The Girl in the Tree

by Şebnem İşigüzel

Maybe this world is the hell of another world.

If parents mistreat their children, all of life will conspire to mistreat them too. That includes other people, the world, and, if there is one, God.

I could see it all: how she dashed down the stairs when she heard his Mercedes turn onto the street at the top of the hill; how she stepped out the door nonchalantly as if she was just going for a walk and strode past the Mercedes with a swish of her skirt, only to lock eyes with the developer in the rearview mirror as he pretended to be checking on the progress of the construction of the new buildings; how the construction workers looked at her in profound quietnes—yes, I intentionally left off the final s because I want the quietness to be even more quiet, but let’s get back to the story—

Example 1 of the rambling tone, hopping all over and "intentionally leaving stuff out," only to revisit it time and time again.

If she were still alive, Amy would turn thirty-one today. Shit! So there I was at the top of a tree on Amy Winehouse’s birthday. Ugh!

Example 2 of the rambling tone

I haven’t said much about my mother, who as I may have said was a dietician. She’d go from door to door in search of work. Telling you more about her would be the proper course of action, but I know if I should do that now, you might get upset, as you’re probably wondering about that person who called out to me in the darkness of night. It’s true that I see others my age as being younger than me. That’s because I’ve been through so much more than them.

Example 3 of the rambling tone. When she says "as I may have said," that is probably the third or fourth mention of the book, and we're 10% in.

That’s what my aunt said as she was telling the story, but naturally she didn’t describe everything in such graphic detail. They got her husband smashed the night of the wedding. Later, they said to him, “I’m telling you! You shouldn’t have had that last glass!” The hapless groom passed out, and after stripping him, the women of the bride’s family put him into the nuptial bed, the satin sheets of which my aunt had dyed to look bloodied. Her finest work. Because I was so young, the women spoke of it in whispers. The sound of their voices, like a breath of wind, had frightened me. “I’d always imagined what it would be like the first time. Of course there’d be some rubbing, so the blood wouldn’t really flow but would be more of a smear akin to a paintbrush stroke. Like the art of paper marbling, that’s how I imagined it.”

Those women never really came into their own, partly because of their families and partly because of their tendency to bow under pressure, as well as their proclivity for giving up at the drop of a hat. It’s a tragedy that a woman could be held back like that when she carries within herself all those feelings of rebellion, freedom, and the strength to stand on her own two feet. Rise up against everything, resist, shout . . . And just when you have the chance to be a poet or an artist in your grasp, cave to the pressure! Self-betrayal at its finest.

So, who did my mother fall in love with? Yes, we’re coming to that blazing point. She heard the footsteps of love, as soft and gentle as a fairy’s. The path of that doctor who had once caught my mother’s eye, inspired admiration in her heart, and made her swoon at first sight led directly toward the clinic where she worked. He was a cardiologist, you see, and he was going into business with them. Love never loses its way. The first time my mother saw the doctor, she’d been so taken by him that she couldn’t sleep a wink that night. And where had she seen him? At a hotel where we, as a family, were vacationing. She met him through some friends, and they had dinner together once. This all happened at a time when her unhappiness was at its peak. She was weary of life, fed up with my father’s moods, and tired of looking after her three-year-old daughter, who was always tugging at her skirt. But to get back to the story: As I said, my mother was smitten.

Example 4 of the rambling tone

“Dance like no one is watching, love as if you’ve never been hurt, sing like no one is listening, live as if the world is heaven itself!” Those are the secrets to a good life and happiness.

And here we have a quote lifted from one of those Chicken Soup self-help books. This and Amy Winehouse references pepper the story. It was not done ironically, as far as I can tell.