Trees and Limbs: Roots that Move

It's that time of year when many people around the world are returning back to school. Some are going to a new school. Maybe even today is someone's first day at school. I remember my first day at kindergarten. The place wasn't really that far from where I lived. I swift run across a bean field would have made the trip even faster. Being a little girl, feeling my feet sink into the mounds of dirt while the leafy greens tickled my arms and legs scared me. My mom and I took the long way around. I don't remember a whole lot about the day. I had on a brown dress with a floral print. The floral was printed on 70s transparent polyester with a solid brown polyester silk underneath. We began to turn in towards the door. My sweaty hand slipped from my mother's grip, and in a moment that hand was clasped to my other one around a tree. I closed my eyes and anointed my checks with prayerful drops. I had been fine at home, hanging out on the porch with papa, gently pulling the comb through the gray hairs that sat like a crown around his bald head. He didn't stop her from taking me. He didn't stop her from prying my hands free, hands and legs that quickly wrapped around my mother's body. Perhaps it was my grip that kept the tree from betraying me. But no, I watched as the blurred tree moved further away. Coward. Before I was done cursing the fleeing tree, my mother's legs had carried us all the way to the door. “Let go, now.” I squeezed harder. “I'll be back to get you in a little while.” Lightening cracked from deep in my chest. My cheeks were pelted. My limbs went a bit slack, then slid away from my mother's trunk. I watched as my mother's legs carried her away. Only just then did I learn to walk.