Winnie, Not Winifred

06 | A Treehouse Hunch

When I was younger, I had always dreamed of having a treehouse in my backyard. I would imagine inviting my friends over on a sunny summer day so we could run around the yard in our bathing suits, letting the sprinklers splash us and grass stick to our feet, as we had done so many times during the summers of my youth. When we were tired, we could retreat to the treehouse for lemonade and popsicles to talk about fun, little kid things like when the next episode of Jessie was airing and whether or not we thought Jeremy from Mrs. Gardener's homeroom was cute.

When my parents began looking for a house in a more overcast, dreary state like New York, I was hesitant at first. I was open-minded about starting a new chapter of my life and I didn't mind that the best way to accomplish that was to move, but—like everyone else who moves at one point or another—I dreaded having to say goodbye to my childhood home.

It seemed more than just coincidence to me that I happened to glance over from my bowl of dinosaur oatmeal at my mom's computer screen as she scrolled through the pictures of a house listing in Contraire, New York, landing on a picture of a spacious backyard with a big, wooden treehouse.

"What's that one?" I had asked between bites of oatmeal. "I kinda like it."

"Me too," she had responded, glancing over at me. "What do you think; should we look into it?"

And now, here I was, sitting in the very treehouse from the photograph, letting my legs dangle from the opening. Only, there were no sunny summer days; lemonade; popsicles; or sprinklers to run around in like I had always imagined.

The treehouse had quickly become one of my favorite places to be, forming a sort of oasis from the outside world. I found myself in there all the time to do homework, watch Netflix, or just listen to music as I laid down, watching the sky from the windows as the silhouette of the sun flitted around behind the clouds, always taunting as though it would come out, only to be obscured as another cloud rolled in front.

I was using Mathway to cheat on my pre-calculus homework when I heard a voice ring from the bottom of the treehouse ladder.

"Winnie?" Heidi called. She clung to a rung with one hand and held onto her bookbag strap with the other.

"'Sup?" I replied, peering down from the opening.

"Eww, barf. Remember what I said about 'sup'?" She clambered into the treehouse and plopped her bookbag on the floor.

"You said not to say it because we're not sixth-grade males even though you know very well I'm going to keep saying it because I am stubborn as all get-out."

"That is correct, yes."

"Alrighty then," I sighed, pushing my math things aside and patting the floor, gesturing for her to sit with me. "I suppose it's time for you to take the sacred oath. Were you aware that you, Heidi Cidrich, are sitting on hallowed grounds?" I finished with mock seriousness.

"Umm, what?"

"I'm joking. Just be aware that as far as I am aware of, you are the only other living creature apart from me and some bird that crapped on the floor over there, that has ever stepped foot in this treehouse."

"Wow, I'm honored. I mean, I'm sure the people who lived here before you have been in here, but I am flattered all the same."

"Anyways," I changed the subject with an echoing clap of my hands. "Audition tomorrow. What's the game plan?"

Heidi grinned. "Okay. We head to class five minutes early under what I like to refer to as the JIC clause, just in case."

I began to formulate a checklist.