My name is Forester. No surname, just Forester. An old woman used to tell me that I started out very small (even smaller than a newborn child). Don’t worry. I was pretty much like my kind; normal. She threw me somewhere near the road years before, and there I grew.

Every morning she would water me as if I wasn’t getting enough from the rain. She’d talk stuffs about her late husband, Fredrick, and how much she misses him. She’d thank me every day for listening. The passersby thought she was crazy. But she wasn’t. Even if she were, I wouldn’t care. No one would usually come by and speak to someone like me. At least I had a friend who’d talk to me. Well, not anymore. My 150th birthday would come next week. And she could now celebrate hers with Fredrick.

With her gone, I felt lonely. No more drizzles from the watering can every morning. No more talks about dead loved ones. No more.

One day though, I felt something being carved on my back. It was a young lad shaping a heart for the beautiful lady beside him. It read, “It lasts forever babe –M and J”. I don’t think he was talking about me, because if he were, he’d be wrong.

I didn’t last forever.

Their once upon a time had a happily ever after. Their son, Peter, kind of took the place of the old woman. He didn’t water me every day. But he did talk to me every after school. He’d tell me about his crush, the bullies and stories about his friends. He gave me the name, “Forester” because he thought it fitted me. Peter was a cute 8 year old boy. He had always wondered about the heart on my back. He’d ask what M and J meant but how in the world could I answer?

This family would have a picnic under my shade every once in a while. They’d laugh, they’d talk and I’d be happy.

Peter taped a note on me because he wasn’t allowed to use the nail and hammer.

Dear Forester,

My mom said we would come back after grandma gets okay. I will miss you. Please take care of Batman.
PS. I still want to know who M and J are.

Love,
Peter
I guess people really do come and go. I wanted to hug him but I couldn’t. I wished I could walk. I wished I could just follow them. But these wishes never came true. Silly me.

One day, I felt an agonizing pain slicing through. It came from a chainsaw. I was screaming but no one could hear me. Not M and J, not Peter, not one.

What did I do?

I heard white people would come and save us. I had one on me but he and batman were not real enough to protect me.

As I slowed to my last seconds, I wondered what I did wrong. Was I a threat for people because I made them seem crazy? I don’t think I was, wasn’t I? Maybe, the humans just didn’t need me anymore.

I was in the way, so they brought me down. It wasn’t really me who blocked the path to progress. It’s the humans themselves. They put themselves first that’s why others behind couldn’t go forward.

I offered food, shade and even a friend, and in return, I got death. I guess this was the humans’ idea of a give and take relationship. I would never understand these creatures.

Where am I to go now? I hope somewhere with the old woman and that husband she kept on talking about. Maybe one day, M, J, and Peter could join us there. Maybe there, my screams and laughter would be heard. And maybe, just maybe, I could walk.

Sorry Peter. I couldn’t take care of Batman…

-Forester, Accacia tree, 149 years old, born August 6 1859, died July 30, 2009