A school bus drops Claire off by our mailbox. I enter her body and try to read her memories of school. Images of smiling teachers and cool friends flicker by in the dream. Claire never brings them to her house, I sense. We have a secret. The flowers and grass bow subtly as we walk by. We are Tree, but I feel that this is not our shameful secret.
In Claire, I sense hope, or is it dread, as we approach the trailer she calls home. With all the power of Tree at her command, I have trouble imagining the danger Claire could be in. In all the dreams I’ve had of her, her father’s never been mean to her. He drinks a lot, but then everyone in the house drinks, even Claire. Jack’s a lazy creep, but harmless. I search Claire’s memories to find out what’s bothering her and find nothing. I guess it’s something she doesn’t like to think about much.
She opens the door.
Oh my God.
Our mother’s kissing our cousin. Jack and Mom break up their make-out session when they see us. We storm past the lovers to our room. Terrible memories flood Claire’s mind. I can feel her mind clearing out the unpleasantness, like cleaning up broken glass. Different images of Jack kissing our mom assault our minds. We feel nauseous.
How long has this been going on?
Our mother walks in. “Baby, I’m sorry you had to see that again. I guess I just lost track of time.”
We’re curled up in a ball on our bed. “I guess so,” we reply.
Mom crosses her arms and leans on the wall. “You’re not gonna tell your dad, are you?”
“You KNOW I can’t tell him!” we yell.
Mom puts up her hands. “Hey, calm down, hun’. It’s not that bad. Y’know Jack’s your father’s blood, not mine. We’re not real kin.”
“Get out of my room!” we demand.
Our mom complies.
When she’s gone, the flower stalk remarks, “The one called Jack pollinates your mother frequently. Her pheromones are quite potent.”
We growl at the flower stalk: “I want them to stop.”
Tree replies, “Pollination concludes when seeds are produced.”
The fear of a bastard sibling grips us, and I’m learning far more than a 10-year-old should about the birds and the bees.
“I want him gone,” we snarl.
“What about your mother?” Tree asks. “She encouraged him.”
We insist, “I want. Jack. Gone.”
The multi-colored blossoms close except for a single fuchsia flower. It speaks to us: “The next time Jack leaves this house, he will never return again.”
My dream skips ahead to the day of Jack’s GED exam. He heads to town to sit for the test. It’s the last anyone ever sees of him. I see an image in my dream of Claire glaring at her mother as the older woman grieves the loss of her lover.
The next morning is grim. I’m not sure what happened in my dream. I’m so confused. I ask the mural: “What did you do with Jack?”
A flower blooms on the wall and Tree answers, “We are Tree. We can help you.”
“How?” I ask.
The blossom closes.
Still confused, I go through my morning routine. My mother kisses me as I leave with my father for school.
“Don’t forget to say ‘hello’ to Claire,” she reminds me.
At school, I join the blue ocean, where everyone is equal, except for me, and everyone’s the same, except me. I look for the nurse’s office. It’s next to the main office. A Caucasian woman with chestnut brown hair wearing purple scrubs steps out. She has full lips and dark eyes.
“Claire?” I ask.
She turns to me and smiles. “Yes, I’m Nurse Claire. Is everything alright?”
Straightening up, I reply, “Oh! Um…my mama wanted me to tell you ‘hello’. So… hello!”
Nurse Claire bends over. “Well, that’s sweet. Who’s your mom?”
I stop to remember that my mama’s name is not “mama”. “Her name is Cynthia,” I answer. “Her maiden name is ‘Edwards’.”
Nurse Claire stands up, tapping her lips in contemplation. “Cynthia Edwards? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe she meant someone else?”
Perplexed, I look away from her and into her office. There’s a plant inside with purple flowers. Without thinking, I mutter, “We are Tree.”
“What did you say?” Nurse Claire asks.
“Um… uh, we are Tree,” I repeat. The bell rings. I’m late for class. “Nice meeting you,” I blurt out as I rush for Ms. Coke’s room.
Huffing and puffing, I reach the second floor. Opening the door, I expect Ms. Coke to scold me. Instead, she rushes up to me, gasping, “Oh my word, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I respond. “I was talking to a friend.”
Ms. Coke gently escorts me to my seat, as if I were an old lady. Then she proceeds with class. She calls for us to pass in our homework. I, dutifully, pull it out of my book bag.
A whisper comes from behind me, “Hey, zebra.” Then the whisperer neighs like a horse.
Another kid corrects the whisperer, “Zebras don’t neigh. They go like this.” Then he makes a sing-song whooping noise. The two students share a laugh at my expense.
The teacher stops her lesson. “Michael! Jonathan! What are you doing back there?”
“Nothing,” the boys say in unison.
From the window next to my desk, I hear a tapping. I turn to see a bumblebee buzzing outside, butting against the window. It’s trying to get in. Next to the bee is a blue flower facing me. It’s blossoming from the kudzu that surrounds the school. The flower closes and then opens again, winking at me.
I know what to do.
The window is tough to open, but I make it work. The little bee flies in and brings an entire nation of bumblebees with it. The bees flood my classroom, but only attack two students: Michael and Jonathan.
Ms. Coke runs out of the classroom waving her arms in the air and screaming. The other students follow after her. I sit back down at my desk and watch the two boys wriggle in agony on the classroom floor. Red welts already cover their bodies.
“Enough,” I say to the kudzu flower.
I smell its scent as it asks, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I reply, “That’s enough.”
The bees leave the room back through the window. Michael and Jonathan get to their feet slowly and stumble out of the room, crying the whole way. I close the window back and sit back at my desk. Tree’s reach extends to the kudzu here. I never knew it came this far. The silence of the empty classroom is somewhat refreshing. No snickering. No whispers. No “zebras”. Just me.
I am Tree.
There are several blue buds on the kudzu outside. I realize my mistake. I am not Tree.
“We are Tree,” I speak aloud to the emptiness. With jubilance, I repeat, “We are Tree!”
Suddenly, the door swings open and Nurse Claire walks in. She is Claire, the girl from my dreams. I can feel it. She and I, we are connected. I reach my hand out to her.
“We are Tree,” I tell her.
Claire places something in my hand. “Eat this,” Claire commands.
It’s a purple berry. It smells wonderful. I gobble it instantly. Then my world turns to darkness.