You've Got A Friend In Trees

• Shayla Tolhoek, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2012

Surely, I cannot be the only one who has stopped at a hundred year old tree and wondered what it has heard, how many secrets it has kept, how many whispers have been caught in its branches. A proposal, perhaps: “Nicole, I have loved you for 6 years and I promise to love you for 60 more. Will you do me the extreme honour of marrying me?” Or maybe a final goodbye: “It’s for the best that we never see eachother again, just know that I will always hold a place for you in my heart.” You cannot help but wonder in complete awe at how knowledgeable a tree is, how trustworthy; for I would bet every cent that I have that the trees have shared no secrets, that they have kept their collection of dialogue to themselves.
You can almost see them, the secrets, tangled in the highest branches of the oldest trees, draping through them like delicate silk. Close your eyes and you can imagine how they got there – a girl no older than 16, her knees hugged tightly to her chest while she sits at the base of the tree, her sobs overwhelming her whispers and yet the tree still heard; “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, that it wasn’t this difficult. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” A grown man, 40 maybe (judging by the deep lines in his forehead) has cheated on his wife again and his guilt has brought him here, to the leaf-ridden ground surrounding a big oak tree, his face in his hands and his whispers ever so soft, contradicting his demeanour; ‘What do I do? Please, somebody tell me, because I don’t know.” – and a thousand other stories, all different but similar in the way that the people seemed not to take notice of the fact that this big, trustworthy tree was absorbing every word, every cry, every tear, and that it was doing what nobody else was; it was listening.
I’ve no doubt in my mind that if trees could move, if they weren’t so firmly planted into the dense dirt of the Earth, they would wrap their branches around whoever hurt enough to sit solemnly, alone by their roots, and they would whisper right back: “Everything will be okay, I promise you.” They’ve raised us, in ways unimaginable. They’ve watched us grow centimetres over the summer, lose our first teeth, break our first bone. They’ve witnessed our puberty, our moods, our emotions. Maybe they know us better than we know ourselves; I think they can sense when we are lying, they know, they can see it in our faces. Is that not the most beautiful thing to have ever existed? The willingness of a silent friend? The opportunity to confide and to wholeheartedly trust?
So, if you ever feel alone, like nobody cares, like the burden is too much to carry; I advise you to walk to the nearest tree, rest your fingertips against its bark and whisper right to it, I guarantee you that it is listening intently and that your secret, your confession, your woes - they are all safe and will remain so even after the death of your breathing diary. You’ve got a friend in trees. How uncanny.