Ladder

It leaned against the oak tree, its white paint chipped and faded. She sat in her car staring at it starting from the bottom, where the grass made it look as if it had been planted there, and moving up the worn rungs to the limb where a frayed rope kept it from falling. She watched as the colored leaves, dispersed across the branches, regained health and a youthful hue, swelling the eves, as her mind was swept once again into the past.

A little boy sat on the bough, his legs resting on the top two bars of a freshly painted ladder. He sat staring at the split between the unending blue of the sky and the rolling sea of grass.

“Gregory,” came her call from the porch. He stared heedlessly along the horizon.

“Gregory,” she said again. He jumped, turning around sharply to stare directly into her face. He hadn't heard her approach.

“He's coming back, mom, isn’t he?”

She shook her head. “Oh, honey. I’m afraid he won’t.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Mmmm… Come on, sweetie. It’s time for dinner.”

She turned back toward the house. Gregory had grown a lot since his father'd left, but he was no bigger than any other six year old in his class. There was nothing she loved more. Smiling as she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder and saw Gregory scrambling like a monkey up the tree. The corners of her lips dropped and her eyes widened fearfully as she watched him.

“Stop!” she screamed, finding her voice. He just kept climbing higher and higher.

“Gregory Arthur Conner! You stop right there!”

“Hold on, Mom!” he shouted back. “I can see him from up here! He told me so! He said I can see him when I was big enough!” He started sliding out on a limb no bigger than a sprig.

“Gregory, no!” she screeched, but she was too late.

The over weighted wood made a barely audible snap, which resounded like thunder in her skull. His tender frame hit the ground with a hollow thud.

“NO!” she shrieked, her entire personage seemingly trapped like an insect in amber.

As the memory dissolved, the plush greens faded to the yellows and browns of decay. Her eyes rested on the slight stone laid under the giant oak; its cool granite face carved into a little cherub boy. As she started the engine and rolled down the long driveway, she felt the tears burn trails down her cheeks. She didn't blink for fear that they would stop their bitter flow. They were her reminders, reminders of how she never wanted to forget.