“But in a forest, a tree is just like anything else around it. It’s nothing special or unique. It’s one in thousands of the same thing. But here in this city, it’s different.”
“Being different isn’t always good.”
“It’s not always bad either.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s really on your mind, Echo? Because I know this single tree in the middle of Oakland isn’t what’s stressing you out.”
She tugs the blanket tighter around her chest and curls against me. Whatever kept her up last night has her obsessing over anything and everything.
“You remember how I told you I was locked in a psych ward when my dad came and got me?”
I nod, and the reminder of the story has my fingers once more itching for the blood of a man who tried to force his hands on Echo.
“When I was there, they put me in a tiny room by myself because they said I was violent. And I was—”
“You were defending yourself.”
“I guess.”
“You were.” I squeeze her. “Don’t let whatever they said make you question that. There’s nothing wrong with standing up for yourself when someone’s trying to hurt you.”
“I suppose,” she whispers, twisting the blanket in her lap.
I wish I could say more to make her believe it.
“Well, like I said, I was in this room, and it wasn’t white and bright like movies make you think. It was gray and cold. And outside the window, all I could see was a single tree in the middle of a field, watching over me.”
She takes a deep breath, and I hold her tighter. She’s mentioned the hospital to me briefly before, but this is the most she’s said since. And I can’t help but appreciate that she trusts me enough to open up to me in this moment.
“The tree reminds you of that place?”
“Yes and no.” She sighs. “It reminds me of how I felt back then. Lost, wondering where I belonged. I thought about—”
She chokes on her words, cutting herself off.
“What did you think about?”
Something heavy sits in the air between us, even if the city breeze tries to sweep it away.
“I thought about ending it.” She wipes the underside of her lashes, and it streaks her eyes with a wet path from her unfallen tear.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
She shrugs. “I was trying to be strong.”
“You are strong.”
“I’m not.”
My eyebrows pinch. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it doesn’t matter that I’m still here. I’m still lost.”
She shivers, and I pull the blanket up over her shoulders, wrapping my arms around her, even if I’m cold myself. I can’t help but try to contain whatever nervous energy she’s radiating as she sits in my lap.
“There’s nothing wrong with being lost, you learn a lot that way. Who you are, who you aren’t. What you want. What you don’t.” I glance out at the city as it starts to wake up. Streets slowly filling with cars. Sidewalks with people. “But I still get what you’re saying. I was lost for a long time after my mom was killed, and I was too young to know what to do with that.”
“You were five, right?”
I nod.
