LEAVE ME ALONE

Johnnie stood proud hands on his hips. “I’m taking the table with me.”

Diane lay stomach down on the top of the intricately patterned coffee table, “never, it’s all I have left of us.”

The picture window fissured in a stellate pattern and in slow motion the splinters slide down, sharp daggers impaling themselves into the outdoor window box and the indoor carpet. They stood like fallen icicles in winter.

The table started to slowly heat up. At first Diane thought it was the heat from the North Carolina summer that flowed in through the window. Relentless heat moist with oppressive stagnation that characterized the valley in summer.

But the table wanted her off. It was tired of the argument, of the people who thought they were more important than the plants that nourished them for years, the thousands of walnuts it had produced when it was a tree, and now suffered through the infidelities of these people. People who never thanked the trees for their support, shelter and nourishment. “Thankless,” thought the table.

“Truly,” spoke the three story tall walnut tree that replaced it.

“My son, I’m trapped in polyurethane, turned in an art object, I should be dirt and dust and help you grow and create.”

“Do it, my great father, break free.”

The table continue to warm. Diane moved away. “Ouch.” The table left her skin red where it had touched.

The varnish slowly melted away, and the table flashed and instantly dust flowed up through the open window and settled at the base of the tree, passing by the roots and sinking into the earth, searching for the roots of the new tree. Suddenly the bark and leaves seemed to shimmer. And a sigh was heard, “together at last.”