The Other Side of Lonely

Green Trees

Charlotte woke early the next morning, her stomach pulling her out of bed. She felt the grumble inside of her as she put on her socks and pulled the covers up over the bed. She had a very strange dream the night before. One of those dreams that she couldn’t remember, but knew was unnatural and out of this world.

As she walked down the stairs, seeing yet another new pattern on the banister, this time a green fleck about halfway down, she could hear muffled voices coming from the living room to the left. She crept down the last few steps, forgoing her usual jump. She tried her best to tune her ears into what was happening. She thought she heard her mother’s voice and another voice that she couldn’t quite place. It was a man’s voice. She shrugged, thinking it was probably her step-father. They had hardly spent any time together in the three years that he had been married to her mother, so she figured she might not recognise his voice behind a wall.

Charlotte walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to see if she could find anything worth eating.

“Oh, good morning, honey,” her mother seemed flustered as she walked into the kitchen. She was dressed, but her hair and make-up weren’t yet done. It was odd for Arrabella to not be perfectly put together before seeing anyone in the morning, including her daughter.

“What did Peter make you and Charles for breakfast? I’m hungry,” Charlotte asked her mother.

“Charles is still in bed and you know I’m on a diet, but Peter will make you anything you want,” replied her mother, pretending to act as natural as possible.

“Oh, sorry, I thought that I heard you talking to someone.” Charlotte said, trying to sound nonchalant and hoping that she was doing a better job at it than her mother.

“I do tend to talk to myself sometimes, dear, you know that,” Arrabella’s fake laugh echoed through the kitchen, leaving complete silence in its wake.

Charlotte decided that changing the subject was probably best. She had found some yoghurt and fruit and, despite the disapproving glances from her mother, was making herself breakfast. Apparently, it wasn’t proper to make your own breakfast. Charlotte was struggling to understand this new life that her mother had chosen for herself and, subsequently, Charlotte.

“So, what are your plans for the day?” Charlotte asked, focussing all of her attention on cutting the oranges in front of her. She was met with silence, her mother was probably ignoring her question.

“Hello?” Charlotte was annoyed. It was too early in the morning to start a fight. She looked up from the cutting board. Her mother wasn’t there. Frustrated, Charlotte put the food in a bowl that she found at the back of a cupboard (who has an entire kitchen with barely anything in it? She thought to herself), and ran back up the stairs to her bedroom, not even bothering to study the pattern on the banister.

Once she had closed her door, she realised that the pictures from her wall were still lying haphazardly on the ground. She sighed and picked them up. She went to throw them in the rubbish bin, but something stopped her at the last minute and she shoved them into one of her desk drawers. Her desk was mostly empty. She didn’t have much stuff to move in to the large room that had been designated as hers in the house. She opened up the blinds to the window, smirking at the fingerprint still in the corner, and tried to focus on the green forest down the hill as she ate breakfast. Her therapist said that “appreciating nature” was an important form of recovery. Normally she rolled her eyes when she remembered what her therapist said, but maybe this time he was right. The forest was really beautiful, especially with the sun rising behind it. The leaves of the trees shone green even in the orange sun.

Charlotte promised herself that she would start running again this university term. She now cursed herself and her weakness towards social media trends as she ran down the hill in her joggers and activewear. She had decided that today was the day to start. In a sudden rush of energy, she felt like the forest and its green trees were calling her. She got ready, put on her shoes, and stepped outside. Now, every breath she took felt like daggers to her chest, the cold morning air burning on the way in. She was more out of shape than she initially thought. After what seemed like forever, she glanced backwards, realising that she was now far enough away that the hill covered the house. She felt instantly freer. With a newfound pep in her running step, she focussed on the forest.

The closer she got, the more energy she felt like she had. It was as if the forest was pulling her towards it, like a magnet. She was so close to the edge of the trees when she heard a grumble from afar. She looked up and realised that dark clouds had formed. They looked heavy, like they could burst at any time.

“Ugh,” she whispered to herself, “could this morning get any worse?”

Charlotte decided that running in the rain was not going to encourage her to try again, so she turned around to head back to shelter. She could feel the rain creeping up on her from behind, which made her run faster, despite still feeling a force pulling her towards the forest. As soon as she opened the big white door at the back of the house, the rain poured down on the grass directly outside. She could see it running down the hill and droplets falling from the gutters.

Scola walked along her morning route, seeing the pouring rain, but never feeling it on her skin. She longed to be able to feel water again. On her skin. In her hair. She longed to feel anything but the dark nothingness that currently encompassed her entire being. The one wet feeling that she could still feel was her own tears. This morning, as the rain was pushed away from her, her tears ran down her face. Some mornings were like this. She couldn’t handle the situation that she found herself in. This morning she couldn’t even hear the birds, they were all huddled up in pairs or families, seeking shelter from the rain together in the caves of tree trunks or underneath leaf canopies.

At that moment, Scola noticed something moving on the ground up ahead of her. A small bird was trying to take flight. It had been separated from the flock and was alone on the forest floor.

“Hey, little one,” Scola spoke as softly as possible so that she didn’t scare the bird off. She bent over, putting her hand out and laying it on the ground beside the chirping animal. It looked at her, eye to eye. For a moment, Scola thought that it would jump in to her hand. But then, it suddenly took flight, flying quickly up the tree until Scola could no longer see it.

The weather was starting to clear up a bit, the heavy and persistent rain changing to a light, sporadic mist. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all.