The Trees on Ellington Square
He dreams of the park bench in Ellington Square, where the trees bend in the cool summer wind, held back by where the roots were dug on the side of the road. To look pretty. He sits with the trees in their cages, listening about their woes to be free. He understands them. he walks with an oxygen tank; the one thing keeping him alive that he somehow wishes didn’t exist. The trees cannot live without roots, and yet they try so desperately to escape; to blow away with the wind; to not be someone’s shade in the park on the square. He dreams that he sits in their shade. He dreams that a young girl walks by and smiles at him. He remembers that smile. He remembers holding the hand of that smile and taking a walk in this park not many years ago. She was much littler then, but in his eyes she is still beautiful. Beautiful with eyes as green as the trees on the square by the road. Freedom. He stands up from the bench, holding the handle of his oxygen tank. It is time for him to go. The wind blows and the trees stir. He takes a deep breath; a last breath. He lets go of the oxygen tank.
And he flies.
Away from the road. Away from the bench. Away from the smiling girl. Away from the trees. Up, up, up into the air. Away from Ellington Hospital on the other side of the road, where where you can just see the trees blowing in the park. A friends sits in the hospital, holding his hand, watching the trees of Ellington Square. Her eyes are green. A different green; a sadder green. She is older now. She remembers the trees. The doctor comes in and tells her it’s time to go. She leaves.