Under the Gnome Tree

Word Count: 3,387

Out where Thornsberry Street intersects the city’s worst curving sharply, dangerous winding, downhill road is Greensdale Street. It was haphazardly designed with a hairpin turn at the bottom in order to not go off the cliffside, which made it difficult for construction crews to maneuver when funding actually appeared in the budget. Thankfully the curve was a short wind around the hillside and then turned once more into a dead end that evened out called Melon Road. It went nowhere except to a small neighborhood which prevented rough riding skaters and would-be car enthusiasts from drifting down it like other streets around the city. Melon Road was no luckier in maintenance, however occasionally one of the neighbors did their own vigilant pothole filling within the night’s shadow.

In an ironic twist of fate, the road was named after Gracie Melon, an innovator, a feminist, and relatively unknown 1990’s rally car driver whose victories resulted in being male washed in local history due to her tomboy haircut. (Also melon washed: Unfortunately for Gracie someone happened to plant melon seeds along the road and many people considered this to be the origin of the name Melon Road.) History is said to be written by the victors, well, no matter how much is written, the future is made by those who actually remember what was actually written and the Melonaries did recount Gracie from time to time during their annual community potluck.

At the top of the hillside dwelled million dollar properties who had lesser opinions concerning those below them. There were perpetual complaints about the eclecticness of the non-HOA homes. Such were the invisible lines that divided them into the Uppers and the Clingers. Uppers ascended the elevation to reach the best views and own the most coveted real estate while the Clingers tried their best to resist being priced out and pushed down the hillside into lesser resourced areas, such as Valley Ave.

This is where the Rejects lived and where sidewalks didn’t exist, the public transit a joke, and the cargo trains always stopped on the crosswalks trapping anyone around in a bridge less impasse for hours. Panhandlers were common there, the homeless got dropped there, and obnoxious cars with exceedingly more noxious drivers did donuts in the streets in the middle of the night there. The saving redemption happened to be that the best taco trucks in the city also frequently did business there – food always found a way to make things better right there.

Life wasn’t always perfect on the edge of the hill, however the Melonaires were content with what they had. Good fortune does not spread out evenly and once it slips through the hands, getting it back is a real tough ordeal. Hope was something they had when hard times came, both individually and as a community for they had a magical Gnome Tree. A neighbor spectacle that attracted the curious minded.

Overall it was a quiet morning on Greensdale Street with only two young women out walking around in the frosty winds. They were not from the neighborhood, having traveled up the inner city past Valley Ave. Each was bundled in jackets, scarfs, boots with fuzzy socks, and thick gloves. They met up with each other at a park near the bottom of the hillside at six am on a Tuesday morning when the air was chill and the sunrise peeked from the horizon. This year’s March was a cold one for the record books not seen since 1993, but they came out for a reason and that reason was to visit the Gnome Tree of Melon Road.

The Melonaires today were either taking time off as they did from time to time, working from home, or were retirees drinking hot coco (with a splash of whisky hidden from at least one spouse) due to the ice storm this week. The roads were so tricky to traverse that the mailman parked his van and hiked down using ice shoes. Packages were delayed and the only kid on this street did his schooling online.

Being the tail end of winter the remnants of dried vines, dried leaves and pinstraw remained frozen on the ground. Soon they were going to have to clean more up, but thanks to a local unofficial agreement long ratified in collective agreement: there were to be no noisy homicide-inducing leaf blowers here. A couple of the residents noticed the two women as they came off of Greensdale and onto Melon Road. There had been an influx of traveling and most of it was good. (Occasionally a hooligan or two, but hardly repeated after neighborhood skunks sprayed obnoxious repellent at some would be vandals. Somehow even nature protected that place.)

The two women themselves admired each and every home as they passed on foot, trying to avoid the ice spots on the sidewalk. Every house had something unique. Some bright painted colors, others unique statues like the gargoyle with a face mask standing in the yard. One house replaced a boring lawn with a garden, currently empty, but filled with empty flower pots waiting for the chill to warm.

What the two women loved most was the character and showcase of life rather than cut and paste sterile housing of suburban cancer. Pride flags hung up on porches and picket signs celebrating unity and peace were placed all around. If not for being on a mission – a small one, but important no less – as well as how cold it was they would have stopped for pictures at each house.

“I made this chair using popsicle sticks and painted it.” Leah said, holding up a small model chair that resembled a lopsided stool more than a chair.

Jenny smiled and complimented it, “And I browsed around the goodwill store to find this plastic toy lamp.” Jenny said, pulling a small yellow toy from her pocket, “I glued it to a toy sofa I got from a kids meal price from when I was little. Hopefully the gnomes will like to read.”

“Do you think we will really get good fortune from doing this?” Leah asked as they approached the tree.
“It never hurts to try. It sounds whimsical and cool. Leave a little treasure offerings and the Gnome Tree will give good karma in return.” Jenny said with a smile, “many of the local WriteIt users swore by it.”

WriteIt was the online form website that was a place where anyone could be an Internet troll and any professional opinion was less than credible, mostly due to the user being an armchair academic or a twelve year old with too much time on their hands.

“You’re Gen Z Jenny. Shouldn’t you know not to believe things on social media?” Leah jested despite her being a few years older and a later year millennial.

“Nah – wisdom must have skipped a generation. Millen-mums like you are jaded, hopeless, and have no drive or dreams. We on the other hand believe in anything as long as the tea is hot or gets us popular. Personal branding is the key to success.” Jenny said referring to tea as in gossip rather than herbal kind.

“Only politicians can do worse than that. Let’s not mention y’all eat dish soap for subscriber counts.”
“I’m fairly sure most were faking that challenge. Sure one or two would be dumb enough, but the rest were in it for laughs and views only.”

“I dearly hope so.”

As they walked down to the end of the street. They had seen pictures posted online of how it looked, but it felt different, like a sprinkle of magic on a mountain, a quirky village too good to be true. Most pictures were during summer where the whole street was overgrown in all manner of trees, shrubs, and flowers.

Both Leigh and Jenny approached the enormous tree and stopped at the base to properly take in the entirety of the experience. The tree was as tall as two houses with thick burly arms that stretched as far as three houses. Instantly noticeable was the trunk’s circumference which was wider than three adults trying to hold hands around it. It was a stationary hulking beast that, if alive, could terrorize an entire town easily and felt as if it held the entire hillside up with what must be massive roots digging into the soil all the way to the bedrock.

The WriteIt community here spoke of the tree as if it were an old legend with the only verified footnote as to why the tree occupied where a house should have been was that the original house burned down. Most current residents were not the original owners and had no idea when asked. Whatever the reason, no house was ever built and the tree grew and grew. Both houses on either side would be assumed to be happy to have more room between them and the shade of a large tree.

Exactly as the people on the online forms wrote about, the tree was decorated in a spectacular themeless fashion. It definitely resembled a Christmas tree gone mad with all sorts of junk and objects hanging from strings, ropes, wires, and even an old mug with a pinecone stuck in it being held by what looked like floss.

At the base of the trunk were more trinkets, where a crevice formed between the roots that became a shallow cave with enough room to provide a refuge from the weather. No one knew exactly when, but a tradition emerged at the time a small figurine of a gnome appeared under the tree. After that more items were placed until it became a shrine to the gnomes, whose statues outnumbered most other objects.

Whenever one gnome disappeared another gnome appeared, then another, and another until there was a tea party of gnomes under the now dubbed Gnome Tree. No matter the tenacity of the weather, wild animals, or misfit teens that stole a few gnomes in the night for an impulsive dare, more always returned. No one fessed up on who put them there and it was one of those mysteries that was not worth it to investigate; it was just so, like most things in life.

If anything the neighbors loved the idea of magic gnomes watching over their dear street. Once and a while the word would make its rounds to different ears and people outside the neighborhood would travel there to bring something for the gnomes. Offering of coins, origami cranes, and toys would be left at the tree. The neighbors all pitched in to prevent the lot from being terra formed into a land fill by planting flowers, trimming bushes, and recycling the plastics items after the sun bleached them and the dirt cached them. The culling of objects made for a little model town of its own as even a train and track ran around the tree.

“Hope is grown” was a motto that was carved onto a timber board and nailed onto the tree. Perhaps this was the reason people returned to wish for greater hope in a life where it seemed absent. There were few things a community could do together in the age of division and world change, yet this tree and these trinkets became something of a symbol. One could say the tiny garden of gnomes thought about the world differently.

“I wish for better health for my parents. Both their backs have not been doing well.” Leah said cupping her hands like a monk to prayer.

As informed by the Writit post it was custom to bow, so they bowed first then placed their presents at the base of the tree near a large root that had a wooden door installed in a gap between another root.

“I wish for lots of money.” Jenny said doing the same.

Leah looked at her friend with disappointment and disapproval akin to a big sister.

“Alright. I wish for purple fuzzy cat socks that meowed as you walked. Those were limited editions of that new MeTube star promoted. They recently sold out and half of the money goes to helping stray cats.” Jenny said changing her wish.
A short gust of wind blew the hair that hung out below their toboggans causing a tickling feeling around their clammy popsicle like faces. Many of the objects in the tree shifted back and forth causing a symphony of sounds including a few wind chimes that happened to be there.

Then there was a squeak – barely audible, but no small animal appeared. It could have been the swaying of the trees or their imagination.

“Maybe the tree itself spoke.” Leigh gasped in humor.

“Thus Spoke Zarathustra.” Jenny said out of the blue.

Leigh turned her head in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“I really have no idea. I heard it once, maybe twice or perhaps more in a class, but I wasn’t paying attention any of the time.”

“Figures.”

PLOP!

Both women immediately turned around to sudden noise to see a clear plastic package on the pavement. Leigh gazed upwards and saw a small plane fly overhead.

“Did…something just drop fr-“

“No freaken way!” Jenny gasped.

“What? Wait – are those socks?”

Leigh grasped the bag with Jenny eyeing them with astonishment. Purple cat socks!

“My wish came true, but…” Jenny uttered transfixed on the socks as she unfold led them from the package.

“I don’t know the statistics, but the odds must be bizarrely small. Even if they are knock offs.” Leigh pointed out looking at the cat’s misshapen face on the socks as if it was squished together with a waffle maker.

“Should you really keep those? It did fall out of a plane.” Leigh said hesitantly, understanding correlation does not always mean causation, yet any other answer eluded her mind.

“Finders keepers! There’s no barcode or address.”

“Makes me think these have drugs in them.”

Leigh backed away and regretted touching them in case she became a person of interest in a crime case. She did not need that on her record if she pursued law school.

Jenny took a big whiff of the socks like a crazy person.

“Jenny!” Leigh chastised.

“I don’t smell anything, but cheap cloth.” Jenny said and pressed the button to see into the socks.

“Meeeeorrraaaaw” the socks played the screech of a human making a cat sound.

“Cheap and cringey too.”

Leigh watched Jenny actually tied on the socks sitting on the sidewalk in what was becoming increasingly embarrassing since this was not their neighborhood. As Jenny struggled with her shoes, Leigh took a gander at the other houses near them and saw at least one old man staring at his window through the curtains. He waved and retreated back into the house with no vibe of being bothered or suspicious. She supposed they expected that this type of peculiar tree would attract peculiar people. Maybe raining packages was a common occurrence here.

“Maybe this means nothing.” Jenny began as she ripped her shoes off.

“What?” Leigh asked, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Maybe this tree means nothing and the sound we heard was not a mythical gnome with a cosmic force channeling a weirder more powerful wishmaking tree, rather we make our own meaning about the randomness of life from our just so happened perspective. I wished for a popular item that counterfeiters would love to make money on and aviation regulations nowadays have gone out the windows.

“Makes sense.” Leigh agreed, already formulated the same response to whatever was going to come out of Jenny’s mouth.

“Let us rise up from the shackles of the past that made us reliant on fortune instead of grit to make a better future. These socks will give me power!”

Jenny jumped up and the cries of meows screamed until they went silent for good.

Leigh burst out laughing and then Jenny joined right after her until they held each other from falling.

“I missed this.” Leigh let slip out before clasping her mouth.

Jenny did not smile this time. She slowly sat on the curb of the sidewalk.

“Leigh. Life really isn’t fair. Why do evil people live so long and good people like my mom die too soon?”
Leigh took a breath and sat down next to Jenny and placed a hand on her knee, resting softly on her leggings. For weeks now she had been trying to get Jenny to talk about her mom’s passing by taking her on extended trips and girl hangouts with friends, but nothing worked to open her up, until now.

“Well the evil do whatever it takes to get rich and a lot of rich are evil. They have money. Money buys healthcare, safe homes, and that fortune bears more fortune. Money doesn’t have morals so those with the exceedingly excess usually reap more than their fair share in my opinion and are at the front of the line for longevity. Normal people like your mom do their best with what she has. I think she enjoyed the time you spent with her the last few months when you found out.”

“How uncouth of you with your brutal honesty.” Jenny said flatly, “to talk about the heaviness of death so lightly.”
Her face was the opposite of humorous: uncaring and unhappy. At first Leigh did not know how to react when Jenny cracked so many jokes about death, dying, and mortality. They had only recently been casually going out together when Leigh found out her mom died of cancer. The dark jokes became a way to cope with her mom’s death.

“Why did she not tell you? I know she moved out and you still lived with your dad. But still…”

Leigh was met with silence.

“Sorry that was too far this time.”

“No…no it was another honest question and I haven’t been communicating with you about everything. My mom was very “keep to herself”. Never wanted to show pain or bother others. The ugly side of cancer is what you go through during the treatment. And how others see you. My dad delayed the divorce until her death to keep her on the insurance for treatment.”

“Oh. So they didn’t actually get divorced?”

“In the spirit of marriage yes, but legally no. She only moved out of the house and in with her sister. The only two in the family who knew were my dad and my aunt.”

“It’s hard to think about. I used to believe I would be open about it since I am just that kind of person. Live as long as possible even in pain – I can’t fathom myself giving up without giving others hope. But reading some stories online about the same type of cancer. I am not sure I would want people to see me suffer.”

Jenny nodded.

“I think I would only want a few people to know.” she said, “I would probably run away to a beach after a while if I had the strength. I know I would certainly get tired of being stuck in a room slowly dying. I would rather live and feel the world before it was too late.” Jenny said, reaching for Leigh’s hand.

Leigh accepted and held it tight.

“Die in the sea? The sharks would eat you.” Leigh said playfully.

“I would be delighted to become fish food.”

“You do look tasty.”

“Dork.” Jenny snorted and leaned over to Leigh.

Leigh leaned in closed and pressed her lips to Jenny’s. After a merry moment that felt longer they separated and looked at the tree.

“Should we check on your parents?”Jenny asked, wondering if their wishes worked for both of them.

“I would be pleasantly surprised if they were doing back flips right now.” Leigh said, tugging Jenny’s hand as she got up.

“They might when you tell them about the sock thing!”

The one and only secret that Melon Road hid was one as apparent as the beauty of a flower. Wonder held the magic that those bring growth to bloom. That wonder is how hope is grown, little by little, by all those around. To get it started or to help make it spread required a community that believed in something worthwhile. And a little garden Gnome under a tree just so happens to be in popular demand.