Growth

• Atricia Bodhiwan, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

20 years ago I planted a tree. The warm soil tickled my fingers as they seeped into the ground, causing giggles to run up my spine. The sun shone, spreading a mellow blanket of warmth across the field. My hat was just too big for my little head, tilting to the side as the breeze sang its song.

“Go on!” Mum said, stooping down to match my height. She fixed my hat and tucked her lush brown hair behind her ears, revealing glowing red cheeks that Summer sprouted on her face. I placed the seed beneath the soil, gently patting it down, then jumped up to meet my Mother in her arms.


15 years ago I had a birthday party. Rain vomited down from the clouds, but for all I cared that didn’t matter. We ran around the tree tossing the ball from one person to another, trying to knock someone into the glistening puddles below. Mum was struggling to light the candles on the birthday cake as the fire would keep going out.

“Come help me!” Mum shouted over the roars and splashes. I ran over drenched in a mix of sweat and rainwater, indistinguishable because of the mud thrown in between, popping up an umbrella to solve the situation.

Everyone cheered. Big smiles were painted on the other kids’ faces, but mine was the widest of them all. While the parents were fussing over the mess that’d been made, Mum leaned over. “See? You’re growing older now, just like that tree. Look how big it already is!” Swiping back her long hair, she planted a snug kiss on my cheek.


10 years ago I came back from the hospital. I sat on the swing hanging from the tree, tracing my fingers over the delicate cracks and curves on the chocolate-shaded bark of the trunk. Sap flowed out like jam oozing from a succulent doughnut, its sweet scent intensifying the crisp winter air. I rocked back and forth, one leg pushing against the bulging roots while the other swayed in its cast. People had written many stupid things all over it: “CHEESY FINGERS” by my sister and “ur so sus” by my friend. But in the centre, the words “Stronger every day” were written in distinct cursive, highlighted in pink. Mum even drew a smiley-face next to it.


5 years ago I lost someone special. I promised to protect her since she’d done the same with me a few years back. I was there in the Emergency ward when we first arrived. I was there during the silent car trips. I was there, waiting, during all the procedures and check-ups. I was there when she finally let go.


Today I stand in front of a tree. My eyes look up at its leaves, dancing along to the song of the breeze. The sun’s warm blanket starts to wash away as my hands, now wrinkled with experience, feel the softness of the soil, reminding me of my youthful days. Somehow, my face finds a smile again.