The Special Tree

The Special Tree

Some kids have it all, you know? They just walk in the room and everyone likes them. The teacher can’t help it any more than the kids do. That’s the kind of person Joey was. He’d walk in the room, grin, and we’d all smile. Oh, he wasn’t the smartest person, or the greatest athlete, or really the best at anything, but somehow, he had it all figured out. He was somebody you could just hang out with and be yourself, no judgments, no performance.

The girls all liked him, of course, but he didn’t want a steady girlfriend. He’d rather just have a lot of friends than be locked into any one relationship. And the strangest thing was that no one was bothered by that.

It was the same with the guys. He liked the strangest mix of guys I’ve ever seen. His friends weren’t the normal bunch. He didn’t seem to care about what people did nearly as much as who they were. Once Joey met you and talked with you, he was your friend. The only exception I ever saw was when somebody made fun of another person. Then Joey changed. Oh, he didn’t get mad or go off on you. But he got really quiet, and before long, he’d say something about why that behavior wasn’t something he could handle. If the person wouldn’t change, well, that person was off Joey’s radar for good.

I guess that’s why I liked him so much. It’s pretty rare to find someone you can actually trust when you’re a teen, but Joey was someone who didn’t play games. We teased him about still being called Joey, but he’d just smile and mutter something about his mother liking the name and change the subject, and then we’d go on with whatever we were doing.

One funny thing, though, was that we never hung out at Joey’s house. Somehow, the topic never came up, and while he was always at our houses, we never went to his. I really wish now that we’d thought more about that. Maybe, if we had, we could have helped, but life happens, and you can’t change it, so I guess there’s not much point in thinking about whether we could have done much. We all figured that maybe his mom was shy or didn’t like a bunch of kids around, if we thought about it at all. We never figured out the truth until it was too late to do anything.

Joey and I were partners in biology lab, and I have to admit we talked more than we worked. I’d tell him about my mom’s latest crazy rules, and he’d smile and listen. Funny, now that I think back, that was another opportunity to figure things out, but we were so used to easygoing Joey, it never occurred to me that he was quiet about his mom for a reason.

One day, when we were in lab, he reached out for a flask to pour some solution on our project, and I saw the bruises on his arm. I asked him if he was all right, and he made some sort of joke about being clumsy. I laughed it off with him and got to telling him the latest story about how my dad was helping me rebuild a motor in my car. He always acted kind of funny when I talked about my dad, kind of quiet and, oh, almost hungry, if that makes sense. It was the only time he’d ask questions, but I never thought too much about it. None of us did.

Every once in a while, Joey was called out of class by the counselor, but he never told us why. We just figured he had problems with grades or something. I mean, none of us likes school all that much, and like I said, he wasn’t the top student. When it comes right down to it, though, we really didn’t figure at all. We didn’t think. We just lived our own lives. Joey was part of it, sort of on the outside, looking in.

Don’t get me wrong. We liked him. We liked him a lot. It’s just that we never knew that anything was . . . different. Even after that day I saw the bruises, I know I never thought about anything again. I mean, you don’t expect things like that to happen to people you know, do you?

Part of me can’t help but feel mad, and that makes me sick. I feel angry because he never told us. I guess that makes me even worse as a friend, because I’d like to blame him. My dad says it’s normal, and that if I had lived his life, I might not have told either, but I don’t know. I think I would have asked for help. My dad tells me it’s normal to feel mad at him, too, even though I feel so bad, but that doesn’t make sense either. Not much makes sense any more.

We planted the tree today. There wasn’t much else we could do. Our class talked, and the one thing we could remember Joey talking about was how much his mom liked trees, so that’s what we decided to do. We took pictures of it to send to him, and the principal said that he’d make sure that they got sent to his new address. Some of us wrote notes and cards.

Mine was really lame. I mean, what do you say to someone who’s been your friend for over six years, who’s hung out at your house, who’s supposedly someone you know–what do you say to someone whose dad turned out to be the one who made all those bruises–and a whole lot more? What do you say? Sorry your dad killed your mom? Sorry he almost killed you? Hey, man, I really think it’s cool the way you held it together long enough to call 911 and get help so that you survived? Somehow, none of those sentences seem to fit.

So, in the end, I just wrote something dumb like how much I missed him and that I was glad he was gonna get better. Better. That’s a laugh. How is someone who watched his dad kill his mom ever gonna be better? I’ve asked my parents if they can adopt him, but they said those decisions are a long way off in the future. One thing I do know is this: If friendship is really a two-way street, I’ve got a lot to learn before I can call myself a friend. It’s my day to water that tree. I sure hope it lives. Joey’s had enough go wrong in his life; he doesn’t need any more disappointment, not even a stupid tree letting him down.