Watching her walk down the aisle, you could tell that Sierra Aldair had lived a good life. She walked taller now, she had lost her hunch from high school. She used to hide behind it, so her prom date wouldn’t feel so small. She was graceful now; her jewellery dangled from her slender wrists and clinked softly as she reached for a high shelf. Juliette, now sure, had approached. Behind the new haircut and the years that had wedged between them, there was the girl she knew so well and so little.
“Sierra?” She gently nudged the shopping cart.
Sierra looked up, for a moment Juliette doubted that she would even recognise her, but the thought was immediately extinguished by a small squeal and arms flying around her.
“Oh, my – Take a look at you!”
Her face was smiling now; it had been so long since Juliette moved out of the neighbourhood.
American Pie played on the radio, and they sang it on the patio while the rain grew grey and murky. All the boxes in Juliette’s room had been sealed, and the last removal van was on its way. The plan was masterful, one last visit to the treehouse. The move was tearing them apart. How could their parents say no? The girls stretched the thin ponchos over their heads; their ladybug wellingtons sank deep in the mud as they ran to the gap in the garden fence. The treehouse was small and, in a few years, neither would be likely to fit – Sierra’s father insisted that would be the day he’d have a year’s supply of firewood.
The tree swayed softly, and its wood was damp; they pulled over the tarpaulin only to be soaked by the water that had collected in their absence. They squealed and laughed but were quick to cover their mouths. At once, they got to work. From Sierra’s sequinned backpack, she pulled a handsaw, her pa never opened the toolbox, so it was certain not to be missed too badly. Their initials may have been carved into the trunk, but the tree wasn’t what mattered, it was everything the tree could be. It served as far-off kingdoms, apocalyptic safe havens, or a place to hide when it was casserole night at the Aldair residence. They had only managed to cut halfway through the ladder’s top plank before the stampede of their parent’s footsteps invaded their safe haven.
A man with a painfully fake hairpiece, reached between them, snatching a crisp packet from the shelf. They stopped talking at once, Juliette took a deliberate breath. Something was missing from Sierra. Her features fitted her face better now and her boots were black and free of ladybirds, but none of these were the reason. She gently twisted the chain of her necklace, and her thoughts were interrupted with a burst of laughter from Sierra.
“You still wear that thing?”
Juliette grew pink. She began to tuck the pendant under her shirt, just as Sierra fished under her own collar.
“Can you believe they told us these were real gold?” She giggled out the words; they radiated off her and their warmth was a time machine. Juliette saw the rain clouds fade, pink beaded bracelets, watching DVDs under blankets pinned up with close pegs, dirt-caked wellies piled at the door and the girl she shared it all with.
The store loudspeaker rang out. The aisle was empty, and it was time to go.
Hi I’m Aimée, I’m a second year English & Creative Writing and Journalism student. In my free time when I’m not reading or writing I play for the strath women’s lacrosse team!
Leave a Reply