A 'charlie brown' story: Becoming a Christmas Tree - 3rd Edition

This story was written from the perspective of a grumpy old fir tree. Retitled A 'charlie brown' story, I originally wrote this story in 2006 before I even started this blog. Although edited last night, I awoke early this morning fairly certain I wasn't done yet. The possibilities were: toss the whole thing out, cut it in half, or just do some more editing. I re-read it this morning and have decided on more editing for what is a story as 'charlie brown' as the Christmas tree.

A 'charlie brown' story: 

Becoming a Christmas Tree - 3rd Edition

When I was growing up, older trees talked excitedly about becoming Christmas trees when the snow was deep and cold. Slowly each year, one by one or in great bunches, many were taken away. None ever came back to tell me what it was really like. I was one of the older trees now, but too short and stumpy, my branches too crooked to be a fancy Christmas tree I started to give up. I heard it all. One cold, snowy winter, I paid attention to all those stories about becoming a Christmas tree. All the stories were only rumours. You know ~ from small families of humans coming into the forest for their own trees. The words 'warm’ and ‘dry’ with just a drink of water every now and then, did catch my attention. I didn’t think I’d care for the tinsel and lights and bright coloured balls, but thought maybe they were lighter than heavy snow that I put up with every winter. Maybe quieter than the noisy birds? But those words, 'warm and dry', sounded so good. Maybe I would be chosen the next time. 

~

“Hey Joe! What about this one? Should we leave it? Doesn’t look like much more than firewood to me.”   

“Nope, we’re supposed to take everything.  The others can figure out what to do with it. We just cut’em.”  

~

And now look at me. If you can. Down here, at the bottom of a pile of a great pile of us. Then, the humans come in here pawing through us all. When their hands do find me, they think I am part of some other tree. Pulling at me then letting go in disappointment when they saw my crooked bent branches.

And the words I’ve heard! The very worst? “Firewood ~ that’s all it’s good for.” I heard that over and over! I never wanted to even singe! Warm and dry only ~ not burned to ashes! After all I’d been through, I deserved to be decorated too.  

As if that weren't enough, I heard “Well that’s a charley brown Christmas tree if I ever saw one.” And: “Someone will buy him ~ someone with no sense and too many decorations."  

Another rudely said:  “Our room is far too grand for that ugly old stump. I don’t even know why they’ve kept it in this lot.” 

The only good thing about being on the bottom of the heap? No nasty crows and filthy seagulls sitting on me after closing time. Occasionally some dog would have the audacity to sidle up to me, lift his leg and urinate on me! The best times were when a cat or another small furry creature would nestle into my thin branches. Then I did get a bit of warmth. 

Oh, I so wished these humans would just get on with it. These heaps and heaps of bushier trees piled on top of me are heavy! I really don’t know why I thought it would be any better here than in the forest. Standing up to my branches in snow, my needles getting sopping wet in rain, and birds relieving themselves on my branches seemed bad enough. I'm in a much bigger fix here!  

~

Finally alone in the Christmas tree lot, lights still blinking over the big sign: ‘Fresh cut Christmas trees!’ Fresh! Hmph! I’ve been lying here in this muck for a month. All the others have gone and here I am ~ cold and lonely, with my bare bottom exposed for all to see. Soggy branches on the bottom and drying branches up top! My branches stiffer and colder with each incredibly slow day. Being fire wood is beginning to sound good. Oh, I do wish that little human would stop crying. He’s dripping salt water all over me. He’s holding my top branch so tight he’s going to take all my few remaining needles off! ‘Get that human away from me!’ There was no wind to make me talk, so my plea was useless.

Then I heard a soft voice reminding me of home in the forest in springtime: “OK sweetie, he’s really not much! I don’t know what your dad’s going to think. You remember what he said? He wanted a tall, bushy tree and this one is short and stumpy.” 

Surprise! I was picked up out of the muck! It felt so good to at last to have the dirty melted snow shaken onto the ground. I could hear my branches sigh with relief as the young mother tucked me in the back of the little family’s beat up old car. I could let my branches relax. My crooked trunk lay on a warm, soft blanket in the old car.  The little human was no longer crying, thank goodness. One chubby little hand stretched from the front seat to hold onto that unruly twig at my very top. In old car’s warmth, I suddenly felt like a decorated Christmas tree with a star on top. The little human and I fell asleep together.

"It's not what's under the Christmas tree that matters, it's who's around it."

~ Charlie Brown