Reece's Haven

5

"It's scary how much I fucking love you..."
– Nautica

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~ D O R O T H Y ~

October 1997

I begin my quest to fix up the treehouse with my own bare hands.

When I voiced mother of my intentions, she and I went to Homebase yesterday, right after we shopped at the mall, and bought supplies. At first, she insisted that she'd call a builder over to renovate it but I, being the stubborn person that I am, declined. Back at St. Anne's, I received a variety of punishments, one being fixing up a barn's roof in the scorching heat.

I completed the task with enjoyment, much to Principal Georgina's dismay.

Smiling at the memory, I dump a pile of wooden deck boards onto the grassy ground just beneath the treehouse. It's a warm day today, perfect to get started. I climb up the ladder and enter the battered treehouse. There are two wooden, louvered windows. I approach the one that faces my house and, with a grunt, push the pair of louvers open. Cool air suddenly kisses my face and I take a deep breath in, calm and at bliss.

I then turn around to face the illuminated room. Now that I am looking at it more closely, the years of neglect are now more apparent. Thick layers of dust rest along the floorboards and glimmering cobwebs of different sizes besiege every corner. Wearing a blue, denim overall over a simple black T-shirt, I pull out a cloth from my pockets and start to remove the sticky cobwebs. As I do so, I cough.

Gosh, my eyes and nose are literally burning due to the dust.

"Dorothy," I hear mother call from the garden.

"Yes?" I reply, continuing to remove the numerous cobwebs.

"We're having guests in an hour. Come out and get cleaned up."

"Hmm," I reply, examining the wooden floors.

They do not seem very sturdy. My suspicions are confirmed when a wooden deck board wobbles when I apply pressure on it with my foot. Well, I'm glad I bought new ones.

"Dorothy!" mother calls loudly, making me jump.

"Yes?" I reply, walking to the opened window to poke my head out.

Mother is standing on the grass, wearing a blue, flaring dress. Her arms are crossed as she looks up at me with her head shaking.

"Were you even listening, honey?" she says.

"I... I mean, yes," I say quickly. "I'll get ready. Just give me a few minutes."

"You're sweating. Make sure to take a shower."

"Uh huh," I say, going back inside the treehouse to inspect it more.

I sit down on the floor and mentally design the interior. I imagine four big, pastel-coloured bean bags against the walls, a pair of white curtains for the two windows, a trail of warm, yellow fairy lights across the walls and a table on a soft rug in the middle. A vase filled with a bouquet of daisies sits on a table.

And pillows!

Every–freakin'–where!!!!!!!

I shiver in content at my plan, feeling a lot more motivated to get this treehouse fixed as soon as possible. After a while of daydreaming, I suddenly remember that I have to get ready. I leave the treehouse and get inside the house. Mother is nowhere to seen; she's probably getting ready in her bedroom. I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. It's nearly quarter past seven. I wonder how long it has been since mother informed me that we are having guests.