The Red Maple at 14 River Road I slid into the kitchen in my bleached white socks as my mother sways to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon at the stove. The amber glow of 6 am melts across the kitchen; the bountiful red maple tree leaves are on the brink of draping across the lawn. I plopped myself down on the couch to watch my cartoons and enjoy my buttery pancake breakfast. 10 years since the move, I drive by. My brother has since sold the house as well, and a new family parks its car in the cobblestone driveway. The tree looks small and dull. I don’t remember it ever looking that way as a child. Stumbling down the maple out front, for what seems to be the hundredth time, I add another scar to my legs, pausing and darting right back up to admire the boys playing soccer next door. I still can’t stand the look of my bare legs in short dresses. We gather green leaves to concoct a “soup” of leaves and flowers. We giggle and serve our concoction to my older brother. He holds the spoon to his mouth and rubs his stomach, laughing and leaving a raving review of me and Grace’s “restaurant Grace and I lost touch after a fight over a mutual crush on William in the 3rd grade who we made a pact neither of us could marry. We signed the contract in my pink Barbie diary at our 4:00 meeting spot after school, under the maple tree.
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