some kind of open house is being held at our old elementary school, so I’m able to follow his clue to the cafeteria. Nobody’s there to greet me, and there isn’t another envelope visible anywhere, leaving me to walk around until I find something. Finally, in the far back corner, I see the next clue waiting for me on a table bench.
And once again, I smile.
Because Jase saw me. He saw I was the only person who would sit with Mary Kelly when everyone else was convinced she had cooties because they didn’t understand what eczema was. He saw me outside my sister’s ballet studio, and the movie theater, and the library, and so many other places during so many moments I had forgotten about.
But he hadn’t. He had seen and remembered them all—moments that had shaped his opinion of me long before we ever actually met.
Jase saw me mowing Mr. Kepler’s lawn after he had a stroke because I knew how obsessed he was about keeping his yard clean and that he lived alone. Jase saw me mouthing the words toGladiatorandThePrincess Bridewhen the cinema hosted its yearly re-showings of classic films. Jase saw me when I always wrote down the answers in Social Studies but refused to ever raise my hand. Jase saw me when I would eat my weight in bacon at the diner with my brother.
He saw me.
Everything is within a short distance of one another, allowing me to make the first ten stops in no time, but the next sends me on a bit of a trip. And I’m more than a little confused.
Because it leads me to the zoo.
Between the crowds and the sheer size of this place, I can safely assume I won’t be looking for an envelope anywhere. And I’m proven right after wandering through several exhibits to finally have a messenger approach me with a gift box when I come to the penguin enclosure.
It’s not small either, so I have to go to the nearest bench to unwrap it, finding a certain kind of stuffed animal inside. I laugh, out of both surprise and delight, when I see the labeling on the plushy’s tag.
It’s Hubert, an exact model of my original, only without the wear and tear.
And he has an envelope tucked beside him in the box.
“Did you know that this particular species of penguin can live up to twenty years in captivity? Hubert may be getting up there, but he’s still kicking it with the best of them.”
I look over at the exhibit, and sure enough, one of the guides introduces the penguins to a group of children standing in front of the enclosure, the star of the show being none other than Hubert, who excitedly waddles over to his mate, Cookie.
“I may not have been there the first time you saw him, but God knows I wanted to be. I wanted to see you with your mom, to see you in the presence of someonewho loved you and always made sure you knew it. I also couldn’t remember the last time someone dared to be vulnerable with me, and when you told me about her that day, you did so without expectation. You were open and honest, and you trusted me. And it was the moment I realized I had started falling for my friend. Part of me stayed in that place these past four years, praying I could right my wrongs, praying you might give me a second chance, and every part of me is here now. So, if you’d be willing to let this hopeless fool try to make it up to you…
Come find me.”
I may not have traversedthis terrain in four years, but I don’t miss a beat, stepping and pivoting when and where I need to until I reach the mouth of the cave. A few feet out, there’s a colorful trail of pebbles leading inside that I quickly realize are actually Skittles.
