If A Tree Falls and A Lot of People Hear It, But I Don't Because I Was Asleep at Noon, Did It Really Make OhGodI'mSuchALoser?

A very large tree, a tree that can only be described as larger than life, decided it was done with it's treedom today. It fell to the ground and it just ... didn't get up.

This tree resided right outside my apartment building for as long as I can remember. Also, 6 months, which is as long as I've lived in this apartment. Every morning, every afternoon, and yes, even every night, Tree would be standing outside my building, ready with a cheerful greeting or, on most days, a clever quip to perk me up.

"How it's going, Tree?" I would say.
"Hard to go anywhere when you've got sixty feet of roots planted into the concrete ground that was once the beautiful, abundant natural land that your people brutally stole from my ancestors!"

Oh, Tree. How you loved Thanksgiving. This is all too ironic.

Tree had seen a lot in his 344 years on this planet. And yet, I could see it every time I left my house and watched him, hunched over our street: He wanted to see a whole lot more.

Tree was always quiet and contemplative when I brought a new friend or even a lover around. He just watched them, silently, and I knew, deep down, that he was judging their character for me, making sure that I wasn't "cruising for a heart bruisin'", as he'd say. Tree had a real big brother instinct inside of him, though he'd never admit it. But even though Tree never said much to my companions, they still knew a great deal about my wise friend. Usually, I had rambled on to him or her for days about Tree, his wise words, his love of amateur theater productions of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales, and how that Kevin James made him "bust a gut." He was a lover of the arts, a true Renaissance tree. He would frequently call me over to his lower branches and implore me to listen to the newest Coltrane vinyl he had picked up that morning.

"Tree, I'm going to be late for work!," I would say.
"The only thing you're late on is a little bit of culture in your life," he would reply, not missing a beat, in a way that only the brilliant jazz musicians he so admired could have done.

But Tree had pain in his life, and I knew that, and yet I couldn't touch that part of him. There were nights I would come home from work, often cold, winter evenings, the kind that make you want to curl up inside with a loved one and watch The Shawshank Redemption. It was those nights that I would offer tree a friendly greeting on my way inside, and ... nothing. He would just stand there. No hello, no shake of a leaf, not a single word. I didn't say anything, and at the time, I thought it was because I thought Tree just simply would not answer me and my naive attempts at consolation.

But now, looking back, I realize I didn't say anything to Tree, not because I was afraid he wouldn't want to talk, but because I was afraid he would.

I was afraid that this mountain of a tree would expose himself in a moment of weakness to me, a 22 year old kid with no idea what it could possibly feel like to see your friends and family chopped down to make Ladies Home Journal. What could I say about life to someone who had given me my own, both theoretically through teachings of life wisdoms and introductions to great works of art, and scientifically through the production of oxygen?

I probably couldn't have said anything. I would have stammered through a few half-hearted attempts at cheering Tree up. Maybe I would have even come up with an inspiring quotation from FDR, Tree's favorite U.S. president (Tree had this great bit about him being so tall and FDR being so short in his wheelcha -- nevermind, I'll butcher it.) But, in the end, probably all I could have done was extend my arm around Tree's solid trunk, and give an ever so slight squeeze, just to let me know he wasn't alone. He wasn't alone. He wasn't alone. You're not alone, Tree. I'm with you today. I'm with you tomorrow. You may have fallen to the ground, but your roots ... your roots are deep within the soil of my soul. Thank you, for that. Rest in peace, big man.

Seriously, though, can someone come clean up this dumb fucking tree in the middle of the street?!?! People have to get to work, you know!