I was at home in elementary school, wearing an itchy sweater that I didn't like, drawing stars on the foggy window between sneezes and coughs, when my mom told me she had a chore for me to run, and I couldn't leave. Alone at home. Outside, the snow began to melt, and green patches appeared beneath the deep snow. The blades of grass reached up, fighting for the warmth of the sun, and I realized that the holiday was over.
I first saw it lying next to the back of the truck. Our Christmas tree, stripped of lights and ornaments. I felt a shockwave pass through my body when I realized this was the fate of all previous Christmas trees. Without hesitation, I jumped into the back seat. My eyes were once enchanted, and everything never left the frozen and frosted pile of good pine needles.
The truck pulled into a park I recognized but had never been to, and it was too far to ride a bike there. My mom drove just behind the park where the mowed grass ended and the woods began. The largest pile I saw was stacked with countless dead Christmas trees.
I wiped my finger on the foggy window, creating a clear spot where I could see my mom getting out of the truck and walking around, breaking through the melted snow. The tree heat…