When you live in the middle of nowhere and have none to talk to, you begin to crave interaction. I suppose that I could have spoken to my parents, but they were loathe to talk of frivolous matters and often they were the cause of my various frustrations, including my isolation.
I had a dog once, and he was a great comfort for a while. He was put down, something happened and I don’t recall what it was. They refused to indulge me with another pet, each time they would shake their head and mutter something unintelligible before stalking off. It was somewhere around this time that I realised that people, animals, no matter who they are; they all leave regardless.
We lived on a huge farm, and I started exploring when I knew my presence would not be missed. And that was when I found the courtyard, with its crumbling gray walls. Nature had taken over this little orchard. But in the centre there was a little lemon tree and it became my new companion. I would escape here when I needed to get away from the tyranny of my parents, or the stillness of that great big empty house. Even though the tree offered no words, it offered a great tranquillity and calmness.
The tree had a name in my mind; I would call it Lenard the Lemon Tree. I would go and sit by the tree and talk all my frustrations out with Lenard. I would imagine Lenard replying and sympathising with me. He even on occasion gave me advice, and I would follow his advice for it always seemed sound. Lenard quickly became my best friend, and I would find reasons to go and visit him. Unfortunately, he could not move away from the little orchard, my little friend.
With the coming of Spring, Lenard bloomed and lush lemons lined his small branches. I remember his utter joy at blooming, how thrilled he was that he could share his gift with somebody who could appreciate them. He would regularly encourage me to pick that special fruit of his. I would take it home with me, and my parents would marvel at my find. Lenard’s gift of his fruit seemed to bring my parents closer to me, they took interest for once. I began to jealously pick large quantities from the branches of Lenard, hoping each day for the same praise from my mother and father. Lenard, being a truly giving person, did not begrudge my taking of fruit; he seemed equally pleased that it was bringing me closer to my parents. Lenard regularly tried to persuade me to speak to my parents, to create a relationship with them once more. I don’t think even he realised that he would initiate my craving for their affection and attention.
Spring started to pass into Summer, and eventually my parents were not so easily impressed by the lemons. The moments my mother and I spent in the kitchen making lemon muffins passed, and my fathers smile at the dinner table were becoming but fading memories in my mind. I began to do more to get simple praise, which would spark a small smile to my pale cheeks. Lenard was no more help as he had no more lemons to give up, and I would beg him to grow faster, to be able to give me more. I tearfully begged him, I tried to manipulate and twist him but he would not give me any more lemons. How was I to get my parents to talk to me? We began to fight him and I, and I regretfully kept away from Lenard for over a week.
During that week I became my old sullen self, I noticed the change immediately. I regretted that Lenard and I were fighting but even more I mourned over the loss of my parents. They walked around the house, with their blank masks over their faces, hiding their smiles beneath. How they taunted me. I relished seeing the smile, their eyes light up for me. How ironic that I’d rejected them for so long, and then one moment with them could change everything. I became a drug addict desperate for my next hit.
Desperation changed me. I could no nothing but make plans to please my parents. And Lenard, the more I wanted to make them smile, the more he had stood in my way. That insidious, devious lemon tree that jealously was trying to keep me to himself, unable to share. Everybody leaves and nobody could be trusted.
That night I crept back to the orchard, the blackness of the sky mirroring the hate in my heart. The only witness to my dreadful deed was the full moon. I stalked up to Lenard, and he didn’t even hear me coming until I stood in front of him. He immediately spoke lies to me, insisting that he had missed me and that we should put it behind us. I paused then, what was the ‘it’ that we should put behind us. He told me that I was selfish, and that I was sick. He told me that he knew what happened to my little dog, that I had tortured the dog beyond comprehension and that my parents had been forced to isolate me from everybody since then. I remember screaming at Lenard, insisting that he was lying to me and that was when I lifted the axe over my head and sunk it deep into the flesh of Lenard. In my rage, I raised the axe again and again ignoring the screams of Lenard until he lay dead on the floor. The moonlight shone down on Lenard, highlighting my deed. The unbearable silence settled into the orchard, I looked down at my hands and I could see the blood shining, always dripping. The axe slipped to the ground, and the last sound that was heard in that orchard that night was the hard fall of my feet on the earth.