A Tree I Once Knew
I have never felt more comfortable in my life than consciously drifting into unconsciousness. In public. Mid-day.
It started because it was spring. I was exhausted. And it genuinely felt like I was the only student from Franklin St. to Fordham Blvd. who wasn’t playing hooky.
That’s because when it was fall, Chapel Hill was full of University Students. So that meant hot coffee tucked between gloved hands, totes full of thick textbooks, and long walks to class. Ink-smudged fingers, the ticking of a lone clock in a silent library, and a pair of glasses being pushed up a nose.
But when it was spring, Chapel Hill was no longer full of University students. Instead, it was packed with College kids. Think the crisp snap of a soda tab cracking open, bathing suits under old t-shirts, and decidedly not going to class. Think Rah Rah Carolina, clear night skies, and music bumping through portable speakers.
It was spring. There wasn’t a hot coffee or academia-coded canvas bag anywhere to be seen. Yet I was heading to class, because I like… hate myself or something? Who knows.
I had a weird amount of time between two political science lectures on Tuesdays. When that happens, and you’re a University Student, you would probably do something like go to the library and fit some work in. Or at least, you’d go to the library and scroll on your phone with books out in front of you, so it looked like you were studying.
But it was spring, so sneaking in some work sounded like a horribly wise way to spend 20 weird minutes.
It was my last semester! I’d been wise for far too long.
It stormed the week prior, and debris from the weather created an obstacle course across the quad. I was wandering through the maze, debating on the merits (or lack thereof) of attending University over College, when I came upon a particularly large branch. I remember toeing the sharp edge where it snapped away from its tree torso.
For years, maybe decades even, this was a wild, growing, living thing. Now it waited for the rich earth to reclaim and recycle it. Simply waited to decompose, while I prodded it with my dirty frat shoes.
But it hadn’t decomposed yet. And after pushing with a tad too much weight, the sharp ridge of the branch punctured straight into my Nike Air Force. I yanked my foot away and prepared to visually reprimand the branch’s owner for something that was entirely my fault. How dare the earth poke holes in plastic?
I looked up, glare queued.
I didn’t know what kind of tree it was, but it was big, and it was beautiful. Everything was beautiful, really. The sun was winking down through cumulus frames, and the sky was a perfect Pantone Carolina Blue.
Maybe it always looked like that during springtime in Chapel Hill, but that time I noticed it.
My glare melted, and almost unconsciously, so did the rest of me. I walked to the base of the tree and sank under it, propping my head up my backpack like a pillow.
The grass felt dewy in that distantly earthy way that is reminiscent of childhood, and the wind above me was a cool reprieve, tickling the leaves of the tree so that they whispered to each other. I closed my eyes to soak it up for just a moment.
And then I promptly fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was because the sun had thrown off his cloudy mask. I shot up with a heartbeat comparable to that of an animal being hunted for sport, grabbing my phone to confirm my suspicion that I had missed my class, in fact, I had missed all of the rest of the semester, as well as graduation… but it had been 20 minutes. Not 2 months. It was actually exactly time to go.
Oh.
I went to class, strumming my fingers along the impression of grass that had printed into my arm.
I felt a little off-kilter. I felt a little like something significant had just happened. But I didn’t know what, and I didn’t know why.
That feeling followed me to the next Tuesday, where I found myself with 20 weird minutes again.
So, I wandered to the same tree. I laid down under it. I accidentally went to sleep. And then I woke up again, freaking out, exactly on time for class.
I did it a few more times, almost daring the universe to mess my schedule up. Begging it to prove me right, prove that every time I sat on my phone and pretended to stare at my notes during lecture purgatory, that was the right decision. But it never did.
A nap under this tree was the right decision. It only took me all of College (and University) to figure it out.
(Goddamn.)
But it was okay. I was here to learn.
After that Tuesday, I tuned out the noise of seminars, and due dates, and Outlook notifications, and I sat in the dirt and took a nap almost every week.
I have never felt more comfortable in my life than consciously drifting into unconsciousness. In public. Mid-day. Completely vulnerable and feeling completely safe. And by all means I shouldn't feel that protected ever on a college campus, especially one that has, in my own words, “consistently exhibited an unwillingness to put effort into keeping its students safe.” But I just did.
Sometimes, things don’t make a lot of sense.
Feeling safe made me realize that I don’t normally feel safe. In fact, I haven’t felt safe in my body in a really long time. Maybe ever.
But I felt safe under a canopy of trees. I felt safe with sun-warmed skin and a soundscape of birds and bugs washing over me. I felt safe with a hole in my plastic sole.
I think I am supposed to feel safe. I think I should be allowed to feel safe.
It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m walking to my car in the parking lot at work. I’m always holding an absurd amount of stuff (I’m a woman). I’ve got my phone and my emotional-support water bottle in one hand, in an awkward t-rex hold that I perfected in middle school when I started wearing skinny jeans without pockets.
In the other hand, I’m clutching my huge work tote which I got for $5 at a prop sale for Law and Order. One of the pockets is ripped, which I like to think came from the wear and tear of a stunt actor’s dramatic chase scene (I have clearly never seen an episode of Law and Order).
There’s a static feeling to the garage at night. A stillness that occurs when spaces are owned by metal and machinery. Even the air feels cold and stale, everything cloaked in shadow, minus the shock of intermittent overhead florescents.
I’m the only living thing in sight.
It stormed the night prior, and a few trees boarding the edge of the parking garage littered their extra branches into the lot. I’m carefully navigating my Business Casual Doc Martins around a branch when I hear a set of footsteps behind me.
I scan over my shoulder to find the owner of the steps: a man walking towards me.
I continue my journey. But I notice the steps behind me quicken their pace.
I do a quick glance again, making it look like I'm tucking my hair behind my ear this time, and I notice the man is staring right at me.
Weird.
Well, maybe not. I guess it’s normal to look at someone when they’re walking in front of you? But I speed up a little more, just in case.
This time I definitely hear the pace of his footsteps accelerate.
My heartbeat adjusts accordingly.
He’s close enough that the shape of his shadow looms into view. As I move closer to my turn, I watch his shadow do the same.
I start rummaging through my bag. I have pepper spray in one of the pockets, not that I need it, but I do have it. I also have an absurd amount of other stuff, like 4 lip products, a container from my lunch, sunglasses? And that’s actually all I seem to be able to find right now.
My pepper spray probably fell out due to the aforementioned gaping rip in the seam of the pocket. (I might hate Law and Order.)
I round the corner, at which point I expect the man will no longer be following me because almost nobody parks in this part of the garage.
He’s still there though.
One of the littered tree branches is a few feet away from me. It stands out on the concrete – a piece of forgone life in this static place, waiting for an earth that will never come to reclaim it.
His shadow looms larger and larger, becoming sharply defined.
The tree branch has a jagged edge where it was torn from its trunk. It looks pretty heavy too.
My heartbeat is comparable to that of someone being chased by a bear.
Someone could really do some damage with that branch.
(I wish I was being chased by a bear.)
And suddenly all I can think of is dirty AF1s, and sharp branches, and safety, and sleep, and how will this branch ever decompose on a cold concrete floor, and holes in soles, and maybe it’s nothing, and maybe it’s everything, and when it comes down to it I don’t want to hold a jagged edge, I don’t even know how to, but I also don’t know if I get to make a choice right now, because I can’t be the one to take the spot of this dying branch, I can’t let it be me, because this earth is supposed to be safe for me, it was meant to be mine too, and man and concrete just takes and takes and–
Within a foot of reaching me, the man turns. He swerves towards the exit we just passed and leaves the garage in a jog.
His footsteps fade, like they were never even there. (To him, I doubt my footsteps even existed.)
He’s probably late for something in the office building outside. Because he works here, and this parking lot is not easy to get into. There’s at least 1 security checkpoint with badge access required. I’m probably safer here than I am in my own apartment complex.
I’m certainly safer here than I was asleep in the center of the college quad under a tree with all of my belongings out in the open.
Sometimes things don’t make a lot of sense.
As I’m driving away from the garage, I see a crew of maintenance workers cleaning up the ground level. They’re throwing discarded branches into black plastic trash bags. The wood resists, trying to tear through the tough plastic, but it can’t break through.
I wonder where they take the bags. I wonder who lasts longer – the bag or the branch. Who decomposes faster? Or maybe they both decompose at the same rate, plastic and wood, trash all the same.
For years, decades even, these branches were growing, living things. Now they’re just simply in the way.
Hi everyone! Long time, no write! I really hope you’re well.
I had a busy couple of months, so apologies for the lack of listservs, but I promise I’m back now. I hope your heart grew fonder in my absence. If it didn’t, darn it! I’ll try to be more missable(?) in the future.
Here’s this month’s survey! I’ve missed these! I’m so excited to read your answers.
Love,
Layla
*This month’s Proof Of Life is some friends and I in front of this wicked looking RV that we found while on a walk in Joshua Tree. #vanlife