Me and My Imagination: Chapter 1, The Tree House

When you first wake up in the morning there is a split second where you experience complete freedom. When the troubles of the previous night and the upcoming day have yet to enter your consciousness. You can be anywhere and anyone. This is my favorite moment of the day. A moment of freedom.

My younger sister was one of the only friends I had. One of the few people I actually liked. We have spent our entire lives together save for the year I spent alone because she was not yet born.

She was the only person I have ever cared about. The only person I have ever truly loved. I was a year older than here, and other than my first year of life, We spent every moment together. We were each others best, and probably only friends.

We were always outsiders. It was hard for us to talk to anyone except each other. We didn't have the same interests as the other children. While they ran around frolicking and playing, my sister and I were huddled in a room reading.

When children at school came up to us asking about the latest superhero or Barbie doll we didn't have much to talk about.

We read a variety of books, but they were always nonfiction. Our father told us that life moved too fast to live in a fantasy world. As a result we filled our heads with tales of war and times of hardship.

Some parents believe that it is best to shield children from the truth of the world until a certain age. They ban them from viewing violent or graphic content under the guise that they were too young. Obviously our father was never like this.

We grew up in a small town outside Hartford, Connecticut, on a large upscale property with 10 acres of woods in the back yard. We often liked to wander around for hours lost in thought.

We were the children of wealthy parents; the offspring of caregivers more focused on their business than their kids. That's not to say they didn't love us, but they definitely could have shown it more frequently and with greater intensity. We loved our parents as well for the most part although we often didn’t show it. The relationship could be described as one of mutual respect on both sides. Instead we were taken care of by nannies and maids much of our lives. They acted as our surrogate parents when our biological ones were busy. My sister and I liked them too, but we did wish that our real parents could spend more time with us.

One morning, a few weeks before my fourteenth birthday, I was awoken by the smell of French Toast. It was early, around seven. I couldn't hear anyone talking downstairs so I assumed my parents were gone. I got out of bed and went into the hallway. The door to my sister’s room was closed. She must still be asleep, I thought. I thought about knocking on her door, but decided against it.

I went downstairs to find our chef cooking breakfast.

“Good morning, sir,” he said when he noticed me. I was never very fond of any of our hired help. What had I done at fourteen that warranted someone calling me sir?

My sister always liked it. She thought she was royalty, like she was for some reason better than everyone else. To be fair a lot of the time she was better than most thirteen year olds at all things academic. She did leave some to be desired when it came to athleticism.

“Sports are for stupid people,” she would tell me, to which I would remind her that both our mother and father were collegiate athletes, and then I would laugh at the look she gave me.

My sister was always very blunt with everyone she talked to which obviously didn’t win her a lot of friends.Luckily, I fell in love with her bluntness.Unfortunately I could never completely satisfy her. She always said that she felt like something was missing in her life. I always told her that she at least would have me.

What she wanted was parents. Of course she had those, but she wanted ones that were actually around. Someone she could talk to about her day that would actually listen. Someone who would be around her, not because they were hired to, but because they wanted to. But because they were hired help, she treated them like it. She ordered them around frequently and often, and they never even mumbled a word of contempt.

I smiled at the chef. I wasn't in the mood to talk, or even to eat. I wanted to be alone. I informed the chef that I would be going to the tree house and told him to get me when breakfast was ready.

I walked outside and into a dense wall of fog. I stopped to listen to the wildlife. I heard birds chirping as they also began the new day. It was the start of spring and they were all looking for a mate.

The tree house was a short walk into the woods and it was where me and my sister went to think and be alone. We spent a considerable amount of time there. The tree house was built on top of the tallest tree on the property. From the top I could see the entire house. I could see that the chef was still busy making breakfast. My sister was in the kitchen too now. It looked like she was saying something to him. Eventually she headed for the back door and towards the tree house.