Cherry Tree
May. 9th, 2004 03:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jedusorWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
farothear, for the Babysitters Club ficathon.
Cherry Tree
Author:jedusor
Pairing: Claudia/Stacey
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, romance
Feedback: Bring it on!
The only thing between us is the table and the bowl of cherries on top of it.
I choose a cherry and examine it closely. It is almost perfectly round, bright red, flawless and smooth. I meet her almond-shaped eyes; she stares coolly back into mine. She plucks her own cherry from the porcelain dish. This one is darker, a rich crimson. She bites into it. The juice trickles onto her wrist, reminding me of the blood I once saw spill from the same spot.
“I picked these yesterday.” Her voice startles me a little. Neither of us has spoken for several minutes. She gestures toward a window. “We have a tree in front of the dorm.”
I glance out onto the lawn. There is a tree there, its gentle white foliage dotted with red fruit. I notice something odd about its positioning.
“Why is it right next to the door? Don’t the cherries that fall get in the way?”
She spits the pit of the cherry into her hand and drops it into a smaller bowl next to the one full of cherries. “Yes, they do. I asked that question too, when I moved in here. It turns out that this tree isn’t the first one to be planted in that yard. The original one died ten years ago. The son of the dorm’s manager saved a pit from it, and after the dead tree was cut down and carried away, he planted it and took care of it. He was only eight, so he was no expert at gardening, but somehow he managed to keep it alive. And now it’s producing these beautiful cherries.”
I smile. “That’s really sweet.”
“He’s studying for a degree in agriculture now.” Cherry juice is running down her arm. She lifts it and runs her tongue along the soft, tan skin. I feel a shiver along my spine. I’m feeling déjà vu, and I don’t like it. Blood scares me.
I look down at the bright red cherry I still have in my hand. Suddenly I don’t want to taste it, but I don’t put it back. “Claud?”
“Mmm?”
I don’t know what I’m going to say. Do I ask her if she’s had any more brushes with death lately? If she still sticks thumbtacks into her school photo from her freshman year in high school? If she still feels the same way about me that she used to, before her obsession with pain took over her life?
The telephone rings. “Hang on a sec.” She gets up to answer it. I listen halfheartedly. “Hi, Janine! How’s grad school going? Oh. That’s too bad… no… of course… slash? You mean, like, cutting? Oh… well, cut down on the computer time and maybe you’ll get more work done. Hey, I gotta go, Stacey’s visiting. You too. Bye.”
She sits back down, taking another cherry from the bowl as she does so. “What were you going to ask me?”
I sigh inwardly. “Nothing.”
She fixes me with a deep look, chewing slowly. A full minute passes before she nods skeptically and says, “Okay. Nothing.”
I will myself to stay silent. We don’t need to talk. She’s been my best friend for eight years. We should be able to read each other’s minds. It seems like she’s the only one who developed that skill, though, because her face doesn’t display anything to me except blankness. Blankness and a penetrating stare, piercing my mind like a dagger. And I know without a doubt that she can tell. She knows that she’s unearthed my old connection to her. Seeing her like this after over a year of no contact except the occasional phone call, I’ve realized what I should have known all along.
“Stace.” I can barely hear her, she talking so quietly. “It’s me. Claudia. It’s okay, you can relax.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Can I? I don’t know, Claud. I don’t know who you are anymore, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m still Claudia.” She turns around and picks up a telephone book from the counter behind her. It falls open, revealing three Pixie Stix. “Look. I still hide my junk food.” She points to a painting hanging on the wall, covered with sequins and bright colors. “I still have a whacked-out imagination. I’m still me, Stace. Don’t say that. Please.”
My vision blurs a little. I blink fast and look down. My fingertips are turning white from clutching the stem of the cherry, the deep red skin still unbroken.
Her hand reaches across the table, palm up. I glance up at her, then tentatively extend my own. Her long fingers clasp my soft, pale ones firmly.
“You know, if that little boy hadn’t tended that tree carefully, watered it often, it wouldn’t have grown right. Maybe it wouldn’t have grown at all. It takes time, and care, and devotion, to build a new tree from the remains of an old one.”
I nod slowly. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes a new tree will grow, sometimes it won’t. All we can do is hope.”
“And try.” Her expression begins to lose its gloominess. “All we can do is hope and try the best we can.”
“Maybe the tree takes a while to grow enough to bear fruit,” I murmur. “Maybe the fruit is small at first, or sour, but eventually the hard work may pay off.”
“It’s a gamble. Either it will turn out all right, or it won’t. Thinking about it, and worrying about it, isn’t going to do anything. We have to find the pit of the dead tree, Stace. Find it and plant it, and take care of it, and let it flourish, and help the fruit grow.” A smile begins to spread across her face.
I feel a grin forming on my own lips. It’s going to be okay. I can feel it. I can see it in her eyes.
A gentle breeze blows through the leaves of the tree outside the window. My eyes lock with hers. I bring the cherry to my lips. My teeth pierce the skin, and the taste fills my mouth. Not bitter, like blood, but sweet and tangy.
And the first roots branch out into the soil.
farothear, for the Babysitters Club ficathon.Cherry Tree
Author:
jedusorPairing: Claudia/Stacey
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, romance
Feedback: Bring it on!
The only thing between us is the table and the bowl of cherries on top of it.
I choose a cherry and examine it closely. It is almost perfectly round, bright red, flawless and smooth. I meet her almond-shaped eyes; she stares coolly back into mine. She plucks her own cherry from the porcelain dish. This one is darker, a rich crimson. She bites into it. The juice trickles onto her wrist, reminding me of the blood I once saw spill from the same spot.
“I picked these yesterday.” Her voice startles me a little. Neither of us has spoken for several minutes. She gestures toward a window. “We have a tree in front of the dorm.”
I glance out onto the lawn. There is a tree there, its gentle white foliage dotted with red fruit. I notice something odd about its positioning.
“Why is it right next to the door? Don’t the cherries that fall get in the way?”
She spits the pit of the cherry into her hand and drops it into a smaller bowl next to the one full of cherries. “Yes, they do. I asked that question too, when I moved in here. It turns out that this tree isn’t the first one to be planted in that yard. The original one died ten years ago. The son of the dorm’s manager saved a pit from it, and after the dead tree was cut down and carried away, he planted it and took care of it. He was only eight, so he was no expert at gardening, but somehow he managed to keep it alive. And now it’s producing these beautiful cherries.”
I smile. “That’s really sweet.”
“He’s studying for a degree in agriculture now.” Cherry juice is running down her arm. She lifts it and runs her tongue along the soft, tan skin. I feel a shiver along my spine. I’m feeling déjà vu, and I don’t like it. Blood scares me.
I look down at the bright red cherry I still have in my hand. Suddenly I don’t want to taste it, but I don’t put it back. “Claud?”
“Mmm?”
I don’t know what I’m going to say. Do I ask her if she’s had any more brushes with death lately? If she still sticks thumbtacks into her school photo from her freshman year in high school? If she still feels the same way about me that she used to, before her obsession with pain took over her life?
The telephone rings. “Hang on a sec.” She gets up to answer it. I listen halfheartedly. “Hi, Janine! How’s grad school going? Oh. That’s too bad… no… of course… slash? You mean, like, cutting? Oh… well, cut down on the computer time and maybe you’ll get more work done. Hey, I gotta go, Stacey’s visiting. You too. Bye.”
She sits back down, taking another cherry from the bowl as she does so. “What were you going to ask me?”
I sigh inwardly. “Nothing.”
She fixes me with a deep look, chewing slowly. A full minute passes before she nods skeptically and says, “Okay. Nothing.”
I will myself to stay silent. We don’t need to talk. She’s been my best friend for eight years. We should be able to read each other’s minds. It seems like she’s the only one who developed that skill, though, because her face doesn’t display anything to me except blankness. Blankness and a penetrating stare, piercing my mind like a dagger. And I know without a doubt that she can tell. She knows that she’s unearthed my old connection to her. Seeing her like this after over a year of no contact except the occasional phone call, I’ve realized what I should have known all along.
“Stace.” I can barely hear her, she talking so quietly. “It’s me. Claudia. It’s okay, you can relax.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Can I? I don’t know, Claud. I don’t know who you are anymore, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m still Claudia.” She turns around and picks up a telephone book from the counter behind her. It falls open, revealing three Pixie Stix. “Look. I still hide my junk food.” She points to a painting hanging on the wall, covered with sequins and bright colors. “I still have a whacked-out imagination. I’m still me, Stace. Don’t say that. Please.”
My vision blurs a little. I blink fast and look down. My fingertips are turning white from clutching the stem of the cherry, the deep red skin still unbroken.
Her hand reaches across the table, palm up. I glance up at her, then tentatively extend my own. Her long fingers clasp my soft, pale ones firmly.
“You know, if that little boy hadn’t tended that tree carefully, watered it often, it wouldn’t have grown right. Maybe it wouldn’t have grown at all. It takes time, and care, and devotion, to build a new tree from the remains of an old one.”
I nod slowly. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes a new tree will grow, sometimes it won’t. All we can do is hope.”
“And try.” Her expression begins to lose its gloominess. “All we can do is hope and try the best we can.”
“Maybe the tree takes a while to grow enough to bear fruit,” I murmur. “Maybe the fruit is small at first, or sour, but eventually the hard work may pay off.”
“It’s a gamble. Either it will turn out all right, or it won’t. Thinking about it, and worrying about it, isn’t going to do anything. We have to find the pit of the dead tree, Stace. Find it and plant it, and take care of it, and let it flourish, and help the fruit grow.” A smile begins to spread across her face.
I feel a grin forming on my own lips. It’s going to be okay. I can feel it. I can see it in her eyes.
A gentle breeze blows through the leaves of the tree outside the window. My eyes lock with hers. I bring the cherry to my lips. My teeth pierce the skin, and the taste fills my mouth. Not bitter, like blood, but sweet and tangy.
And the first roots branch out into the soil.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lame
Date: 2004-05-09 08:24 am (UTC)Re: lame
Date: 2004-05-10 12:10 pm (UTC)oh my
Date: 2004-05-09 05:29 pm (UTC)Re: oh my
Date: 2004-05-10 12:26 pm (UTC)o m g
Date: 2004-05-10 06:48 pm (UTC)