Underneath the Willow's Leaves
By Aaliyah Coates
The letter arrived in her mailbox on Thursday afternoon. The edges were worn and crinkled, as if the letter itself traveled through storms searching for her. Her name was written in neat yet unfamiliar handwriting across the front of the envelope. For a moment, she considered leaving the letter an unopened mystery on her kitchen table, sandwiched between bills, subscription catalogs, and junk mail, but something about the letter made her chest tighten and her heart swell with a sense of longing that she hadn’t felt in years.
She flipped the envelop open, her eyes widening at the sight of the return address written in fading black ink, and suddenly, she felt like she was a teenager again, spending her summers by the lake and reading on the branches of the willow trees or on the boardwalk. Clutching the envelop to her chest, she made her way to the bay window, staring down at the envelope as if it held all the answers to all of her questions. She glanced outside; orange, yellow and red leaves scattered the ground, painting the perfect autumn afternoon, and just for a moment, she was no longer in her house in New York, no longer twenty-seven and drowning in the responsibilities that came along with adulthood. Instead, she was back in her hometown, sitting underneath a curtain of green leaves and summer sunlight.
That was where she met him.
Arlo.
Her sixteenth birthday had just passed and she was restless. Convinced that hometown—her world—was too small for her. That she was growing too big for it. The quiet town that she and her family moved to in early May was small, and she spent most of her free time exploring and memorizing street names that felt foreign. She couldn’t seem to find something that she could make her own, that would be special to her. That is, until she found the weeping willow tree. The tree sat calmly at the edge of a creek, a few blocks away from an old basketball court. Its long branches stretched out, dipping into the water, creating a ripple effect. It stood there like a carefully preserved ancient artifact, like it had watched a thousand summers and would watch a thousand more.
She had found it completely by accident, but she was convinced that it had found her.
The first time she’d ever stepped underneath its canopy, Arlo was already there, lying on his back, looking up at the clouds through the leaves with a dreamy yet content expression. She almost turned on her heel when she noticed he was lying there, but he had already spotted her with a slight turn of his head. The first thing she noticed about him was his eyes. They were a gorgeous golden brown.
“I didn’t think anyone knew about this place,” he said.
She shrugged shyly. “I-I didn’t even know it was here until now.”
He smiled at her words. It wasn’t a perfect smile, but it was a crooked smile that made his features soften for a moment. “You can stay if you’d like,” he added. “Nobody comes here, anyways. It gets kind of lonely, and I could use the company.”
It was at that moment that everything began. It didn’t happen dramatically like in the movies, with fireworks and butterflies in her stomach. Instead, it was subtle. Calm. They didn’t need to talk to each other amid the shared silence and quiet understanding that neither of them wanted to be lonely.
After that, they met underneath the willow tree every afternoon. They’d lay underneath the willow tree, shoulder to shoulder, watching the branches sway in the breeze. Arlo used to say that the branches sounded like ocean waves if you closed your eyes and listened hard enough. She told him that it sounded more like the branches were whispering in a secret language that they would learn to decipher one day. He’d laughed, and she’d committed the sound to memory.
On other days, he’d sit with his back against the trunk, and she’d lie in the grass with her arm tucked underneath her head while they talked about everything and nothing at the same time. He told her about all of the places that he wanted to go—how his dream was to study abroad in London in the future, while she told him about all the pictures that she wanted to take so she could capture as many memories as possible. He told her that she captured memories just fine by remembering things in great detail.
“You notice everything, you know that?” he told her, brushing a leaf from one of her curls. “It’s like your mind is one big photo album.”
There were days when they sat in silence, but it was never awkward silence. It was comfortable. She would watch him, committing to memory the way the sunlight illuminated the curve of his jawline. She would sometimes catch him watching her with that crooked grin when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“Why are you staring at me?” she’d ask, her cheeks turning red.
He’d laugh and shake his head. “Nothing,” he’d say. “It’s just… sometimes I can’t believe that you’re real.”
Wildflowers bloomed, sprinkling the ground with their bright, delicate petals. Arlo had developed the habit of plucking one every day, gently placing it behind her ear. She hadn’t realized that she was falling for him until it was too late. She didn’t realize it after a singular grand gesture, but by the many little things that he had done; the way he’d tilt his head back when he laughed, and the way the colors of the world seemed brighter whenever he was around.
One night, as the moonlight pooled through the curtain of the weeping willow’s branches, Arlo had reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and holding on tight, as if he were afraid that she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“I really don’t want this to end,” he’d whispered.
She glanced at him. “It’s summer.”
“I know. That’s what I mean.”
That’s when she knew. She knew by the way her chest tightened and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. He was leaving. He didn’t have to elaborate any further; the finality in his tone told her everything. He wanted to tell her plainly, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words.
The days afterwards felt shorter, yet they still sat underneath the branches as if its leaves could shield them from the time they seemed to no longer have. One afternoon, Arlo carved their names into the willow tree’s bark.
“So time won’t forget us,” he said, tucking the switchblade into his back pocket.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “As if that would ever happen.”
On their final evening with one another, the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds. The air was heavy, mirroring the crushing weight of Arlo’s upcoming departure resting on her chest. They stood underneath the leaves, close enough that she could see the specks of green in his eyes.
“I won’t say goodbye,” he told her. “Because that isn’t what this is. One day, I’ll be back and we’ll meet again. Here, underneath the willow’s leaves.”
Every cell in her body wanted to believe his words. “Promise?”
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “Promise.”
That’s when the first raindrop fell, landing directly on her cheek in such a way that she couldn’t decipher if it was a tear or if it was really a raindrop. Still, her eyes watered and her vision blurred as she watched him go.
After Arlo left, she couldn’t bring herself to return to the willow tree. What was supposed to be a sanctuary was now a painful memory. Each leaf held the weight of his absence, making each branch droop deeper into the creek’s water.
As always, life moved on. She returned to school, made new friends, and the sting of experiencing the loss of her first love died down with each passing moment. She dated others, but no one ever amounted to Arlo. No boy had his bright, golden brown eyes or his soft, crooked smile. Years flew by and the willow tree became a distant memory, faded by time.
Until the letter arrived in the mail.
Her hands shook as she opened the envelope, pulling out the neatly folded piece of paper. His mother’s handwriting was the first thing she noticed at the bottom of the paper before she could even begin reading, but as she read, the words settled into her chest with cruel sharpness. There was a sudden tragedy—the kind that shakes a family to its core. His mother wrote as if she were speaking through Arlo’s memories, saying that she deserved to hear the news from her and not anyone else. Suddenly, the air felt thin, as if it were trying to escape the room.
At first, she didn’t cry. She just let the letter slip from her fingertips and onto the ground. Moments of memories from that summer spent with Arlo underneath the willow tree flickered to life in her mind like a film reel. His golden brown eyes and smile flashed in her memory. That’s when the first tear fell.
She drove home that weekend. Everything looked smaller than she remembered, but nothing had changed. The town was like a time capsule that she had finally opened. The old basketball court was still there, but now it was rusted, and one hoop was missing a net. The pathway to the willow tree was now overgrown with weeds that brushed against the hem of her dress as she walked towards it. Her breathing hitched at the sight of her and Arlo’s names still carved into the bark after all these years.
At the tree’s base was a handmade wooden cross where Arlo’s name was carefully carved. The flowers that surrounded it were fresh, like someone had placed them there just for him, and for a moment, all she could do was cry. Arlo had promised her that they would meet again one day, and there he was. She reached out, tracing the carved letters beneath her fingertips.
The wind blew, causing the tree’s delicate leaves to swirl around her as if they were pulling her into a soft embrace. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up towards the sky, imagining his eyes watching her from somewhere beyond this world.
He kept his promise. They met again.
Maybe not in the way that they had dreamed they’d meet again. Not with joined hands or shared laughter, but underneath the tree that had witnessed their love from the beginning. She didn’t forget. Neither did he.
And neither did the willow tree.