The Root of the Root

The Root of the Root.

“Tell me a story.”

           His voice was deep and it made me nervous, even though he sounded relaxed, like he was amused by something. I didn’t know what he wanted to hear. The midday sun was making me sleepy and I didn’t feel like playing games with strangers sat under trees. Not even a stranger I was going to fall in love with.

“I don’t know any stories.”

            “Yes you do. Everyone knows stories. We tell stories all the time. Make something up. That’s all you have to do. Make up a person and give them a name, then tell a lie about them and pretend it’s true.”

            “It's not that easy.” I shifted uncomfortably, brushing the twigs and dried grass off my bare legs.

           “Yes it is.” He sighed. “I do it every day.”

           “Why?”

           “What else is there to do?” He wasn't just sad. There was something else in his voice, it didn't sound connected to him. He sounded lonely, like he hadn't spoken to anyone else in a long time. The tree felt heavy against me, reminding me of his presence. I could feel him on the other side, the bark was warm even though the sun was trapped by the millions of leaves. I could feel his back leaning against my back.

            But I could still see everything I'd run away from.

            My little house was still there, not even very far away. Every day, I dreamt of just walking away from it. From everything inside it. From everything outside it, as well. The monotonous noise at breakfast, the dog barking in the garden next door. The same sounds every single day. I can almost hear them, ringing in my ears. I'd waited for this day for so long, that I didn't care where I'd ended up.

A dull thud broke me from my thoughts. Something falling? I didn’t find out what it was until much later into our love affair. About half an hour I think. Could we really call it a love affair? We didn’t even brush fingertips.

That’s how we met. Although I don't think you could call it a real meeting. I don’t know what compelled me to talk to him. He made this strange place feel safe. I didn't know how things were going to end. But that’s how it started.

It’s too hot and I can’t be bothered to concentrate on stories. I close my eyes. I can tell he’s annoyed at me for not playing along. It sounds crazy but I'm sure I felt his back straighten against the bark. It's rigid behind me. I could feel him, even though I couldn't see him. Like when you know someone is looking at you, and you don't even have to turn around to see them. They're just there, willing you to connect to them. It's not just that I can hear his breath, I can feel it. I can feel it through the tree. I don't have to look at him. I just know.

Like all of the best trees, it stood right at the top of a hill.

           It wasn't like the other trees in the park. There were hundreds of trees, even some that stood at the top of hills, but this one was different. It was bigger than the rest. Twice the size. You could see it living, it breathed somehow. That was what drew me to it. Like it had always been there, it looked like it had a history and I wanted to go, finally. To see this tree that I'd been staring at for years. I don't really know what I was looking for when I got there, or why I was running. It wasn't that I wanted to find something. I wanted to get away from everything.

           All I can remember is running. Running up the hill as fast as I possibly could. It's not a steep hill, and I wasn't even out of breath when I got to the top. I didn't realise that getting here would be so easy. I didn't notice that I was anywhere different at first. It doesn't look different. Everything is in the same place. If you glance at something, it looks the same. How can everything be different if nothing has changed? Maybe I just wasn't looking when it happened. I still don't know if everything changed because I'd reached the tree, or because I reached him.

I don’t think we were ever really meant to meet. Maybe you're never meant to meet some people. Sometimes your life crashes into someone else's, just by being bang in the middle of where they want to go. It's not always supposed to happen. I don't think it counts as a meeting if you can't see each other. I could hear him though. I could hear his fingers pulling at the grass and twigs snapping under his feet. He was fidgeting. Restless.

His uneasiness seemed to spread through the ground. His discomfort made me sad.

Just as I was drifting off, I heard the sound of something dropping again only this time it was much closer to me. I told you, I didn’t find out what it was until much later into our affair. But our affair only lasted a week.

           “What's that?” I peered over at the thick grass by my feet.

           “It’s a story.” He was laughing, he was excited.

           “Don't be silly. What do you mean it's a story? Where did it come from?” I was whispering now, like if I spoke too loudly, somehow all of this wouldn’t be real.

           “Look above you.” I heard him say as if he was standing right beside me. I was already staring. I'm sure my mouth had fallen wide open, but he couldn't see me anyway. Thousands and millions of balls, no, maybe bubbles, I think, were sat up in the leaves and branches. They were like glass baubles, almost translucent, something inside them was moving. It was only then that I began to hear them. It was the first time that I’d really listened, to anything in my life. It was like a thousand radios playing a thousand different songs. I couldn’t make out what any of the sounds were so I stood up and plucked a bubble from the tree.

            “What a strange noise they make. It's as if they're telling secrets.”

            “They are telling secrets. Listen.” He was smiling. I could tell in his voice.

            Peering inside, there was a completely different world captured in the bubble. I could look around and see what was happening, and listen to the people trapped inside. I could turn and look around a corner, and see people dancing, people shouting. All these people, all these lives, trapped in another little world. It was like watching a film, but somehow it felt more real than that, as if these little bubbles were little worlds of their own and I was intruding.

            “What can you see?”

            “Shh. I’m trying to listen.”

            I heard him sigh again but I didn’t care. He was used to this. I just wanted to hear what was happening in the bubble. People in a market arguing about the price of cauliflower, the hooves of a police horse clip-clopping along the cobbles, a child crying as she's dragged into view by her mother. It was deafening. There was so much going on and I couldn't focus on it all at once. I was completely immersed in the tree and what it had to tell me.

            I was beginning to think that the tree had life outside of itself. Outside of its roots, even though that sounds impossible. Its roots were everywhere, surrounding me, running down the hill to the edge of the world. This world, my world. They didn't stop at the stream, they carried on, running everywhere, underneath everyone. Connecting everything and everyone.

           The tree was probing, learning, growing.

           I realised then that I had no idea where I was. I had stumbled into this crazy place with only a stranger for company . I had no idea how I would get back home. I guess the important thing to remember is that I didn't want to go back.

           Then I looked up from the bauble. I wish I never had. It made everything different.

           Everywhere looked like it was where it should be, my house was still there, but something was wrong. There was a thick, dark swamp in the horizon, and the pathway leading up to the tree was covered in nettles and overgrown. Leaves just falling from the trees, birds crowing a solemn crow. It was darker. There weren't any clouds, but the sun had gone and the landscape started to look like it was decaying. Everything looked like it was falling apart, the only bright thing in the whole place was the red of my dress. I knew something was wrong. I knew I shouldn't be here. I wasn't safe anymore. I didn't belong in this world.

           “What is this place?” I wanted to back away from the tree, but I couldn't. It was like I was becoming part of its roots. “Who are you? What does this tree do?”

           “Don't be scared. You're lucky to have found this place. Every single story ever written is in this tree. Even the unfinished ones. Billions and billions of them. Some of them are so high up that you couldn’t even reach the top if you climbed every day for the rest of your life.”

           “But, where is the park? Why is it so dark now?”

           “It's here. You're still there. It's just different.”

           “The same but different.” I don't know why I trusted him.

           “Exactly. It'll change back. It always does.”

           “Always?”

           Silence.

           “What do you do with the stories?” I was still confused, but I wanted to know more, not run away

           “Tell them. Someone has to do it. Otherwise they may never be told.”

           “Maybe some of them were never meant to be.”

           “If that’s true why am I here?”

           “Do you just sit here all day and listen to people telling you stories?”

           “Usually.”

           “What else do you do unusually?”

           “Sit and talk to beautiful girls who won’t tell me stories.”

           “How often do you do that?”

           “Almost never.”

           He thinks I’m beautiful.

Actually, that’s how it started. I know you thought it started when I got to the top of the hill, but after that the rules had changed. Everything had changed. I didn’t want to leave now, even though I didn't belong here. I wasn't sure if I could leave. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I knew I wasn't scared any more.

            “How did you find the tree?”

            “You’re very curious.”

            “You’re very good at not answering questions.” He was laughing, I liked it when he laughed. It sounded real. And like it didn't happen very often. “No one ever sits here. No one ever chooses this tree.”

            “I live in a house on the other side of the park.” I pointed, not even sure if he would be able to see where I was pointing. “I can see the tree from my window. I like this tree. I always stared at it.” I waited for him to tell me he'd seen me, but he didn't. “I just wanted to see what was here. I don't think I understand it now.”

           “You'll understand eventually. It's like any story. You wouldn't believe it was true if you heard it all in one breath.”

           “So I just sit here until you decide to tell me?” I frowned.

           “No. You tell me a story.”

           “I don’t know how.”

           “Try it. It’s easy. Trust me.”

           And I believed him.

           At first I didn’t know what to do. I was looking at these people that someone else had invented and I didn’t know them. They meant nothing to me, they just seemed to stare back at me. I almost looked away, like when you’ve been staring at someone for too long without realising it.

Then everything became dizzy, the voices in the bauble took over, like they were talking to me. Like I was there. I was engulfed by their world and I could feel everything as though I was a part of it. I could tell their story.

*

Windows. 

Iwish I could tear myself away from everything. I keep trying to find you again in the swarm of people who can’t even see me. They aren’t even aware that I exist. I don’t even think that you’re aware anymore, I'm not real to you now. I’m just a photograph of the past, a memory that you can just fold up and hide away when you’ve finished with it.

           I always wonder about those people that walk by every day. I always think about the ones that are never you. I wish I didn’t, but until you come back I have no one else to think about. I imagine who they could be and where they might be going. Sometimes I only see people go past once. Other times I see the same people two days in a row, or it’s every day for a week, or every Sunday. People get intohabits, little routines. Then they can’t break them.

Like Barbara. Obviously I don’t know what her real name is so I gave her that name myself. I hope she likes it. Every morning she rushes past the shoe shop on the other side of the street. She’s probably late for work but I like to imagine that she has to rush back to her husband after an unexpected evening with her lover, Roger. Today she’s wearing the same clothes as she was yesterday. The yellow dress. She often wears yellow. I’ve never seen her in green. Perhaps her lover doesn’t like it.

           There’s Tim and Jenny on the corner of the street! They always meet there and he always buys her flowers or chocolates. Except once when he bought her a teddy bear. It’s really very sweet but Jenny obviously doesn’t think so and she just glares at him through her blunt blonde fringe and her skinny little shoulders shrug a skinny little shrug. Some people are never happy with what they have. But perhaps he’s always late. I don’t know; I just make up these people’s lives and add in my own words. I don’t know what time it is in their lives.

           There’s this guy called Sam, coming around the corner. He’s my favourite. He has a different girl every time I see him. It’s true, I promise. Monday lunchtimes it’s Katie. Then in the evening, he meets Natalia outside the nightclub on the main street. It doesn't look like much from the outside. Just a doorway. Nothing special. Natalia is Italian and very pretty. Expensive-looking with shiny, shiny hair. There are so many girls that I can’t keep up with all of them. He’s just started seeing another girl but I haven’t thought of a name for her yet. Nothing seems to fit right. I’m still calling her ‘Girl with Plaits’. He isn’t a bad guy though. He meets his mother at the patisserie for tea every Friday afternoon. Sometimes they sit outside. I don't think she likes scones very much.

           I’m getting used to watching everyone else now, it gives me something to do. But it’s hard. I can see everything they do, but I can’t feel anything. I can’t touch any of them through the window so it’s not completely real. If you were here then it would be real.

           I wish you were still here. Everything was okay then. I know that doesn’t sound like much but it was enough for me. Things were as normal as they could be and that was just fine. I’m not angry though. Please don’t think that I’m angry. I wish that I could be sometimes. I just wish that you had loved me enough to stay. Even if you didn't love Mum.

           Oh look! There’s Gary. Did I tell you about him? I like to think that he's moved from Australia. I watched him for a whole 24 hours once. It was the day they got rid of the off licence. It’s a dress shop now. Just like that, a little part of the world was different. I remember a man knocking at his door at four in the morning. I wonder what happened to him, I haven’t seen him since. People come and go all the time. There are always men knocking on his door. No one remembers the things that have gone.

           I don’t know what I did wrong. I wish that you would come back and tell me. Then, if I could, I would try my hardest to make it better and then everything would go back to normal again. I wouldn’t have to watch everybody else and imagine everything because I would be happy and everything would be better and you would be here.

            I don’t want to think about Gary or Sam or anyone else anymore. I’m sick of just sitting and watching. But you don't understand that I can’t do anything else. What would happen if I went downstairs? What if I started to get on with things without you around? And then you came back and you had no idea where to find me? You wouldn’t wait for me. You see, Daddy? I can’t go. Just in case you need me and just in case you come back. I need to be here for you. Besides. I don’t mind waiting most of the time.

            So. I’ll just sit and watch.

            That couple look really bored, don't they? I haven’t seen them before. I don’t even think that they’re a couple. Let’s pretend that it’s their first date. It’s obviously not going well is it? Perhaps they met when they were drunk and thought this was a good idea. I’ll call him Oliver. He’s far too young for her, she looks annoyed by him. She should really just go home, get the evening over with and drown her disappointment.

            I wonder if any of them know that I’m watching them. It’s better this way, much less intrusive. It’s not as though I’m interfering with anything - I’m only watching. That’s okay isn’t it? And it’s only until you come back. I hope that’s soon because it’s getting colder. I didn’t mind that much when you weren’t here and the sun was still shining. I don’t want to watch people in the rain. They look too sad. Everything looks grey.

            I wish you could see this! There’s a clown in the street now! Why on earth would a clown be down there? I wish I could go and find out. But I promised you that I would stay put until you came back. You told me not to go anywhere. He’s not a real clown. I know that. His name is probably just Dave, not Coco, and he’s working on the weekend because his wife is having a baby and they need the extra money. I bet he usually works part time as a mechanic in Hackney. It’s amazing how easy it is to pretend that you’re something you’re not. Just a little dab of make-up, some new clothes et voila! You can be whoever the hell you want to be, at least until you get home.

           Is that what you did with us? Stay out all night pretending that you were somebody who didn’t have a wife and daughter? Would you only ever drag yourself back to reality when you truly had to? She still cries for you. That’s why I stay up here now with the door shut so I can hide away from it. Just like you did. I want to pretend that it isn’t happening.

           I used to be proud to be your daughter but I can’t remember when that was anymore. You made me feel like I belonged somewhere and now you’ve taken that feeling away and I feel lost again. I’m ashamed that I’m a part of you. I wish that I could be someone else. Like Lynda. You remember I told you about Lynda? She’s the one in the suit, just stepping out of the café on the corner. No, you can’t see her now; her umbrella is in the way. She has such an exciting life, she’s always rushing around with friends carrying masses of shopping bags. In the evenings, she’s always dressed up and meeting men for dinner. Those men are never late. She always looks happy and together. She’s the kind of woman who rushes about all day and doesn’t have a hair out of place when she leaves the office. I sometimes think that I want to be her. But I imagine that everyone wants to be someone else at one time or another. Maybe there’s someone looking at me, imagining that I have this wonderful care free life, just daydreaming all the time. Perhaps they’re wishing that they could be like me and not have to work every day. I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to be me though. But I suppose Lynda can’t imagine that either. She could sit at her desk and daydream about being a girl called Mel. Mel works in the office next to Lynda’s part time. Lynda has always wanted to work part time because she has always wanted children instead of a career. She’s always wanted a husband to love her so I suppose that not everything in a perfect person’s life is as perfect as it seems. On the outside, looking in.

That’s exactly why you could come back if you wanted. Because no one is perfect and because nothing is wonderful all the time, even though I wish it were. I have to go back downstairs soon, don't I? You will never know how much I want to stay here and pretend that nothing exists apart from the worlds that I play with and make up every day. You wouldn’t even know what was real even if you were still here. Because even if you hadn’t left, you would be doing exactly the same as me. You would just be looking out of a different window.

  *

The ball darkened slightly, and the focus softened. I had come to the end of the story.

I didn't realise it was that simple. But telling stories was the easy part. They weren't just characters. Sometimes they were people and sometimes they were easily forgotten.

“Is that why you're here? So people don't forget the stories.”

“I'm here because I have no choice. I can't go anywhere else. There's not much else to do.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Four hundred and sixty two days, eleven hours and fourteen minutes.”

“And you guard the tree?”

“If that's what you want to call it.”

Of course, I was scared at first. My entire world, my home, just changed right in front of me. It didn't feel dangerous now, just new. He didn't feel dangerous. Even though I didn't know his name.

           “Why did I find you? What's your name?”

           “What's yours?”

           “Ella.”

           “That's pretty. Ella, I'm here because I haven't got anywhere to go.” The sun crept out from behind the clouds.

“But what brought me here? What brought me to this place?”

“What makes you think I know that?”

“You were here first.”

“That doesn't mean that I know everything. I've just had time to get used to things.”

            “But how do I get back home? Is it safe here? What will happen to...”

            “...calm down, Ella. Are you scared?” Something about his voice made me calmer. I wish I could see his face. “Do you want to go home?”

            “No.” I didn't know which question I was answering.

            I wasn't scared of him. But that was different. “I just don't understand. Worlds don't just magically change. And that's what happened, isn't it? Magic can't exist. Not where I'm from. Magic is for kids. I'm not a kid anymore.”

           “Maybe you're just seeing things as they really are.”

           “That can't be true.”

           “Can't it? How much of what has happened today do you think is real?”

           “It all is.” I couldn't explain it, but I knew it was true. This didn't feel like make-believe. I didn't need to pinch myself to know that.

“Then everything is real.” Everything you're feeling is real.

I wish we were holding hands. 

“Does the past become a story too?”

“In some ways. But it's not quite as simple as that.” His voice sounded calm.

            “Nothing is simple.”

            “Sometimes it can be.”

            I realised then that I liked him. This was a little bit like our first date. I wish I’d done something with my hair.

           “You’re right, Ella. “ He continued. “Our past does become a story. They’re the best kind of stories. Because you know the truth, but you can change it any way you want. You can change the whole story, if you want to. You might even start to believe the new version yourself. You could tell me that you’re wearing blue when you’re really wearing red. You could tell me that you ran up the hill. But you might have skipped a little bit too.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“It’s not lying. Not really. You might feel silly about skipping. You might think I prefer blue. You look beautiful today.”

“But you can't see me.”

“Sometimes you don’t need to see something to know the truth.”

I wonder if he knows I’m blushing.

“Do you know everything about me?”

“Only what you want me to. Perhaps I'll guess at the rest. I might be right sometimes, but I’ll never know for sure.”

I wanted him to know that I was blushing. I wanted him to know that I was flattered.

I wonder what his smile looks like.

“Why don’t you tell me another story?”

“OK.”

“Not one of the ones from the tree. One of yours.”

“One of mine…”

“…With the true bits in.”

“My dress is red.” I don't think I could ever lie to you.

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