Picturesque

Chapter 21: Rosewood

"No, I think I'll just stay here," I said with a gentle smile. It wasn't that I didn't want to do something with her, but I felt a little afraid of moving around her. I was scared something else would slip.

She just nodded, looking down at her glass and moving it so that the ice cubes swayed around inside. "You're not... mad at me, are you?"

I fiddled with my pen. "No, of course not. Why?"

"Okay," was all she said, taking another drink. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. You can keep writing—I just wanted to sit here on the bench."

She said it as if I wasn't here first, and that she desperately wanted to sit on that specific bench, but I knew she just wanted to sit by me.

Smiling, I drew my knees up to my chest like she did and held my journal close to me, continuing to write. There were a silent few moments—the birds, a bee buzzing nearby, the trickling water of the bird fountain, Jo occasionally scratching herself mostly out of boredom. I think she had never sat in silence with someone before. She was used to running around, talking out of asses, doing impulsive things. With me, she just sat and watched the birds. I think she liked it.

I could feel her over my shoulder, so I turned and saw that she was peeking at what I was writing. She didn't look guilty when I caught her. She only asked, "Whatcha writing about?"

"None of your business," I said with a smile, drawing my journal to my chest. Luckily, I had stopped writing in my diary and was now writing in my other notebook, the one I used to write movies.

"It looks interesting," she said, obviously trying to not be so demanding in fear of scaring me away. "Is it a story?"

"Yea," I said, hesitating before pushing the journal away from my chest, setting it on my knees so she could see.

She leaned over with interest, her shoulder touching mine. "What's it about?"

"It's about California."

"That's it?"

"Well, no. It's about a man who goes to California looking for gold."

"Hmm," she hummed, leaning further against me so that we held each other's weight. "Do you write a lot of stories?"

"I have, yes," I calmly said as I played with the frayed edges of the paper. "I loved movies as a child, and I started writing my own movies, as I called them. They're just stories, though."

"Well, if you're gonna write movies, California is the best place to do it," she spoke, drinking the last of her lemonade. "What's in the other journal?" She pointed to the smaller brown one sitting on the other side of me, the one I was writing about her in.

"Oh, that's my diary."

"Can I read it?"

I laughed, closing my book. "Of course not."

She smiled, already knowing the answer and only having asked to see what I would say. I enjoyed amusing her. She looked so pretty when she smiled like that.

There were a few more silent moments as I drank the rest of the lemonade, and we watched a few birds come to the fountain. Suddenly, she said, "This is a rosewood." She pointed to the large tree that our backs were sitting against. "When I was a kid, I used to climb to the very top."

I was no stranger to climbing trees, as that was something Greg and I used to do together, although we did it in fear and trepidation, while I imagined a young Jo climbing it like a ladder with nothing but bravery. I remembered when Marty told me, that day in his office, about Jo climbing trees and falling out of them.

"It's a beautiful tree," I said, turning to look up at it. It was good for climbing, honestly. There were many thick branches that hung low enough to reach. "Do you want to climb it?"

She looked at me with an excited gasp. "You would climb a tree?!"

"I am a Louisiana girl, remember," I said with a chuckle, setting my notebooks to the side and hopping up to my feet on the bench, grabbing the limb that hung low and swinging myself onto it.

"I'll race ya!" she yelled, jumping up and grabbing another branch.

I was imbued with a childish delight I hadn't felt in a long time. The child in me died with Greg, but Jo was bringing it back to life with each interaction I had with her. She was so infectious, that girl. I giggled like an infant as I climbed the tree and she chased me, surprisingly slower than me.

"I'm gonna get ya!" she yelled, but I was halfway up the tree and she was far behind me, laughing like a church bell.

I was grabbing onto a branch when I heard the sound of bark scraping, and a sort of grunt, and then I heard a thud on the ground. Birds fluttered away from the tree in a hurry, flapping around my head. Gasping, I climbed around the tree and looked far down on the ground to see Jo lying on the grass on her back, her blonde hair spread out all around her head. "Jo!" I screamed. We weren't too far up, but the thud had been loud enough for me to hear clearly.

She didn't do anything for a moment, and I was worried that she was dead, already thinking of what the hell I was going to do with her dead body and how to explain it to her parents, but then she started laughing. The shock had strangled her only momentarily, but then it fueled her with a euphoric giggle that echoed through the trees.

"Oh my God," I breathed, relieved to know that she at least was not dead. Quickly, I climbed down the tree, surprised by my own expertise that was still in my head from a child. I jumped down and ran to her, but she was already standing up and brushing the dirt off her back, still giggling.

"Are you okay?!" I grabbed her shoulder and looked over her for any scratches or broken bones. To my surprise, there wasn't a single scratch or scrape anywhere on her. The only thing different from before she fell was the grass stains on her butt and a leaf in her hair.

"I haven't fell like that in so long," she said between her laughter, wiping the dirt off her butt.

I remembered when Marty said that Jo was invincible. How she would fall out of trees with no scratches. I couldn't help but smile, nearly in awe at how Marty's words had come to life in front of me.

"You're so stupid," I giggled, staring at her dumbfounded.

"Hey, that's a rude word!" she exclaimed, picking the leaf out of her hair.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "Bet you can't even spell it." It was a childish insult that I knew she would find amusing, and I watched the smile of an idea form in her eyes.

"Oh yea?" she countered, looking around the ground and finding a small, sharp rock. "Watch this."

She went over to the tree with the rock in her hand and brought it to the bark, pressing the sharp end into the tree's flesh and dragging it.

S-T-U-P-I-D she spelled on the tree. The bark ripped away under the sharp rock to show bright pink wood, making the word look funny written on such a beautiful pink color.

"That's why it's called rosewood," I said in awe as she stepped away and looked proudly at her work. "Oh, you spelled it wrong."

"What?!" she exclaimed, looking at the word in confusion.

I burst out laughing at how instantly she had believed me, and she looked even more confused until she realized I had pranked her. "You twerp!" She rushed forward with laughter and pushed me gently on the arm, looking at me with a wide, shocked grin. "I'm never climbing trees with you again," she said as she plopped down on the bench, a little out of breath.

Covering my giggles with my hand, I plopped back down beside her. "You're just mad I won."

She huffed and rolled her eyes playfully, but I could see the pink blush in her cheeks.

We sat there on the bench the rest of the morning, right under the word stupid etched in pink wood above our heads.