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Lately, more people have been coming to the telephone.
At first, after Kiri went away, when it first appeared in the low branches of my birch tree, it was only neighbors who would come and call people on it.
Only neighbors, all people I recognized, would pick up the heavy receiver and talk to someone they knew. Or had known. And it didn’t bother me, unless I thought about calling Kiri, and then I wanted to plug my ears and sing lalala until the thought disappeared.
But there were only ever neighbors, no strangers, at the telephone of the tree.
Until the girl.
It’s a Sunday, early in the morning. I hadn’t slept well the night before, so I should be asleep, but something I can’t name makes me open my eyes and look out the window at my tree. I do this a lot, looking out at my tree, but suddenly today there is someone I don’t recognize.
Not a neighbor. A girl I don’t know.
She stands on the sidewalk, looking upwards. She has long hair and big eyes, both the color of a chestnut. Maybe that would be her tree, I think. If she lived here, it would be.
She twists a lock of her hair between her fingers, biting her lip, before she takes a few steps forward and picks up the telephone. I sit up straight. This hasn’t happened before. For a second I want to shout down at her, but then I stop.
The long-haired girl punches in a number on the rotary dial, taking deep breaths with every digit. She raises the phone to her ear.
Quietly, so quietly I almost can’t hear her from where I am, the girl murmurs, “Yuuki?”
She pauses for a moment. Her shoes shuffle in the dirt. Then I see her eyes light up. “Hi,” she breathes.
And just like that, the telephone of the tree is no longer just for neighbors.
The girl talks on the phone for a long time, sometimes waving her free hand around excitedly, but when she finally puts it down, her eyes are filled with tears. She sniffs and wipes them dry, and walks away with strong steps, more sure of herself than before. I watch her go, eager to know more.
The next day is Monday, but before school I notice that she’s back. This time, she’s with another person.
He’s a boy around her age, with dark messy hair and even darker circles under his eyes. His eyes dart back and forth, like he’s uncomfortable here.
“I promise you, it really works,” the long-haired girl says, leading the boy on by his hand.
“Well, it’s not that I’m doubting you or anything, I just…” The boy makes a strange face, like he’s trying to avoid remembering something. I wonder if that’s the face I make when I sing lalala or think about Kiri going away.
The girl, ignoring his protest, leads him over to my tree. She lets go of his hand, and they both stare at it for a little while.
“No, I can’t do it, I can’t,” the black-haired boy blurts out suddenly. He turns to go, but the long-haired girl puts both hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. “Hey. Yes you can.” Her voice becomes gentle. “He would want you to move on. Please.”
I know I should look away, but I can’t. Questions bubble up in my mind and pop. What do they mean to each other? Who are they calling? Why? I stare at them, wishing I could understand.
The boy nods at her, and she takes her hands off his shoulders, turning around to face the telephone again. He faces it as well, looking up at it with something like fear. “Let’s find out,” he mumbles.
Slowly, very slowly, he reaches over and dials a long, long number. He picks the phone up. He lifts it up to his ear with two hands, like it weighs a hundred pounds.
His voice cracks as he says, “Hello?”
Then his grip on the telephone loosens, one of his arms dropping to his side, and he starts to cry.
The black-haired boy talks to the mysterious “he” on the phone for even longer than the long-haired girl did, speaking so quietly that I don’t even know if she can hear him.
After a while, he puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. He says something else that I can’t hear, and then I see his mouth form the word “goodbye.”
He puts the phone back on its base up in the birch tree.
He stands still for a moment, wiping his eyes, and he turns around and wraps the long-haired girl in a tight hug.
She seems stunned, but she hugs him back, and they stay like that for a long time.
“Ayla!” Mom calls. “Time for school!”
I gasp. I almost forgot. But now I have another reason to get out of the house. Rushing downstairs, I quickly eat my breakfast and burst outside, hoping to catch them, to ask them who they are. But they are already gone.
I stand under my birch, kicking at the grass. I can’t help but feel disappointed.
Luckily, I won’t be for long.
A few days later, on Thursday, I’m sitting in my room thinking about what to get Kiri for an eleventh birthday present when I notice that there are two more strangers standing in front of the telephone of the tree. Different strangers.
I gasp, and quickly scramble over to the window. It’s late, and dark out, so I can’t see them very well, but they also look like a boy and a girl, both much older than me. The boy’s hair is long, making him look a little like those old-fashioned rock stars that Dad likes, and the girl limps a little as she walks forward.
“Is this it?” She asks.
“Must be,” the rockstar boy answers.
They both look at the telephone. The limping girl tilts her head. “Who should we call first?” She asks, quieter than before. My stomach does a flip. First?
The boy runs a hand through his hair, like he’s thinking hard. Finally, he answers, “Kawada. Who else? He…” he takes a breath, his face scrunching up. “He deserves to know we’re safe.”
I grip the windowsill without realizing it. What happened to them? I think.
The limping girl takes his hand, smiling reassuringly. “And he will. Let’s call.”
The rockstar boy gives her a strong nod. He picks up the phone, rotating the dial only twice, and holds it up between their heads so they can both hear.
He clears his throat. “Hey. Kawada?” He says. “You there?”
I see his eyes widen. The girl’s eyes fill with tears, and she squeezes his hand.
“Yeah, we hear you,” the rockstar boy says, his voice spilling over with emotion. “We’re here. We made it.”
The two of them talk to Kawada for too many minutes to count. They make even more calls after that, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying at what they hear on the other end.
When they finally walk away, the girl is still limping, but they are both smiling.
I let go of the windowsill and flop down onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know what to think. Maybe the strangers using the phone is a sign. Of what, though? I wonder.
I close my eyes. Maybe tomorrow more of them will come, and I will find out.
As it turns out, I’m right.
The next day, when I look outside, two boys I’ve never seen before are standing in front of my tree. One is tall, with short blond hair, who is bouncing on the balls of his feet. The other has brown skin and dark eyes that dart back and forth in suspicion.
They look as mismatched as two people could be, and yet here they are together. The blond-haired boy nudges the other’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s right there.” The other boy glares at him. “I can see it. I just don’t know how safe this is.”
The blond boy shrugs. “Well, we’re here, aren’t we? If something was going to happen, it probably already would have by now.”
The dark-eyed boy opens his mouth like he’s going to snap back at his friend, but he doesn’t. He only sighs, and then mutters, “Fine.”
“Yes!” The blond boy dashes forward and eagerly picks the phone up off its hook, the dark-eyed boy following behind. The blond boy dials a ten-digit number, and then waits. And waits. And waits.
“Clem?” He finally says timidly. Then his eyes go wide. “Clem!” He cries, his voice relieved, and he turns and grabs the hands of the dark-eyed boy. “It’s Clem, it’s her, I can really hear her!”
The dark-eyed boy freezes, looking almost uncomfortable. “U-Um,” he starts, but the blond boy has already turned back to Clem on the phone, talking excitedly. The dark-eyed boy rolls his eyes, but I can see that he is smiling.
He doesn’t let go of the blond boy’s hand until they walk away.
But my mind doesn’t have much time to think about what that could mean, because when I get back from school, there are more people at the telephone.
Three of them, actually. Two girls, one with bright red hair and a scowl on her face, and one with limp, pale blue hair and a strangely blank expression. The boy who’s with them seems entirely forgettable in comparison, and he fidgets with his collar as he stares at the phone.
The scowling girl elbows him in the side. “What are you waiting for?” She snaps. “Call him, you coward.”
The boy flinches. “Uh.” He starts to back away. “I don’t know if I should…”
The scowling girl looks absolutely furious, but the blank-faced girl puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “You can do it,” she says softly to the boy. “It will be okay.” She smiles. “He’s already forgiven you, you know.”
The boy blinks at her, his face brightening up a little. “Really?” He says, so quietly I almost don’t hear him. The blank-faced girl nods.
“Okay.” With a shaky hand, the boy reaches out and picks up the phone. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. The scowling girl glares. The boy clears his throat and tries again.
“H-Hello?” He stammers. Then he gasps, holding his other hand to his mouth. He looks like he’s trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. The blank-faced girl gently takes his hand. The scowling girl looks at the ground.
They leave after a while. Both the boy and the blank-faced girl talk to the person on the other end of the phone, but the scowling girl refuses. I stare after them as they walk away, amazed.
And the visits don’t stop there.
A redheaded girl with a pink stone on her necklace reluctantly picks up the phone and sighs, “Hello, Max.”
A tall boy with a tan and an eager little girl wearing roller-skates call their mother, the boy looking on with a slight smile as the girl excitedly talks about her adventures.
A boy in a black bomber jacket silently sobs as he calls someone named Bianca.
A disheveled man in a business suit picks up the phone. “Gemma?” He says. Then again, “Gemma?” Blinking, he puts the phone down and slowly walks away. Maybe she’s not answering.
More and more people come. A man with a strange haircut smiles as he talks to someone called Eddie.
A young woman in a bright red coat and hat and a boy wearing a seemingly broken gaming headset both call their fathers.
A group of older kids in brightly-colored clothing show up, a girl with stars in her hair telling her aunt stories of an amazing concert while holding tight to the hand of a girl with pigtails.
It’s amazing. It’s impossible. I can never look away. When Kiri gets back, I’ll have to tell them about it, tell them that my tree, our trees, are still standing tall, and that people from all over have been coming to make calls on that telephone.
Eventually though, the number of strangers coming to make calls dries up. Only a handful of people come per week, then only one or two, then none. I stare out the window, waiting for new visitors, but I see nothing.
But then, almost a month later, a few days before Kiri’s birthday, a boy appears in front of the telephone.
He has pale, pale skin and white hair, but the bags under his eyes are dark, and in his black coat he seems to blend in with the shadows that the branches cast on the sidewalk. I watch, mesmerized, as he looks cautiously both ways and steps up to my birch tree.
He flexes his fingers as he stares at the telephone. He seems like he’s going back and forth about picking it up, but after a few seconds he sighs and dials a number. He clears his throat for a while, maybe too long, before he speaks.
“Hi, Chester,” he says quietly. His voice sounds heavy. “How are you?”
He waits a few seconds, then sighs. “Right. Stupid question.”
I stare down at him as he clears his throat again. “Well. I… I was just calling to say, I…” He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Finally, as if the words are made of sharp pieces of glass, he says, “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know it was going to happen,” he continues, “I didn’t talk to you at all before, and I wish I did, I do. God, and it was an accident, and I should’ve done…” He puts his face in his free hand. “…Something, I don’t know.” A smile grows on his face, but it isn’t happy. “You were my best friend, Chester, and now…”
He stops speaking. The hand covering his face trembles. I want to tear my eyes away from this boy, but I can’t. Watching him speak to his best friend on the other end of that telephone, I want to sing lalala and cover my ears and go away from it all, but I can’t. And a thought comes into my mind, even though I try not to let it:
He’s like me.
Suddenly, I turn around. My body moves without me telling it to, jumping down off my bed and running down the stairs. My feet hit the steps in rhythm. I don’t know why I started running, why I care so much about this boy, but I know what I’m going to do.
I slam the door open and bound out onto the lawn. The boy still stands there, head in his hands. The telephone is back on the hook.
I stumble to a stop a few yards away from him, breathing heavily. I’m going to do it, I think. Now.
“Hey!” I cry.
The boy’s head jerks up, and he glances sharply in my direction. I flinch, afraid, but his eyes soften just a little when he notices me. “…Yes?” He says.
“Um.” I stand there, hands balled into fists at my sides, still resisting the urge to sing lalala, to not think. I talked to him. I have to finish what I started.
“This is my tree,” I say. He stares at me, as if unsure what to respond. I take a deep breath, and then I ask, “Are you okay?”
His eyes widen briefly, and then he smiles. It’s a tired smile, but this time it is definitely real. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He nods at me. “Thanks, kid.”
“You’re welcome.” A part of my brain tells me not to go on, but I do anyway. I take another deep breath in. “Your friend. Do you…” My words shudder to a stop, my thoughts whirling, but I need to say it. “Do you think he forgives you?” I blurt.
For a moment he looks stunned, and I feel endlessly guilty. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the response. But when he speaks again, he isn’t angry. “I don’t know,” he admits.
I open my eyes again, and the boy is staring at the sky. His words are slow and thoughtful. “But I think… I think even if he doesn’t, he wants me to live. Be happy.” He looks down at me. “You know?”
I blink. In that split second I think of Kiri, how similar this boy’s story is to mine, but then the thought is gone. The boy huffs a laugh. “That was a bit of a weird thing to say,” he says. “Don’t know why I’m bothering you with this. Sorry.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay…”
But he is turning to leave. “I should get going. Been out in the sun for too long,” he snorts. “Okay,” I nod.
He starts to walk away, back towards the street he came from. But then he glances back, just for a second. “Thanks again. It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I call, but he is already gone.
I stare at the waving shadows where he was standing, and then turn to my birch tree. I study the telephone nestled within its branches, that has brought the boy, along with so many other people, to my front lawn to make a call.
Ayla, I hear someone call, so faint it might only be a memory. Hello.
I notice that I am smiling, though I’m not sure why.
“Hello,” I whisper back.