The Girl in the Willow Tree

The sound of the rushing water filled Jayla’s ears as she awoke by the river. Misty air tickled her skin, welcoming her to the day. As she sat up, several small pebbles fell off her cheek, leaving indents on her skin from the night spent snuggling the dirt. Weeds tangled in her hair tugged at her head, like the earth didn’t want to let her go.

Across the river watched the willow tree, majestic as a god. Its lanky branches dipped low, brushing against cool water. The last delicate drops of morning dew fell with the gentle breeze, splashing like tears. Jayla gazed up at the lush green canopy, mystified by the sunlight peeking through, winking at her. The willow whispered its secrets, hidden beneath the wind. Anyone else would have lost the meaning in nature’s symphony, but Jayla heard the message crystal clear, as she always had. 

The soft crunch of pebbles crept up from behind. Over her shoulder, Jayla recognized the familiar sight of her mother carefully stepping around the wildflowers and carrying the soft blue blanket. Without a word, her mother wrapped her in the blanket and scooped her up. Even though she was almost ten, Jayla was still much lighter than what her doctors said she should be, allowing for her mother to carry her with ease. With her arms around her mother’s neck, Jayla waved goodbye to the girl in the willow tree.

 Every morning since she was five years old, Jayla has woken up beside the river to the sight of the willow tree. Her first steps were in the direction of the river. The sound of the water was as familiar as her own heartbeat. It calmed her when she couldn’t remember anything from before she was born. This has been a crisis since Jayla’s birth, because she felt the lost memories scratching at the edges of her consciousness, a secret she felt incomplete without. Gazing at the willow tree gave her hope that she might remember the things that happened before her first breath. 

Every night, Jayla’s mother tucked her in and bolted the bedroom door from the outside, but regardless, Jayla found her way out. In the beginning, her mother was furious with concern and confusion. She pushed heavy furniture in front of the door, bought more locks, tried pleading with her daughter, but to no avail. Doctors attributed it to sleepwalking, because it was much easier to believe that a single mother forgot to secure a door over the impossibility that such a small child could escape a locked room. Over time, her mother adapted and accepted this pattern on account that she never found a single scratch on her daughter. 

From the warmth of the cabin, Jayla watched the morning light trickle in through the kitchen window as her mother set down a hot bowl of oatmeal. Then, clutching a steaming mug of coffee, her mother sat at the wooden table with her daughter and enjoyed the silence. Soon Jayla would be off on the bus to school, where she would be misunderstood by teachers and peers as she escaped into her daydreams, and her mother would tie an apron around her waist to serve the noisy trucker crowd at the greasy diner down the road. But for now all was quiet and calm and right. 

***

Under fluorescent lights, Jayla and her mother sat across from Mrs. Strid at the C-shaped table for Jayla’s annual IEP meeting. Mrs. Strid, the Special Education teacher, worked with Jayla since she was in kindergarten. Each year, Jayla spent less time in the general ed classroom and more time with Mrs. Strid. 

Mrs. Strid presented Jayla’s mother with numerous examples of Jayla’s work. Every paper was covered in sketches of a willow tree with a girl in the trunk. 

“As you know, this has happened since we taught Jayla how to hold a pencil,” Mrs. Strid sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I have tried every motivator in my tool belt. This is an extremely dysfunctional hyperfixation.”

Jayla’s mother looked tired. Mrs. Strid looked tired. Jayla gazed up at them, squinting in the artificial brightness. 

“Is she still sleeping by the river?” Mrs. Strid asked.

“Yes, nothing I do can stop her.”

Mrs. Strid leaned forward, “Michelle, it is imperative that you keep your daughter from going to that river. It is not safe.”

Emotion rose in her mother’s eyes, but was interrupted as Jayla said, “This isn’t real.”

Her mom and Mrs. Strid looked at her curiously.

“This is a dream. Or a memory,” Jayla continued. 

The two women rarely heard Jayla speak. Her mom’s eyes filled with more tears. Mrs. Strid scrunched her eyebrows together sternly.

“What do you mean by that?” Mrs. Strid asked. 

But Jayla was done talking. She grabbed a pencil and began sketching at the corner of one of the papers on the desk, starting with the trunk, then the long branches like arms trying to welcome her home. 

***

A week later, as Jayla’s mother cooked dinner, a knock sounded at the front door. She opened it to find two middle aged women wearing slacks and blazers, each holding a clipboard. The shorter one had frizzy red hair and horn rimmed glasses, while the taller one had graying brown hair and round glasses. They both looked Jayla’s mother up and down and jotted something down before speaking.

“Hello Ms. Sallow, we are with Child Protective Services. I’m Miss Madow and this is Miss Prickler. May we come in?” the taller one asked. 

Mute from shock, Jayla’s mother stepped aside and opened the door wider. The CPS women inspected their surroundings critically, noting the dirty dishes in the sink and shoes piled by the front door. 

“We are here because there are concerns for your daughter’s safety and well being. Where is she now?” Miss Prickler began.

“Jayla is down by the river,” Jayla’s mother croaked.

The CPS women exchanged a judgemental glance and scribbled in their binders. 

“Is it true that Jayla sleeps outside every night?” Miss Prickler asked.

Jayla’s mother closed her eyes and inhaled, gathering strength for the rest of the conversation. 

“Yes. Jayla likes to sleep by the river. I lock her door from the outside every single night, but somehow she always escapes. The river is really not far. You can see it from the driveway. It’s very important to her, to be by the river. I don’t know why but it is, and it’s not doing her any harm, so this is how we live.”

The CPS women scribbled furiously in their binders, noting that Ms. Sallow was both ‘earnest’ and ‘helpless’.

“Being a single mother can be very challenging,” Ms. Madow sighed as she closed her binder. 

“I’m doing my best.”

“I am sure you are, but the truth is that you can’t let your child sleep outside every night. That is considered neglect,” Ms. Madow explained..

“The river is important to her!” Jayla’s mother insisted. 

“Then take her to the river during the day. The bottom line is this: if you are not able to keep your daughter safe then we will have to look into relocating her. We will check in again soon,” Ms. Prickler declared.

Jayla’s mother was speechless as the two women walked out the door.

Outside, Jayla stood in the bushes and watched the CPS women get in their car and drive away. She launched a rock from each fist in the direction of their car, but neither stone hit. She found her mother sobbing at the kitchen table, so she got the blue blanket and draped it over her.

***

That night, her mother decided to sleep in Jayla’s room. It was the only option she had never thought to try. Now that the true consequence for unusual behavior had come barging through her front door, protecting her daughter was all that mattered. 

Jayla was unphased as her mother dragged a mattress next to her bed. After securing the deadbolt with the key, her mother kissed Jayla goodnight and fell asleep. 

At midnight, her mother awoke to an insistent tapping on glass. Jayla was sitting straight up, staring at the window. As shadow filled the frame, her mother stifled a gasp. It was formless and dark, moving past the window pane into the room. Even in the colorless dead of night, the shadow’s inky black depth was distinct from the darkness around it. Jayla dropped her bare feet to the floor and padded over to the door. The shadow followed at her heels. Her mother stumbled to block the door, but the shadow slipped beneath and the door creaked ajar. Jayla’s eyes were closed as she pushed past her mother.

“Jayla! Jayla, stop!” her mother screamed, but Jayla did not respond as she swiftly descended the stairs.

Moving as quickly as she could, her mother embraced Jayla before she could reach the door. Jayla jerked and thrashed wildly, wrestling them to the floor. Jayla bit her mother’s arms and scratched at her face, but her mother held tight as blood dripped from her skin. Then Jayla began to howl, a horrible haunting sound, more like a storm than a human noise. Rain pounded on the window as a heavy wind burst through the front door, even though the skies had been clear just a moment ago. Her mother was losing her grip in the chaos. With strength impossible for a person of her size, Jayla ripped her mother’s arms off her own body. As Jayla lunged for the door, her mother grabbed her around the waist and sunk back into her heels. She was a stout woman, but her feet slid as Jayla gripped the door frame and pulled herself towards it, screaming out at the sky desperately. With a hard kick to her mother’s stomach, Jayla used the momentum to break away and disappear into the night.

Her mother landed hard on her back, knocking the breath out of her, so it took her a moment to notice that the torrential rain had stopped. She scrambled to her feet and took off running barefoot out the open door. 

Of course, she found Jayla sitting by the river. 

“Jayla! Jayla, honey!” her mother gasped as she approached her crossed legged daughter. Jayla’s eyes were open, gazing softly ahead, unphased by her mother kneeling beside her. 

Jayla’s mother followed her daughter’s gaze and saw the shadow floating on the trunk of the willow tree. 

“What are you looking at?” her mother whispered.

“The girl,” Jayla replied.

“What girl?”

Jayla didn’t respond as she met her mother’s gaze. A cold chill raced up her mother’s spine, like she was staring into a stranger’s eyes. 

“You have to go back to bed,” Jayla’s mother begged. “Please, honey. You can’t sleep out here anymore.”

“I have to stay.”

Knowing better than to try to grab her daughter again, her mother settled into the river bank. 

As the first pink and purple shades tinted the sky, Jayla’s mother blinked open her eyes to see her daughter sitting up. Jayla swayed gently, with her arms floating out the side. Across the river, the willow tree’s branches swayed in rhythm. The river was as still as glass. Jayla’s eyes were closed as she danced in slow motion with the willow tree. Her mother watched with amazement until dawn became day and Jayla laid back down.

***

Night after night, Jayla’s mother peacefully followed her daughter from the bedroom to lay beside the river. At dawn, she watched Jayla sway with the willow tree through sleep heavy eyes. When light blue crowned the sky, she carried her daughter back to the house and fed her breakfast. For a few days, she almost forgot about the CPS women, until they visited Jayla at school.

As they sat in the counselor’s office, Jayla didn’t respond to a single question these strange women asked her. With her mother sleeping next to her lately, Jayla felt closer than ever to remembering what happened before she was born. A fresh sense of strength to reach for the missing memories had grown within her the past few days. Her hope consumed her thoughts so intensely that she didn’t tune into what the CPS women were saying until Miss Madow repeated herself, “Do you understand? You could be taken away from your mother. Why are you sleeping in the dirt every night?”

“You can’t take me,” Jayla said, startling the women. 

“Is there something wrong in your house? Does your mother lock you out?” Miss Prickler asked in the high pitched voice adults use with children.

“No,” Jayla replied.

“Is there anything going on that you want to tell us about? We’re here to help you,” Miss Madow offered.

Jayla stared at them blankly until they allowed her to return to class.

***

After school, Jayla dropped off her backpack at her house, kissed her mother on the cheek, and hurried down to the river, like always. The willow greeted her with the usual subtle lifting of branches that could have easily been mistaken for the wind. Jayla waved back and stood at the edge of the water. She usually didn’t want to get wet as she didn’t know how to swim, but today she dipped her finger in the clear cold current. The willow lifted its branches a second time, as if sensing Jayla’s melancholy. 

“They’re going to take me away,” Jayla mumbled.

The willow’s whisper, the same two words as always, was carried by the wind to Jayla, “Come home.”

 Jayla submerged her hand, feeling the sting of cold snap her awake, like the opening of a gate. Suddenly. she remembered something new, a bright white light like the sun. She knew what she had to do. It was time to come home. 

The water was freezing as Jayla stepped into the river for the first time in her life. The willows whispers were louder now, “Come home. Come home. Come home.” The girl in the willow tree waited eagerly. Jayla’s feet ached as the slippery rocks pressed into her arches. The water rose to her knees, and then her waist as she reached the middle of the river. Her audience cheered with silent joy as Jayla neared. But the current was strong, and with her next step she stubbed her toe on a rock and lost her balance. Just before the water closed over her head, Jayla looked up at the willow tree and remembered, for the first time, how it felt when the wind tickled the leaves. Then, without a sound, she was swallowed by the river. 

For a moment nothing happened, then a form of pure white light the size of a small girl rose from the place where Jayla took her last breath. It floated over to the shadow and together they melted into the willow tree.

With relief, the willow tree welcomed her home, and all was complete again. Out of all the lives, this one came closest to understanding. However, the end is always the same. There is healing, there is growth, and eventually, all is renewed.