The Singing Trees

by Boo Walker

“One day I’m going to do just that,” Emma said with a rare and strong determination. “One day I’m going to have an entire choir of them, like a big forest of singing trees, and I’m going to sit out there for hours and listen and let the world go.”

As much as a sports guy as he was, she thought he, like his sister, had art in his soul.

Annalisa took one of the chocolate chip peace offerings from the tray and took a bite. “They’re delicious,” she lied, thinking that if you dated outside of Italian, you were lowering the bar as far as food was concerned.

When they rounded the corner to the exit, Thomas looked back at her with swollen, defeated eyes. They stared at each other for a long few seconds—and it felt like a daylong conversation was had between them—not a word uttered, just a stare so dense with emotion that Annalisa lost what was left of her breath.

Mr. Burzinski chuckled, this time more warmly. There was something so wonderful about seeing and hearing a person who typically held their cards close to their chest open up, and she hoped she’d hear him laugh again. It was like that with Nonna, too, the joy of putting the first bit of color on a white canvas. Even Emma was that way, a part of this small group of guarded people who had a wonderful heart desperate to get some air.

This was exactly what love was, she thought, a feeling you have for people who didn’t always deserve it. She remembered that same feeling with her father, hating him for everything he’d done to her mom and her, but at the same time, she’d never failed to hug him with forgiveness over and over. This was one of the faces of love: painful and unavoidable.