雙語暢銷書·怦然心動(dòng) Chapter 04　無花果樹

Chapter 04

無花果樹

我喜歡看爸爸畫畫?；蛘哒f，我其實(shí)是喜歡聽他一邊畫畫一邊和我聊天。當(dāng)他描畫出層層風(fēng)景時(shí)，那些話語總是變得溫柔，似乎還有些沉重，那并不是悲傷。也許帶著幾分疲倦，但卻充滿平靜。

爸爸沒有畫室，車庫又總是被一堆以為有用卻從來沒有派上過用場的東西塞得滿滿的，所以，他在戶外作畫。

室外能看到最好的風(fēng)景，但我家附近卻沒有什么風(fēng)景可言。因此，爸爸習(xí)慣在卡車?yán)锓派弦患苷障鄼C(jī)。作為泥瓦匠，他有很多機(jī)會(huì)去不同的地方，經(jīng)常留心去尋找一片美麗的日出或夕陽，也許只是一處牛羊成群的田野，之后他從照片當(dāng)中挑出一幅，夾在畫框上，開始作畫。

那些畫還不錯(cuò)，但我總有點(diǎn)為他感到難過，不得不在模樣欠佳的后院里畫出美麗的景色。院子里從來就沒什么好風(fēng)景，自從我開始養(yǎng)雞以來，就更糟了。

不過，爸爸畫畫的時(shí)候，似乎從來不會(huì)注意到院子本身，或是那些雞。他看到的也不僅僅是照片和畫布，而是更為龐大的東西。他的目光中流露出的神情，就像是已經(jīng)超越了我家院子和鄰居家，也超越了整個(gè)世界。當(dāng)那雙長繭子的大手握住小小的畫筆掃過畫布的時(shí)候，他就像被某種靈動(dòng)、飄逸的東西附身了。

在我小時(shí)候，爸爸在門廊上畫畫的時(shí)候喜歡讓我坐在他身邊，只要我乖乖地不出聲。保持安靜對我來說有點(diǎn)難，不過我發(fā)現(xiàn)，只要五到十分鐘不去看他，爸爸自己就會(huì)開始說話了。

我就是這樣了解了爸爸的很多事情。他給我講過各種故事，比如他在我這個(gè)年紀(jì)都做些什么，還有其他的——比如他怎樣得到了第一份運(yùn)送干草的工作，還有他多渴望能上完大學(xué)。

等我長大一點(diǎn)兒，他仍然給我講他的故事，以及他的童年，但也開始問我一些問題。我在學(xué)校學(xué)了什么？最近在讀什么書？還有我對各種事物的看法。

有一天，他出乎意料地問起了布萊斯的事。問我為什么對布萊斯這樣著迷。

我給爸爸講了他的眼睛、他的頭發(fā)、他臉紅的樣子，但我覺得自己根本沒有解釋清楚，因?yàn)榘职致犖艺f完之后搖了搖頭，語重心長地對我說，我需要抬頭看看整個(gè)世界了。

我沒太明白他的意思，卻忍不住想反駁他。他怎么可能會(huì)理解布萊斯呢？爸爸根本就不認(rèn)識他！

不過我們沒有真的吵起來。在屋子里我們也許會(huì)吵架，但在院子里不會(huì)。

長時(shí)間的沉默之后，他親了親我的額頭，然后說：“合適的光線就是一切，朱莉安娜?！?/p>

合適的光線？這是什么意思？我坐在那里想了又想，但不敢開口問他，生怕一開口就證明了自己還沒有成熟到足以理解他的意思，雖然某種程度上這是明擺著的。他真以為我能理解嗎？

從此以后，他不再多談他做過的事情。等我長大一點(diǎn)兒，他似乎變得更加具有哲學(xué)氣息。我不知道是他真的變了，還是他認(rèn)為我已經(jīng)超過十歲，能夠聽懂這些東西了。

大部分時(shí)間，他的話都被我當(dāng)成了浮云，但我偶爾也能完全聽懂他到底在說什么?！耙环嬕笥跇?gòu)成它的那些筆畫之和?！彼@樣說道，然后解釋說為什么一頭牛只是一頭牛，一片草地只是一些花和草，太陽照射著樹木只是一束光線，而把它們放在一起就有了一種魔力。

我明白他在說什么，但在我爬上無花果樹的那天之前，我從未真切地感受過這句話的魅力。

這棵無花果樹一直矗立在小山丘的最頂端。那兒有一大片空地，春天它為小鳥提供一個(gè)筑巢的空間，夏天它投出一片陰涼。它也是我們的天然滑梯。樹干向上盤曲伸展，幾乎長成一個(gè)完美的螺旋形，從上面滑下來真是樂趣無窮。媽媽告訴我，這棵樹小時(shí)候遭受過損害，卻生存下來了，一直屹立到百年后的今天，她認(rèn)為這是她見過的最大的一棵樹。她管它叫“堅(jiān)毅的象征”。

我經(jīng)常在樹上玩，但是直到五年級，我去取一只掛在樹杈上的風(fēng)箏時(shí)，才真的愛上了爬樹。我先是看著風(fēng)箏自由地從天上滑落，然后眼看它一頭栽到小山坡上無花果樹的附近。

多年放風(fēng)箏的經(jīng)驗(yàn)告訴我——有的時(shí)候它們一去不復(fù)返，有的時(shí)候它們就等在你去拯救它們的路上。有些風(fēng)箏很幸運(yùn)，有的也很難搞。兩種我都遇到過，一只幸運(yùn)的風(fēng)箏才值得你去追尋它。

這只風(fēng)箏看來就很幸運(yùn)。它的樣子并不出奇，只是個(gè)傳統(tǒng)的帶藍(lán)黃條紋的菱形風(fēng)箏。但它用一種友善的方式跌跌撞撞地飛了一陣，當(dāng)它掉落的時(shí)候，也是以某種疲倦的姿態(tài)栽下來，與那些態(tài)度惡劣的風(fēng)箏截然相反。難搞的風(fēng)箏們總是惡意地向著地面俯沖轟炸。它們從不疲倦，因?yàn)楦緵]有在天上待夠那么長的時(shí)間。它們一般飛了十米左右就沖你壞笑一番，然后墜落，只是為了好玩而已。

“冠軍”和我跑向克里爾街，在路上找了一會(huì)兒，“冠軍”開始朝著無花果樹的方向吠叫。我向上看去，也發(fā)現(xiàn)了枝杈間閃爍的藍(lán)色和黃色。

看上去要爬很長一段距離，但我決定試試運(yùn)氣。我攀上樹干，在樹彎上尋找捷徑，開始向上爬。“冠軍”密切注視著我，一路吠叫，我很快便爬到了從未達(dá)到的高度。但是風(fēng)箏卻還在遙不可及的樹梢上。

我向下看去，發(fā)現(xiàn)布萊斯正走過街角，正在穿過空地。從他向上窺探的方式，我能看出那是他的風(fēng)箏。

原來這個(gè)風(fēng)箏是這么、這么地幸運(yùn)！

“你能爬到那么高嗎？”他朝樹上喊道。

“沒問題！”我喊回去。我要向上、向上、再向上！

樹枝很粗壯，并且提供了足夠的交叉點(diǎn)，讓攀爬變得容易起來。爬得越高，我就對上面的景色越驚訝。我從來沒有見過這樣的風(fēng)景！就像是在飛機(jī)上俯瞰所有的屋頂、所有的樹木。我在全世界最高的地方！

然后我向下望去，看到樹下的布萊斯。忽然間我覺得有點(diǎn)頭暈，膝蓋也軟了。我離地面有好幾英里呢！布萊斯喊道：“你能夠到它嗎？”

我喘了口氣，努力喊回去：“沒問題！”然后強(qiáng)迫自己把注意力集中在頭上的藍(lán)黃條紋，在攀爬的過程中只盯著它。我終于摸到了，一把抓住它，那風(fēng)箏現(xiàn)在就在我手里！

可是，風(fēng)箏線纏在了頭頂?shù)臉渲ι希覜]法把它拽出來。布萊斯對我喊：“把線扯掉！”我盡量照他的話去做了。

終于摘下了風(fēng)箏，在下樹之前我必須休息一下。我不再把目光投向地面，而是抱緊樹干向外看去，朝著屋頂?shù)姆较颉?/p>

忽然間，因?yàn)榕赖锰叨a(chǎn)生的恐懼感不見了，取而代之的則是一種“我正在飛翔”的神奇感覺，就像翱翔在大地之上，航行于云朵之間。

我突然發(fā)現(xiàn)，原來微風(fēng)的味道是那么好聞。它聞起來就像……陽光。像陽光、野草、石榴和雨滴！我不由自主地大口呼吸著，我的肺被這種最甜蜜的味道一次又一次地充滿。

布萊斯向上喊道：“你被卡住了嗎？”我這才清醒過來。小心地向下退去，手里抓著那只珍貴的條紋風(fēng)箏，我在下樹的過程中看到布萊斯正繞著大樹一直看著我，以確保我的安全。

當(dāng)我爬到樹彎處，爬樹時(shí)那種讓人飄飄然的感覺已經(jīng)變成了一個(gè)讓人飄飄然的現(xiàn)實(shí)：布萊斯和我正單獨(dú)待在一起。

單獨(dú)待在一起！

把風(fēng)箏拿給他的時(shí)候，我的心臟狂跳不止。還沒等他接住風(fēng)箏，“冠軍”就在背后輕推著我，我能感覺到它那又濕又涼的鼻子蹭在我的皮膚上。

蹭在我的皮膚上？

我向身后摸去，才發(fā)現(xiàn)牛仔褲的屁股后面撕了一個(gè)大口子。

布萊斯緊張地笑了笑，我知道他已經(jīng)看到了，一瞬間，我的臉上火燒火燎。他拿著風(fēng)箏跑開了，把我留在那里檢查褲子的破洞。

我最后還是把褲子帶來的尷尬拋在了腦后，卻一直無法忘記樹上的風(fēng)景。我不斷地想起坐在高高的樹枝上的那種體驗(yàn)。

我還想再去看，再去體驗(yàn)。一次又一次地體驗(yàn)。

沒過多久，我就不再害怕爬到高處，并且找到了一個(gè)只屬于我的地方。我在那里一坐就是幾個(gè)小時(shí)，什么都不做，只是向外眺望整個(gè)世界。夕陽美不勝收，有時(shí)候是紫色夾雜著粉色，有時(shí)候是烈焰般的橙色，把地平線附近的云彩都點(diǎn)著了。

就這樣，某一天我忽然頓悟了爸爸所說的“整體大于局部之和”的道理。無花果樹上的風(fēng)景，已經(jīng)超越了那些屋頂和云朵本身。

它有一種魔力。

而我開始驚訝于自己竟然同時(shí)體驗(yàn)到了卑微與宏大。這怎么可能呢？我的內(nèi)心為何充滿了平靜，同時(shí)又充滿了驚嘆？簡簡單單的一棵樹，怎么會(huì)讓我體驗(yàn)到如此復(fù)雜的感情？它讓我感覺到自己的存在。

一有機(jī)會(huì)，我就爬到樹上。初中的時(shí)候幾乎每天都爬，因?yàn)榭死餇柦钟袀€(gè)校車站，正好在無花果樹下。

一開始，我只想看看在校車到站之前能爬多高，沒過多久，我就早早地出門，只為了爬到我獨(dú)享的位置，欣賞日出，看小鳥振翅，看其他的孩子聚在路邊。

我曾經(jīng)試圖勸其他等車的孩子跟我一起爬上來，哪怕只爬一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)高，但是他們?nèi)疾幌氚岩路K。因?yàn)榕屡K而拒絕一個(gè)感受奇跡的機(jī)會(huì)？我簡直不敢相信。

我從來不敢把爬樹的事告訴媽媽。她是個(gè)特別敏感的大人，一定會(huì)說爬樹太危險(xiǎn)。我的哥哥們，作為兄弟，他們才不管我呢。

還有爸爸，我知道他會(huì)理解我。不過，我還是不敢告訴他，他會(huì)告訴媽媽，然后他們很快就會(huì)禁止我再爬樹。所以我保留了這個(gè)秘密，繼續(xù)爬樹，在俯瞰世界的時(shí)候感受著一份孤獨(dú)的快樂。

幾個(gè)月以前，我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己開始跟樹說話了。一段完整的對話，只有我和樹。從樹上下來的時(shí)候，我有點(diǎn)想哭。為什么沒有一個(gè)人愿意和我說話呢？為什么我不像其他人一樣有個(gè)最好的朋友在身邊？我當(dāng)然認(rèn)識學(xué)校里別的孩子，可他們中間沒有一個(gè)人和我算得上親密。他們對爬樹不感興趣，也一點(diǎn)兒都不關(guān)心陽光的味道。

那天晚飯之后，爸爸到戶外去畫畫。寒冷的夜晚，在門廊刺眼的燈光下，他準(zhǔn)備給一幅還未完工的日落風(fēng)景添上最后幾筆。

我穿上外套，來到屋子外面，在他身邊坐下，安靜得像一只小耗子。

過了一會(huì)兒，他說：“你在想什么，親愛的？”

以前我們在一起的時(shí)候，爸爸從來沒有問過這個(gè)問題。我看著他，卻說不出話來。

他把兩種不同色調(diào)的橙色混在一起，然后非常輕柔地說：“跟我說說吧。”

我重重地嘆了口氣，把自己都嚇了一跳：“我理解你為什么到這里來了，爸爸?！?/p>

他故意逗弄我：“那你可以幫我跟媽媽解釋一下咯？”

“我沒有開玩笑，爸爸?，F(xiàn)在我明白你說的‘整體大于部分之和’的意義了?！?/p>

他停止調(diào)色：“是嗎？怎么回事？說說看?！?/p>

于是，我給他講了無花果樹的事。那里的風(fēng)景、聲音、色彩、風(fēng)，還有爬到高處時(shí)飛翔般的感覺。如同一種魔力。

他一次都沒有打斷我，當(dāng)我把憋在心里的話都說完，我看著他，低聲說：“你能和我一起爬上去嗎？”

他思考了很長時(shí)間，然后露出了笑容：“我很久不爬樹了，朱莉安娜，但是我愿意試一試，真的。你看這個(gè)周末怎么樣？白天我們有很長時(shí)間可以用來爬樹?！?/p>

“太棒了！”

我?guī)е?dòng)的心情上床去睡覺，我想整晚我睡著的時(shí)間不會(huì)超過五分鐘。星期六眼看就要到啦。我已經(jīng)等不及了！

第二天早上，我起了個(gè)大早沖向校車站，爬到樹上。正趕上太陽沖破云層，把火焰般的光束灑向世界的每一個(gè)角落。我在心里默默地列出一個(gè)清單，寫滿了要給爸爸看的東西，忽然聽到樹下一片嘈雜。

我朝下面望去，兩輛卡車就停在樹下，都是巨型卡車。其中一輛拖著長長的空拖車，另一輛裝著一架車載式吊車——就是用來修理輸電線和電線桿的那種。

四個(gè)男人站在那里聊著天，端著熱水瓶喝水，我差一點(diǎn)兒就想對他們大喊：“對不起，這里不能停車……”

我的后半句話“這里是校車站”還沒說出口，其中一個(gè)人就開始從卡車上卸下工具。手套、繩子、防滑鏈、耳罩，最后是鏈鋸，三把鏈鋸。

我還是沒反應(yīng)過來。我朝四周看去，想找到他們來這里到底想砍什么。這時(shí)，一個(gè)坐校車的學(xué)生走過來，和他們交談起來，一會(huì)兒他伸手指了指樹上的我。

其中一個(gè)人喊道：“嘿！你最好快點(diǎn)下來，我們就要砍樹了?！?/p>

我緊緊地抱住樹枝，忽然之間我覺得自己快要掉下去了。壓抑住快要窒息的感覺，我問：“砍樹？”

“對，現(xiàn)在趕緊下來吧?！?/p>

“可是，誰讓你們來砍樹的？”

“樹的主人！”他喊道。

“為什么？”

即使在十幾米的高空，我都能看到他的眉頭皺了起來。他說：“因?yàn)樗虢ㄒ蛔孔?，這棵樹擋了他的路。快點(diǎn)下來，姑娘，我們要工作了！”

大部分學(xué)生已經(jīng)在車站等車了。沒有人跟我說一句話，他們只是看著我，不時(shí)交頭接耳。這時(shí)，布萊斯出現(xiàn)了，我知道校車就快到了。我越過房頂搜索了片刻，確定校車離這里已經(jīng)不到四條街了。

我又驚又怕，心臟狂跳。我不知道該怎么辦！不能眼睜睜地離開讓他們砍了這棵樹！我尖叫道：“你們不許砍樹！就是不許！”

一個(gè)工人搖了搖頭：“你再不下來，我就要叫警察了。你這是擅自妨礙我們工作。你是下來，還是想跟樹一起被我們砍倒？”

校車離這里還有三條街。除了請病假，我從來沒有因?yàn)槿魏卧蛱舆^學(xué)，不過潛意識里我知道今天一定會(huì)錯(cuò)過這趟校車了?！澳氵B我一起砍倒吧！”我喊道。忽然我想出一個(gè)主意。如果我們所有人都爬到樹上，他們一定不敢再砍了！“嘿，伙伴們！”我招呼同學(xué)們，“上來陪我吧！如果我們都在樹上，他們是不敢動(dòng)手的！瑪西亞！托尼！布萊斯！來呀，朋友，不能讓他們砍樹！”

學(xué)生們只是站在那里，盯著我看。

我看到校車了，就在一條街以外：“上來吧，伙伴們！不用爬這么高，一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)就夠！快來吧！”

校車晃晃悠悠地開過來，?？吭诼愤?，就停在卡車前面，車門一開，所有同學(xué)一個(gè)接一個(gè)地上車了。

之后發(fā)生了什么事情，在我的記憶里有點(diǎn)模糊不清。我記得鄰居們聚在一起，警察拿著擴(kuò)音器。我記得搭起了消防云梯，有個(gè)人跳出來說這棵倒霉的樹是屬于他的，我最好趕緊從樹上下來。

媽媽被人叫來了。一改往日的理性形象，她又喊又叫，求我從樹上下來，可我就是不動(dòng)地方。我不會(huì)下去的。

后來，爸爸也趕了過來。他從卡車?yán)锾聛恚鷭寢尳徽劻艘粫?huì)兒，然后請吊車司機(jī)把他升到我所在的地方。這時(shí)我只有繳械投降的份兒了。我哭了，我試著讓他俯瞰房頂上面的景色，但他不肯。

他說沒有什么風(fēng)景比他小女兒的安全來得更重要。

爸爸把我從樹上接下來，然后送我回家，但我根本待不下去。我受不了遠(yuǎn)處傳來的鏈鋸聲音。

于是，他只好帶著我去工作，在他砌墻的時(shí)候，我坐在卡車?yán)锟奁?/p>

我至少哭了整整兩個(gè)星期。當(dāng)然，我又去上學(xué)了，努力做出最好的表現(xiàn)，但再也不坐校車了。我改騎自行車上學(xué)，雖然要騎很長一段路，但不必每天到克里爾街等車了，也不用面對一堆木屑，它們曾經(jīng)是全世界最美的無花果樹。

一天晚上，當(dāng)我回到自己的房間，爸爸走進(jìn)來，拿著一件用毛巾蓋住的東西。我看出那是一張畫，因?yàn)槊慨?dāng)在公園做展覽的時(shí)候，他總是這樣運(yùn)輸他的重要作品。他坐下來，把畫放在面前的地板上。“我一直很喜歡你的樹，”他說，“甚至在你告訴我之前，我就喜歡上它了。”

“哦，爸爸，沒關(guān)系。已經(jīng)都過去了。”

“不，朱莉安娜。你不會(huì)忘記它的?！?/p>

我哭了：“只是一棵樹……”

“我不希望你這樣說服自己。我們都知道，這不僅僅是一棵樹的問題?！?/p>

“但是爸爸……”

“聽我說完，好嗎？”他深吸了一口氣，“我希望這棵樹的靈魂可以一直陪在你身邊。我希望你記住爬到樹上的感覺，”他猶豫了一下，把畫遞給我，“所以，我給你畫了這幅畫。”

我掀開毛巾，看到了我的樹。我美麗、莊嚴(yán)的無花果樹。他在枝條中間添上了火焰般的陽光，而我似乎能感覺到微風(fēng)吹拂著樹葉。樹頂上，一個(gè)小女孩正在向遠(yuǎn)處眺望，她的臉蛋紅紅的，染紅它的是風(fēng)，是歡樂，是魔力。

“別哭了，朱莉安娜。我想幫助你，不是想惹你傷心?！蔽也寥ツ樕系臏I痕，輕輕地抽著鼻子。“謝謝你，爸爸，”我抽泣著說，“謝謝你?！?/p>

我把畫掛在床對面的墻上。它是我每天早上睜眼之后看到的第一樣?xùn)|西，也是晚上閉眼之前看到的最后一樣?xùn)|西?，F(xiàn)在我見到它不會(huì)再掉眼淚了，在我眼里，它已經(jīng)不僅僅是一棵樹，我理解了樹上的時(shí)光對我來說意味著什么。從那一天起，我對待周遭事物的看法開始改變了。

Chapter 04

The Sycamore Tree

JULIANNA

I love to watch my father paint. Or really, I love to hear him talk while he paints. The words always come out soft and somehow heavy when he's brushing on the layers of a landscape. Not sad. Weary, maybe, but peaceful.

My father doesn't have a studio or anything, and since the garage is stuffed with things that everyone thinks they need but no one ever uses, he paints outside.

Outside is where the best landscapes are, only they're nowhere near our house. So what he does is keep a camera in his truck. His job as a mason takes him to lots of different locations, and he's always on the lookout for a great sunrise or sunset, or even just a nice field with sheep or cows. Then he picks out one of the snapshots, clips it to his easel, and paints.

The paintings come out fine, but I've always felt a little sorry for him, having to paint beautiful scenes in our backyard, which is not exactly picturesque. It never was much of a yard, but after I started raising chickens, things didn't exactly improve.

Dad doesn't seem to see the backyard or the chickens when he's painting, though. It's not just the snapshot or the canvas he sees either. It's something much bigger. He gets this look in his eye like he's transcended the yard, the neighborhood, the world. And as his big, callused hands sweep a tiny brush against the canvas, it's almost like his body has been possessed by some graceful spiritual being.

When I was little, my dad would let me sit beside him on the porch while he painted, as long as I'd be quiet. I don't do quiet easily, but I discovered that after five or ten minutes without a peep, he'd start talking.

I've learned a lot about my dad that way. He told me all sorts of stories about what he'd done when he was my age, and other things, too — like how he got his first job delivering hay, and how he wished he'd finished college.

When I got a little older, he still talked about himself and his childhood, but he also started asking questions about me. What were we learning at school? What book was I currently reading? What did I think about this or that.

Then one time he surprised me and asked me about Bryce. Why was I so crazy about Bryce?

I told him about his eyes and his hair and the way his cheeks blush, but I don't think I explained it very well because when I was done Dad shook his head and told me in soft, heavy words that I needed to start looking at the whole landscape.

I didn't really know what he meant by that, but it made me want to argue with him. How could he possibly understand about Bryce? He didn't know him!

But this was not an arguing spot. Those were scattered throughout the house, but not out here.

We were both quiet for a record-breaking amount of time before he kissed me on the forehead and said, "Proper lighting is everything, Julianna."

Proper lighting? What was that supposed to mean? I sat there wondering, but I was afraid that by asking I'd be admitting that I wasn't mature enough to understand, and for some reason it felt obvious. Like I should understand.

After that he didn't talk so much about events as he did about ideas. And the older I got, the more philosophical he seemed to get. I don't know if he really got more philosophical or if he just thought I could handle it now that I was in the double digits.

Mostly the things he talked about floated around me, but once in a while something would happen and I would understand exactly what he had meant. "A painting is more than the sum of its parts," he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you've got magic.

I understood what he was saying, but I never felt what he was saying until one day when I was up in the sycamore tree.

The sycamore tree had been at the top of the hill forever. It was on a big vacant lot, giving shade in the summer and a place for birds to nest in the spring. It had a built-in slide for us, too. Its trunk bent up and around in almost a complete spiral, and it was so much fun to ride down. My mom told me she thought the tree must have been damaged as a sapling but survived, and now, maybe a hundred years later, it was still there, the biggest tree she'd ever seen. "A testimony to endurance" is what she called it.

I had always played in the tree, but I didn't become a serious climber until the fifth grade, when I went up to rescue a kite that was stuck in its branches. I'd first spotted the kite floating free through the air and then saw it dive-bomb somewhere up the hill by the sycamore tree.

I've flown kites before and I know — sometimes they're gone forever, and sometimes they're just waiting in the middle of the road for you to rescue them. Kites can be lucky or they can be ornery. I've had both kinds, and a lucky kite is definitely worth chasing after.

This kite looked lucky to me. It wasn't anything fancy, just an old-fashioned diamond with blue and yellow stripes. But it stuttered along in a friendly way, and when it dive-bombed, it seemed to do so from exhaustion as opposed to spite. Ornery kites dive-bomb out of spite. They never get exhausted because they won't stay up long enough to poop out. Thirty feet up they just sort of smirk at you and crash for the fun of it.

So Champ and I ran up to Collier Street, and after scouting out the road, Champ started barking at the sycamore tree. I looked up and spotted it, too, flashing blue and yellow through the branches.

It was a long ways up, but I thought I'd give it a shot. I shinnied up the trunk, took a shortcut across the slide, and started climbing. Champ kept a good eye on me, barking me along, and soon I was higher than I'd ever been. But still the kite seemed forever away.

Then below me I noticed Bryce coming around the corner and through the vacant lot. And I could tell from the way he was looking up that this was his kite.

What a lucky, lucky kite this was turning out to be!

Can you climb that high? he called up to me.

Sure! I called back. And up, up, up I went!

The branches were strong, with just the right amount of intersections to make climbing easy. And the higher I got, the more amazed I was by the view. I'd never seen a view like that! It was like being in an airplane above all the rooftops, above the other trees. Above the world!

Then I looked down. Down at Bryce. And suddenly I got dizzy and weak in the knees. I was miles off the ground! Bryce shouted, "Can you reach it?"

I caught my breath and managed to call down, "No problem!"then forced myself to concentrate on those blue and yellow stripes, to focus on them and only them as I shinnied up, up, up. Finally I touched it; I grasped it; I had the kite in my hand!

But the string was tangled in the branches above and I couldn't seem to pull it free. Bryce called, "Break the string!" and somehow I managed to do just that.

When I had the kite free, I needed a minute to rest. To recover before starting down. So instead of looking at the ground below me, I held on tight and looked out. Out across the rooftops.

That's when the fear of being up so high began to lift, and in its place came the most amazing feeling that I was flying. Just soaring above the earth, sailing among the clouds.

Then I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. It smelled like ... sunshine. Like sunshine and wild grass and pomegranates and rain! I couldn't stop breathing it in, filling my lungs again and again with the sweetest smell I'd ever known.

Bryce called up, "Are you stuck?" which brought me down to earth. Carefully I backed up, prized stripes in hand, and as I worked my way down, I could see Bryce circling the tree, watching me to make sure I was okay.

By the time I hit the slide, the heady feeling I'd had in the tree was changing into the heady realization that Bryce and I were alone.

Alone!

My heart was positively racing as I held the kite out to him. But before he could take it, Champ nudged me from behind and I could feel his cold, wet nose against my skin.

Against my skin? !

I grabbed my jeans in back, and that's when I realized the seat of my pants was ripped wide open.

Bryce laughed a little nervous laugh, so I could tell he knew, and for once mine were the cheeks that were beet red. He took his kite and ran off, leaving me to inspect the damage.

I did eventually get over the embarrassment of my jeans, but I never got over the view. I kept thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree. I wanted to see it, to feel it, again. And again.

It wasn't long before I wasn't afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the world. Sunsets were amazing. Some days they'd be purple and pink, some days they'd be a blazing orange, setting fire to clouds across the horizon.

It was on a day like that when my father's notion of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts moved from my head to my heart. The view from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors combined.

It was magic.

And I started marveling at how I was feeling both humble and majestic. How was that possible? How could I be so full of peace and full of wonder? How could this simple tree make me feel so complex? So alive.

I went up the tree every chance I got. And in junior high that became almost every day because the bus to our school picks up on Collier Street, right in front of the sycamore tree.

At first I just wanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up, but before long I was leaving the house early so I could get clear up to my spot to see the sun rise, or the birds flutter about, or just the other kids converge on the curb.

I tried to convince the kids at the bus stop to climb up with me, even a little ways, but all of them said they didn't want to get dirty. Turn down a chance to feel magic for fear of a little dirt? I couldn't believe it.

I'd never told my mother about climbing the tree. Being the truly sensible adult that she is, she would have told me it was too dangerous. My brothers, being brothers, wouldn't have cared.

That left my father. The one person I knew would understand. Still, I was afraid to tell him. He'd tell my mother and pretty soon they'd insist that I stop. So I kept quiet, kept climbing, and felt a somewhat lonely joy as I looked out over the world.

Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree. An entire conversation, just me and a tree. And on the climb down I felt like crying. Why didn't I have someone real to talk to? Why didn't I have a best friend like everyone else seemed to? Sure, there were kids I knew at school, but none of them were close friends. They'd have no interest in climbing the tree. In smelling the sunshine.

That night after dinner my father went outside to paint. In the cold of the night, under the glare of the porch light, he went out to put the finishing touches on a sunrise he'd been working on.

I got my jacket and went out to sit beside him, quiet as a mouse.

After a few minutes he said, "What's on your mind, sweetheart?"

In all the times I'd sat out there with him, he'd never asked me that. I looked at him but couldn't seem to speak.

He mixed two hues of orange together, and very softly he said, "Talk to me."

I sighed so heavily it surprised even me. "I understand why you come out here, Dad."

He tried kidding me. "Would you mind explaining it to your mother?"

Really, Dad. I understand now about the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.

He stopped mixing. "You do? What happened? Tell me about it!"

So I told him about the sycamore tree. About the view and the sounds and the colors and the wind, and how being up so high felt like flying. Felt like magic.

He didn't interrupt me once, and when my confession was through, I looked at him and whispered, "Would you climb up there with me?"

He thought about this a long time, then smiled and said, "I'm not much of a climber anymore, Julianna, but I'll give it a shot, sure. How about this weekend, when we've got lots of daylight to work with?"

Great!

I went to bed so excited that I don't think I slept more than five minutes the whole night. Saturday was right around the corner. I couldn't wait!

The next morning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree. I caught the sun rising through the clouds, sending streaks of fire from one end of the world to the other. And I was in the middle of making a mental list of all the things I was going to show my father when I heard a noise below.

I looked down, and parked right beneath me were two trucks. Big trucks. One of them was towing a long, empty trailer, and the other had a cherry picker on it — the kind they use to work on overhead power lines and telephone poles.

There were four men standing around talking, drinking from thermoses, and I almost called down to them, "I'm sorry, but you can't park there... That's a bus stop!" But before I could, one of the men reached into the back of a truck and started unloading tools. Gloves. Ropes. A chain. Earmuffs. And then chain saws. Three chain saws.

And still I didn't get it. I kept looking around for what it was they could possibly be there to cut down. Then one of the kids who rides the bus showed up and started talking to them, and pretty soon he was pointing up at me.

One of the men called, "Hey! You better come down from there. We gotta take this thing down."

I held on to the branch tight, because suddenly it felt as though I might fall. I managed to choke out, "The tree?"

Yeah, now come on down.

But who told you to cut it down?

The owner! he called back.

But why?

Even from forty feet up I could see him scowl. "Because he's gonna build himself a house, and he can't very well do that with this tree in the way. Now come on, girl, we've got work to do!"

By that time most of the kids had gathered for the bus. They weren't saying anything to me, just looking up at me and turning from time to time to talk to each other. Then Bryce appeared, so I knew the bus was about to arrive. I searched across the rooftops and sure enough, there it was, less than four blocks away.

My heart was crazy with panic. I didn't know what to do! I couldn't leave and let them cut down the tree! I cried, "You can't cut it down! You just can't!"

One of the men shook his head and said, "I am this close to calling the police. You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job. Now are you going to come down or are we going to cut you down?"

The bus was three blocks away. I'd never missed school for any reason other than legitimate illness, but I knew in my heart that I was going to miss my ride. "You're going to have to cut me down!" I yelled. Then I had an idea. They'd never cut it down if all of us were in the tree. They'd have to listen! "Hey, guys!" I called to my classmates. "Get up here with me! They can't cut it down if we're all up here! Marcia! Tony! Bryce! C'mon, you guys, don't let them do this!"

They just stood there, staring up at me.

I could see the bus, one block away. "Come on, you guys! You don't have to come up this high. Just a little ways. Please!"

The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks, and when the doors folded open, one by one my classmates climbed on board.

What happened after that is a bit of a blur. I remember the neighbors gathering, and the police with megaphones. I remember the fire brigade, and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I'd darn well better get out of it.

Somebody tracked down my mother, who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a sensible mother should, but I was not coming down. I was not coming down.

Then my father came racing up. He jumped out of his pickup truck, and after talking with my mother for a few minutes, he got the guy in the cherry picker to give him a lift up to where I was. After that it was all over. I started crying and tried to get him to look out over the rooftops, but he wouldn't. He said that no view was worth his little girl's safety.

He got me down and he took me home, only I couldn't stay there. I couldn't stand the sound of chain saws in the distance.

So Dad took me with him to work, and while he put up a block wall, I sat in his truck and cried.

I must've cried for two weeks straight. Oh, sure, I went to school and I functioned the best I could, but I didn't go there on the bus. I started riding my bike instead, taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street. Up to a pile of sawdust that used to be the earth's most magni ficent sycamore tree.

Then one evening when I was locked up in my room, my father came in with something under a towel. I could tell it was a painting because that's how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park. He sat down, resting the painting on the floor in front of him. "I always liked that tree of yours," he said. "Even before you told me about it."

Oh, Dad, it's okay. I'll get over it.

No, Julianna. No, you won't.

I started crying. "It was just a tree..."

I never want you to convince yourself of that. You and I both know it isn't true.

But Dad...

Bear with me a minute, would you? He took a deep breath. "I want the spirit of that tree to be with you always. I want you to remember how you felt when you were up there." He hesitated a moment, then handed me the painting. "So I made this for you."

I pulled off the towel, and there was my tree. My beautiful, majestic sycamore tree. Through the branche she'd painted the fire of sunrise, and it seemed to me I could feel the wind. And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the distance, her cheeks flushed with wind. With joy. With magic.

Don't cry, Julianna. I want it to help you, not hurt you.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and gave a mighty sniff. "Thank you, Daddy," I choked out. "Thank you."

I hung the painting across the room from my bed. It's the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night. And now that I can look at it without crying, I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me.

I see the day that my view of things around me started changing.