Seasons Between Us

It seemed only yesterday that Craig and I were sitting in the tree house blowing bubbles and pretending we were sailing on a pirate ship. The backyard was our imagination’s playground, and anything and everything we could find became a part of the intricate plots we spun. Everything was perfect back then, simple, without responsibility or a care in the world.

That didn’t last long.

Something that beautiful never really does.

It all started when I found Craig hiding in the tree house one stuffy summer afternoon. Taking a hold of the fraying rope that looked to be too fragile to support my 17-year old weight, I climbed up to the entrance and crawled through to find him hunched over and completely lost in thought.

“Craig, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I cast him a doubtful glance, but he didn’t see, so I crawled over next to him and waited for answer. He knew just as much as I do that something had to give.

“Dad was drinking again.”

“I thought he was doing much better after rehab?”

“He was…as least…we thought he was.”

“Why did he start again?”

Craig looked over at me, his face grave and solid, as though it had been chiseled from concrete.

“They fought.”

I put my arm around him, rubbing small reassuring circles on his back as he heaved a big sigh and ran a hand through his tousled chestnut hair.

“My parents are getting…divorced.”

He hesitated on the last word, pronouncing it as though it were a forbidden word to say aloud.

“But…they love each other.” I murmured softly, continuing to rub at his sticky cotton shirt. Due to the temperature of the day, he had been out here a while.

“They did. They used to. Not anymore it seems.”

“Is there anything that can be done?”

Craig shook his head, leaning his head against my shoulder as though it were the last shred of comfort he would receive for a while. In return, I leaned my head against his. I knew he was crying, but I didn’t do anything to stop his tears.

Sometimes, it’s better to let all the pain out at once.

After several hours had passed, I had managed to calm Craig down and get his mind off of things. We quoted movies and played cards and reminisced about the past and all the ridiculous imaginary adventures we had had. It wasn’t until dark that we decided to part ways.

“April,” he stopped me in my tracks by taking a hold of my beaded bracelet, “thank you.”

Smiling, I gave him one last reassuring hug before disappearing into the house and watching him do the same.

It wasn’t until the next day that I found out just how was about to be taken away from me.

I remember that Craig wouldn’t look at me. That he kept his eyes shadowed by his bangs and his hands were tucked away in his denim pockets.

I remember the discolored blotchy skin on his cheek and him telling me that everything was going to be okay. That it would heal within a couple weeks.

I remember him trying to hide the other discoloring with long sleeves shirts and turtle necks in the middle of summer.

I remember the day his mother left the house with all her things packed into a suitcase, and Craig going with her.

I remember the letter that had been dropped through our mail-slot and the rushed and scratchy handwriting within. It revealed nothing, where they were going or how long they would be there…just that he was thanking me for everything, for being a great friend, sidekick and pirate captain. And the last and final words of the letter were the most painful.

Goodbye

And so I was Craig-less. I continued to be for what seemed like ages. I found myself retreating to the safety of the tree house and missing the one person in the world to share it with.

A storm eventually ripped the tree house apart, and that was when I knew I could never go back to those times. That the days of superheroes and playing house and being pirates no longer existed. I had known that for quite some time…I just never seemed to want to let go.

Years passed. I graduated high school and began my college career while living at home to save money. Craig’s father finally moved out the year I was a senior. No one in the neighborhood said their goodbyes, if anything; they were looking forward to not having a gallery of whiskey and vodka bottles in his driveway.

When it was finally purchased, it was immediately renovated, and for all intensive purposes, rebuilt. Instead of a poorly taken care of one layer home that stood out like a sore thumb, it was transformed into a two story country house that looked to be snug as a glove.

By the time the house was completed and the construction crew had vanished, they had already moved in and settled.

I remember getting ready for class the next morning, and as I was pouring my coffee into a thermos I caught sight of something that took my breath away.

The tree house in our backyard had been rebuilt.