Pigeons don't live in trees: Part One.

Disclaimer: The following piece will contain minor spoilers for:
         How to train your Dragon and Big Game.
As well as major spoilers for:
         Weathering with You and WALL-E.
         Please consider watching or reading all of these excellent pieces of media before proceeding. You have been warned. You will be sad when these are spoiled. You don’t want to be sad. You will feel betrayed by this writing. But you have been warned. Please keep the torches and pitchforks to a minimum.

Pigeons don’t live in trees: Part One.

         I love… well, love. Better put, I enjoy romance. In my books, my movies, my t.v shows. I do, truly. Though I’m not supposed to. See, fictitious romance has almost always been designed as a feminine thing. It’s meant to portray a specific ideal, whatever that may be, and present it to the expected, female audience. To look specifically at the pages of a novel, it’s written from a female perspective, with a female author. These authors know how to write exactly what their audience of women want to read. They’re pretty dang good at it. This carries over into other mediums like anime, where there is a clear and fundamental difference between a shounen—designed for a male audience—and a shoujo—designed for a female audience. Trust me, I’ve seen both sides. What it comes down to is I, as a man, am not meant to gaze upon the pages of The Love Hypothesis, or stay up late to binge watch A Sign of Affection. But I do. And I enjoy it. I love… love.

         I trace this deep rooted love back to my early days. Back to when I sat downstairs in the living room upon the cushions of my family’s gold colored velvet couch about two decades out of style. Back to childhood, and the media of my childhood. Of course, I watched the typical films from Disney and Pixar, and shows on Cartoon Network. These would play on the old tube t.v. that we were still using in defiance of the age of flatscreen panels. With my feet up on either the rest of the couch, or the antique coffee table in front of me, my character was built. And even back then, I had become aware that I loved love.
         One film truly defined my childhood. How to train your Dragon. I must have watched it dozens of times. Grabbing the DVD (yes, a DVD…) out of the t.v stand’s storage slots and placing it into the DVD player (that we still have), I watched little Hiccup tame the Night Fury Dragon Toothless, prove himself to his father, and save the island of Berk. Even after the film closed out and I went to bed, the next day I would be chirping, “again, again!”. Something about it just struck me, made me giddy to watch it back. Maybe it was a certain two characters.
         Toothless, hearing the command, “down, gently,” proceeds to do exactly the opposite. He launches off his perch on top of a tall tree, soaring up into the air, to a symphony of screams from his two riders, Hiccup and Astrid. At the top of his arc, he turns and dives down to the water below. “What are you doing, we need her to like us!” pleads Hiccup to his so-called, “useless reptile.” Toothless flies up again, spins, and then dives once more. Astrid, who is now clinging to Hiccup for her own safety, apologizes and begs to be brought back to solid ground. Toothless steals a glance at the two, his eyes peering up.
         After catching himself from the dive with a spread of black scaly wings, a pastel of oranges and pinks color the clouds in the sky, and cascade to illuminate my living room. The pearlescent pixels of the tube t.v shine and sparkle like the glitter on freshly fallen snow. Surround sound speakers play out peaceful violin while the two soar through the wispy clouds, and time flies by. As the pair is lowered by their dragon steed, Astrid rests her head on the shoulder of Hiccup, prompting another glance from Toothless.
         I watch this in a trance. My body rises in heat and tingles throughout. I feel almost embarrassed. Embarrassed at the fact that I’m enjoying this part of the movie the most. Not the action, the humor, but the fledgling romance of two young ones.
         I walk up to a patch of dirt, clear a small hole with my hands, and place a single seed in the hole. I bury it once again, and water it lightly.

         How to train your Dragon is not the sole source of loving love. One other film is to blame. The original children’s romance film. The one and only, WALL-E. I remember WALL-E as a sort of surreal experience. What made it this way is the notable absence of the protagonists having a real human voice. Because they aren’t that. WALL-E and his love interest EVE are, of course, robots. One, a trash collector searching for real connection, and two, a high tech entity designed to look for life.
         When picturing what watching WALL-E felt like, a darker room comes to mind. I sit, heavy eyed with crickets chirping faintly through the cracked open patio door. If How to train your Dragon is my go-to, everyday film, WALL-E is something more taboo and hypnagogic. The lights are partially off in the living room, and the sky is dark outside. I’m likely up past my bedtime. Not from my parents' volition, but typically my babysitter’s. The film doesn’t feel like it belongs sitting aside the Kung Fu Pandas or the Lion Kings. But it does stick out from the shelf. I may not have known why at the time, and may not have realized what the film was. Or what it had done to me.
WALL-E flies through the space outside of the starship Axiom, propelled by a fire extinguisher, to catch up with EVE and deliver her the plant. He does, while the music picks back up, the pair becomes closer, then Zap! WALL-E is short circuited with a chirp by effectively a kiss from EVE. I understand how he feels. Maybe. Maybe I don’t?
         Maybe someday I will.
         The seed was planted young. I watered it, cared for it, all without an ounce of awareness of the consequences. The seed began to sprout as time ticked on, and I continued to water it. It would grow into a beautiful, tall tree. I was sure of it. I water the tree again.

         My love of love continues into the years past early childhood. One of the staples of middle grade and young adult literature is certainly romance. I mean, this is given the intended audience of now developing children. Children who are beginning to transition out of the age of simple little crushes on the girl next door, and into things that feel more legitimate (even when they aren’t).
         When peering into my bookshelf at home, one-and-a-half shelf levels are filled by the tales from Stuart Gibbs. With enough observation, one will notice I actually have a complete collection of his novels. Just as predicted, they all contain two primary characters who begin as friends, but romance sparks between them. In his FunJungle series, Teddy and Summer. In Spy School, Ben and Erica. Finally in Space Case, Dash and Kira.
         I came home from school one day to find Big Game, the third entry of FunJungle, lying on my bed. In my haste of excitement, I certainly forgot all about any homework for the day, and immediately began reading. The pages turned so fast it caused sparks to fly, and my brain processed it all at NASA supercomputer speeds. Flashing by was the story, going at Mach 10 to the climax: a chase scene in the vast bridges of a reptile house where crocodile-defying heroism from Teddy results in a, “you saved my life!” and peck on the cheek from Summer.
         I used to dog-ear some of my favorite passages in the books I read. Passages of significance, or passages I loved. And as a love-lover this one a hundred percent qualifies. That giddy, embarrassed, feet kicking in the air feeling overtook myself once again. I mean, it was cute! It was exciting! It was the middle-grade equivalent of a “spicy” scene! Just reading it made my butterflies roller coaster around! Picturing the scene! Imagining it! Imagining… it.
         Imagining.
         The tree now towers over me. So large in fact, the sun is beginning to be blocked out. By getting too close to the tree, I find myself in the shade. Comfortable, cool shade. I like the shade. I like the tree. Though the tree may not be real. The tree is something that's not really there. The tree is just a fantasy, one that is covering up the sun. A sun that is bright, and warm, and ever truly real. I step out into the light, feel it on my back, then move into the shade once more. I water the tree again.

         “I want you more than any blue sky!” A world of pale cerulean light mixed with whites and grays poured out from the phone screen in front of me. The all lights out, 2:00 AM level dark room was illuminated in color from a waterfall of blue sky as musical clapping lashed out on each beat, making its grand escape from my earbuds. “The weather can stay crazy!” Hodaka cried out as he dove through the air, reaching out for Hina, who had tears in her eyes. She musters up strength, and reaches up to hook her fingers into the handcuffs dangling from one of Hodaka’s wrists, then pulls herself up to grasp his other hand, They interlock their fingers, press their foreheads together, and plummet out of the clouds and down the Tokyo streets below them. The pouring rain starts up immediately, and Tokyo begins to drown.
         I’ve been told that sacrifice is an important aspect of love in life. Giving up something for the sake of the other “one”. Drowning out an entire city by the conclusion of Weathering with You sparks this idea in me. Hey, c’mon, what if I did have someone worth drowning a city over? Am I myself worth the structural damage and loss of life? It’s all I could think about in the days after, fantasy about what I wish someone would give up to just have me.
         Coincidence cannot always be coincidence. Water pours out from the aging bronze spigot. I hold the watering can near the base of the growing tree, drowning out its roots, drowning out the city. The rain begins to subside, then stops entirely. My feet carry me away from the calming shade of the tree, and I carry the watering can with me. The tree must grow. I must keep it healthy.
I must feed the fantasy.

         I grew out of stories of fantasy. Dragons and warlocks and curses from an ancient evil being. They sparked less and less and any fire I had for those tales when in my younger years fizzled out entirely. Or actually, my mind is already full of a forest of my own fantasies. No more room for Harry Potter or A Wizard of Earthsea. I’m cloudy with daydreams and night dreams, little moments of, what if…

         The tree has grown to an unbelievable height. It extends far above the hills and landscape surrounding it. It is trying to reach the sun. It is trying to blot it out entirely.
         Never mind what if, it’s time to take some action, just do it like you’ve seen before! I find myself at the beach, walking along a sand encrusted asphalt path, gazing out at the beachgoers, with one in particular.
         I walk up to the tree. I slide my hand along the thick brown bark, and a woody scent climbs up my nostrils. It encompasses me, pulls me in. I lose myself in the overwhelming shade of the canopy above. No sun to be found here. Of course that wouldn’t work. Don’t embarrass yourself now. You’re safe under the tree.
         Text messages blip across the screen in a rapid fashion. A smile creeps across my face. Time to commit. One deep breath, three words. “Hey, you know…” I start typing. Her laugh jumps to the forefront of my mind and my fingers freeze. There's just no way I send that message, I mean, I’m just caught up on nothing!
         I’m now hugging the tree. So thick in its trunk that my arms can barely get halfway around. Branches reach out and around my back, connect and grow even more. I feel myself falling into the tree, falling through the tree. But then I see it.
         I look up from working in a classroom. I peer across the desks, and see it. Fantasies flood through my head. Whitewater rapids form as perfection personified gets up to walk across the room. A bobble in her head, a bounce in her steps.
         I see it. Strangely, a pigeon sits on a small branch of the tree, pecking at the leaves. My focus on the bark is broken. The pigeon walks around a bit, then looks up at the sky longingly. The pigeon lives in the shade. The pigeon must want the sun. I push back from the tree trunk with all my might, shattering the encompassing branches with my back. A groan of anger is heard from the tree. The pigeon chirps.
         Ten months on, I still can’t get a hold of myself. I endure, I curate the fantasy despite relentless teasing from peers. I want to reach out and grab it. No, just let it come to me, let it happen. But nothing ever happens. I know nothing is going to happen as I am now. Nothing will happen if I can’t see the sun
         In the shade of the tree, I stumble around, failing to find something that will cut. Of course there wouldn’t be anything of the sort here, the tree was never supposed to fall. It was supposed to blossom and thrive and blot out the sun. I just didn’t know I was doing it myself. I trip on a large tangled root, my shoulder hitting the soft dirt, my face smelling the grass. A scream of rage, or of hurt, bellows out from my chest. My fist meets the ground and forms a crater upon impact. Another crater. Another. When I finally stand up, a shimmer catches my eye. Leaning against the sloping hills, an axe beckons me in. I walk over, pick it up, and am met with a chirp of surprise from the pigeon. The head of the axe is sharp, and it reflects my own face. Walking up to the tree, I take my stance and begin to swing. One hit, and leaves fall down from above. Two hits, and the tree shakes. Three hits, the trunk is being exposed. I swing and swing and cut into the tree with every single hit. My swings get faster, my forehead gets sweatier, and one final crack shoots out across the world.
         I close my eyes while the tree falls to the ground. I feel not just the rumble as the massive trunk hits the soil, but the heat of the sun upon my face. And it is so goddamn warm. The pigeon chirps and flys away, into the bright unknown.
         “Hey Pigeon, you want to go out sometime?”