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 said she had errands 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 grass blades reached up, fighting for the warmth of the sun, and I knew the holidays were 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 me when I realized this was the fate of all previous Christmas trees. Without hesitation, I jumped into the back seat. My eyes were once a magical cover, and everything never left the frozen and cold accumulation of good pine needles.
The truck pulled into a park I recognized but had never been to, too far to ride a bike there. My mom drove right behind the park where the trimmed grass ended and the forest began. The largest pile I saw was stacked with countless dead Christmas trees.
I wiped my finger on the foggy window to create a clear spot where I could see as my mom got out of the truck and walked around, stepping through the melted snow. Tree heat…