Don't Fear The Reaper

{iii. prelude to a dream}

❝Ah, yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.❞

-Rafiki, The Lion King

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Never have I been more thankful for my treehouse.

From my perch high in the old maple tree, I can see everything - the hills, the cornfield, the Hundred Acre Woods far in the distance. The sky, painted with swirls of cerulean and white like a daytime Starry Night, seems to stretch on forever.

It's been a long time since I've seen skies so blue.

The sun sends mid-May warmth through my bones and dapples the green cornfield behind my house with gold. White light nearly blinds me as I squint through my newly installed spyglass, looking for the sight I'm most interested in: the house across the field, who just put up a tree fort of their own. It's nicer than mine, with an actual glass window on one side, but that's not my concern.

My real question is, who was it built for?

"Can you see anybody?" Kat asks curiously. She's nearly on top of me, her chestnut hair dangling in my face, and I shove her to the side.

"I could if you'd move out of the way, dork!" I exclaim.

From the corner of my eye, I see her pout. "Mama told you not to call me names."

"Mama also told YOU not to be annoying!"

My mother had said that only a few days ago, on my 7th birthday, when Kat had demanded for thirds of my mango birthday cake. My baby sister had apparently already forgotten, or just didn't care; knowing her, it was probably the latter.

Before she can spout a retort, I continue, "I hope it's a girl over there. I need a new friend-" I temporarily glare at her - "Since my current friend isn't exactly the most helpful!"

Kat starts to angrily say something back, but I ignore her, focusing my gaze into the telescope, practically willing a person to turn up. For a few more moments, my wishes stay just that - wishes. But then... a person clambers through the doorway, tiny at first, getting bigger as it approaches the window. And it's then that I truly see him.

My eyes widen and I recoil; the person in the opposite treehouse does the same.

It's a boy, with golden brown hair and a red hoodie. Like an angel on high, curiosity soars through me, furthered by the fact that I'm too far away to see the details of his face.

Still, I can see his movements, and my heart skips a beat when he turns his head towards me. We catch what I think is eye contact, and I say, "It's a boy."

"It's a boy?" Kat echoes.

"It's a boy," I confirm gravely.

Kat snaps back like a snake and makes a face. "Ew! He probably gave you boy germs just by looking at him!"

"I wonder what his name is..." is all I say in reply.

From somewhere deep within my mind, a thought comes: his name is Will.

And that's when I realize this is a memory, I'm not actually newly 7 and bratty as humanly possible. I'm 17, and I'm soaked in warm, sticky blood, my face and torso pierced with shards of glass.

In an almost dreamlike way, I'm no longer in the treehouse. I'm in Will's truck. The windshield is shattered and my head is pounding like the beat of a drum major at the football game. A ringing blares in the distance, and I can't tell if it's the sirens of coming ambulances or I ruptured my eardrums. Maybe both.