Special

The boy stood, looking down the back garden, wondering whether his father had meant it when he promised to build him a treehouse, his own special place. He had a friend that had one. It wasn’t very good. Too small and rickety. His friend’s mother didn’t like them climbing into it. She said it wasn’t safe. His one, he was told, would be built a lot stronger. Looking at what trees they had, it was obvious that he’d have to wait for at least one of them to grow. It had to be big enough and strong enough for the job.

–

The young man stood, looking down the back garden. He was thinking back to a time when his father said he would build him a treehouse, his own special place. He felt a wave of sadness when he looked at the tallest tree and how that would have been the one to use. This never happened. It was around the time he left school and got his first job that his dad was diagnosed with Myasthenia, a muscle weakness that came on him fast. It was a bad time that ended with him leaving work and going onto a disability pension. He had been a draftsman, an office job, but when he could no longer drive, just getting to the train station became impossible for him. The tests and the treatments seemed to go on forever. It was a bad time for the whole family. He couldn’t remember his dad ever talking about the fact that the treehouse would never get built.

–

The man stood, looking down the back garden. He’d been an only child, but now he was married with two daughters growing up fast. He looked at the tree that could have been his own special place. His girls had never shown any inkling to have him build a treehouse. When he suggested he build one for himself, his wife quite naturally said that it wasn’t a good idea. He had to agree. Now, with both parents gone, he had to be content with keeping the garden looking nice. They had added a couple of garden seats. He would sometimes sit on one, it being no replacement for a treehouse, but gave him a sense of being in his own small, special world.

–

The old man stood, leaning on his stick, looking down the back garden. His wife, now long gone, had fought cancer and lost. She had lived to a good old age, but the loss still haunted him. The girls, now both married women, had lives of their own. Their occasional visits meant a lot to him. He looked passed the trees to the back corner of the garden, and his own special place. A few years back, when he was still able, he took on a small building project. Buying a quantity of old cleaned-up bricks, along with other materials, he set about creating the small world that he’d always dreamed of. He walked slowly down to the end of the garden. He opened the little door and entered his folly!