Have you ever wondered what it's like to sit in one place your whole life, only able to watch the world unfold around you? Wanting friends, craving your own story, yearning to be the main character, yet feeling like just a figure in the background? It’s a familiar feeling—like a tree, rooted yet unfulfilled. But you may not know it like I do. I’m a Salix Babylonica, a Weeping Willow. I live near a park with a pond in it. I have imagined many stories with me as the main character, though I know it will never be able to be real. Sometimes I imagine myself as a witch with short, green hair, pride, a face full of extraordinary makeup, and over the top fashion. Sometimes I imagine myself as a long haired goth girl with rainbow hair. Sometimes I imagine myself as a simple, brown, short haired college student who has a future as a poet. But never will I ever be able to become any of those. I’ve seen many of other people’s stories in my time, though. One I am particularly interested in, and I quite enjoy making theories of how their story will end. She is an eleven year old girl with long, brown hair, and green eyes. Her name is Britney. Though, I have discovered she does not quite like that name and prefers to be called Ekko. Although she is very different than everyone else I have observed. Allow me to explain how we met.

Question

It was a Saturday morning, sunny with barely any clouds in the sky. A red car parked in the parking lot of the park. A brown haired woman with glasses and a suit got out, then an eleven year old girl with sweatpants and a t-shirt and long flowing hair and flip flops on stumbled out. She shook herself off, then looked up at the woman. “Finally! The seats in the car feel SO WEIRD! Like, it makes me shiver. EEK, my feet are SO COLD!” She then growled loudly and pushed her face out of her hair. “Britney, I told you to put on socks and tennis shoes. That’s why your feet are cold,” the woman said. “MOOOOM, I said call me EKKO! Ugh, stupid hair! Can I PLEEEEEAAAASE get a haircut, mom? PLEASEEE?” The woman scoffed and locked the car. “I told you, I named you Britney and that’s what I’m calling you! And I have already told you, no, you can not have a haircut, now come on,” the woman said, adjusting her glasses.

Ekko/Britney tugged at her hair angrily. “Can I go play now,” she asked eagerly. “Yes, yes, go on.” The woman opened her laptop and sat at the park bench, opening documents on it. Ekko went running towards the playground, but then saw me, and stopped. “Woah,” she whispered. She then ran up to me and tugged at my leaves. “So dangly!” She whispered loudly. She then stopped. She ducked under my leaves and went up to my trunk. “Its like an umbrella,” she said with awe. She sat down, looking at me. “What’s your name,” she asked me. This was new! Nobody had ever spoken directly towards me before! I was very happy, but I realized I had no way of telling her, nor did I have any clue of my name. “Oh. Do you have a way of telling me? Maybe your mute. Darn. Hmm.” She then sat there, thinking. I also was thinking. Was there a way I could talk to her? I got it! I could drop my leaves into words! But… there’s no way of telling where they would land. But, still, I had decided to drop one near her. It landed on her head. “Oh! My hair is a hazel brown! I get it! Your name must be Hazel,” she exclaimed. That hadn’t been why I did that. It was to let her know I was listening. But, Hazel would be a great name!

For the next hour, she talked to me about her life. “My feet are cold, but I hate the feeling of socks! They squish my toes and itch and I hate them! And I hate my hair being SO LONG. I want it short! It always gets in the way, and TOUCHES ME. I HATE IT. And I like being called Ekko, but nobody does! They call me my real name, Britney. But I hate that name! It doesn’t fit me. And I wish I could shapeshift so I could TURN INTO A JELLYBEAN. And THEN I wish I could fly, so I could just be a FLOATING JELLYBEAN and be touching NOTHING. UGHHH, EVERYTHING IS TOUCHING ME AND ITS AWFUL I WISH NOTHING WAS TOUCHING ME!” She curled up into a ball and screamed into her hair. She seemed to be having sensory issues. A few minutes later she uncurled herself and sat down. “Do you want to know why I wanna be a jellybean? So my arms and legs wouldn’t get in the way. I get comfy but then I never know where to put my legs and arms, so being a jellybean would be nice. Do you ever wish you could be something else?”

She was holding back tears, I realized. “I used to love jellybeans. My dad loves jellybeans. I remember my dad used to take me to a pool and we would swim together and play little water games. I wish I could breathe underwater. I used to want to live underwater. But my dad isn’t very nice anymore. He tries to be, but he gets mad and yells and gets scary. He’s always on the phone or at work. And my mommy and him aren’t together anymore. Whenever I’m with my dad, I just want my mom and my tummy hurts and I worry more than usual. And I pick at my skin but then it hurts and I wish I didn’t but then I do it again without meaning to. And he doesn’t let me express myself. Whenever I feel everything touching me and overwhelming me he gets mad at me for screaming or crying or curling up in a ball. Sometimes I can’t talk because of the overwhelming touching feeling. I have 5 friends, but my dad always tells me I need to interact with other kids my age even though I do. He tells me my mom is an awful person. But my mommy is good! My dad isn’t. My dad is scary. I have to go to his home every week. But I don’t want to! I just want to be with my mommy. But he tells me I can if I want, but he lies. He tells my mom wont let me, even though my mom completely agrees with it! He tells me that people don’t lie to somebody if they love them, but he lies to me… And I cant sleep good when I’m with him.” She was crying.

I couldn’t do much. But I lowered my branches to touch her, and they grazed her back and then she hugged my trunk. “Nobody understands me or my problems. They don’t even care. I get told to suck it up. It’s not fair. I feel like everyone hates me.” And then, her mother called for her. “Britney! It’s time to go,” she shouted. Ekko wiped her tears off and ran.

Answer 1

As she darted away, I felt a heaviness settle upon me. I couldn’t chase after her as I longed to do; instead, I watched her go, wishing I could offer her some comfort, some understanding that perhaps she could carry with her. The sunlight flickered through my leaves like gentle whispers of hope, and I imagined that, even if I couldn’t speak, my presence could still provide her solace.

Days turned into weeks, and as I stood by the pond, absorbing the warmth of the sun and the sound of laughter nearby, Ekko returned. She came often, sometimes bringing her friends, who would giggle and play on the playground while I watched, my branches swaying softly in the breeze—a silent witness to their joy. But other times, like today, she came alone, her expression marred by the storm of thoughts and emotions I had come to recognize.

“Hey, Hazel,” she greeted me softly, her voice wavering as she settled into her familiar spot beneath my canopy. “I’m back. I had a rough week.” She sighed deeply, and I could feel the weight of that sigh, echoing through the air like a soft breeze rustling my leaves.

“What’s wrong?” I thought, wishing I could somehow send my warmth through the ground or let my leaves carry a message of reassurance to her. Instead, I settled for gently dropping a few leaves, letting them flutter down around her like falling stars.

“Nothing ever changes,” she spoke, playing with a leaf that had landed beside her. “Dad said I was being too loud again. He doesn't understand. It’s not that I want to be loud, it’s just… it feels like everything is crashing in on me. I just want to be calm, you know? But it’s hard when I can feel every little sound and touch.”

I wished I could convey my understanding, to let her know that even rooted in place, I felt the winds of change—how they could suddenly shift, bringing new seasons and feelings. “I can’t just pretend it doesn’t bother me. And when I do, he says I’m being ‘too sensitive’. It makes me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

I rustled my leaves gently as if to say, “You aren’t alone.” I imagined my branches wrapping around her, protecting her from the chaos of her world, presenting her with the tranquility she sought.

“And then there’s my mom,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Dad says she’s not good for me, and that I should choose him. But she takes care of me. Why can’t he see that?” She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them, a slight tremble in her voice as she added, “I wish they could just be okay, so I could be okay. I don’t want to choose sides. I want to be free to love them both.”

In that moment, I felt the intensity of her yearning, a desire for peace amid the tempest of her life. It reminded me of the gentle summer rains that would drench the ground, making it soft and rich—inviting new growth. “You deserve to feel safe and understood,” I thought, hoping somehow the winds would carry my sentiment to her heart.

“I’m tired,” she whispered at last, wiping her eyes. “So tired of being in the middle. I don’t want to be just a figure in the background of their lives. I want to be me.”

And just like that, I felt the urge to show her the strength and beauty of simply being oneself. I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating. The sunlight warmed my bark, and as I opened my eyes again, I gently let a few more leaves drift down, aiming them to flutter softly onto her lap. She picked them up, studying their individual shapes and colors, the little imperfections yet to be found in nature.

“Each of these leaves is unique, just like you,” I imagined saying. “Each one contributes to the beauty of this tree.”

Ekko smiled faintly, brushing her fingers over the leaves. “Maybe if I could find a way to be like them, I wouldn’t feel so lost,” she mused, contemplating.

“Yeah,” she went on, “Maybe I could embrace my own story more. Like if I were a jellybean, I would choose to be a starry one.”

As I listened to her, I filled my spirit with the resolve she seemed to be grasping onto. If I could not take an active role in her narrative, then perhaps I could be a safe place for her to return to, a reminder that growth comes from rooting deeply in understanding oneself, even amid external chaos.

And so, we continued our conversation, our bond forming stronger each day. I would be her silent guardian, her Hazel beneath which she could stretch her wings, allowing her to explore her own complexities while she figured out how to weave her story in a world that felt overwhelming. Together, we would navigate through the shadows in search of light.