Stumped

The three men arrived in their rusting white van. Armed with an arsenal of destruction weapons, they would eventually begin hacking at the tree. First, the youngest and most fit man climbed to the top of the tree. He wore special tree-climbing boots and was supported by a rope tied around his waist and to the sturdiest branch. He had with him his chainsaw and used it to saw the weakest, most thin branches. By the time he was done, he had created the world's largest bird's nest beneath him. The oldest of the three men took it from there. He gathered up a pile of branches and took them to the wood chipper, and repeated this single step until all of the branches were destroyed. The man on the tree had it pretty easy from there -- a few semi-developed dead branches and then the main event -- the trunk. You watched it all from your bedroom window.

The three men were hired to take down your tree and three of your neighbor's trees. An insect outbreak most likely got a hold of them and were killing off a bunch of trees in the neighborhood. After the workers took down the trunk of your tree, the third man used a heavy machine to grind away the stump. He looked happy doing it, knowing he had a place in the world. You're outside now and you give him a head nod up to acknowledge his good work.

The man finishes with the machine and covers the hole with what looks like a grassy soil mixture. The area is a bit uneven, and takes on a yellow hue. A passer-by might think a dog pissed all over the area, but never that a tree used to live there.

You reenter your house, walk upstairs back into your room, and notice the unobstructed view. Gone is the tree and everything becomes so clear to you. Your eyes focus to the left: Chris' pool. You remember the time -- about six years ago -- when Chris, your younger brother, and yourself were able to convince Brittany and Sarah to come swimming with the three of you. Sarah possessed the good upper body, Brittany the good lower body, and both of their faces were decent enough. You decide on Brittany even though there is nothing spectacular about her. Sarah had been flirting with Chris and you're not about to encroach on his territory. Sarah is the better looking one. Son of a bitch.

While in the pool, Brittany suggest you play a game. The name of the game now escapes you. One of the girls opens her legs and one of the guys is to swim through them. In the event of a successful pass, the girl is to put her legs a little closer together. You lose when the girl's legs are so close together that you crash into them before you are able to get through. This is a great game because losing is really like winning.

In the pool you try to put moves on Brittany. You get close to her and say things you think will impress her. She laughs you off and is more interested in your younger brother. He could care less about her. Chris is not able to close Sarah. Everyone gets out of the pool, dries off, and leaves unhappy.

Your eyes move gradually to the right and fix on the Rizvi's shed. Behind the shed is where Chris and you had your first egg-throwing experience. It was a warm summer night and the two of you were a couple of bored suburban middle-schoolers looking for something to do. "Hey, why don't we egg a house," you say. "Sure," Chris replies. "Have you ever done it before?" you ask. "Sure. Lots of times." "You're a liar."

The two of you agree on 12:30 in the morning. The perfect time. Everyone should be asleep and it's not like cops come through your neighborhood anyway. You are able to sneak out the back door with no problem. Your parents have work in the morning and go to sleep early regardless. Chris is not so lucky.

His parents are asleep but he has to pass by their room to make his way down the stairs and out the door. Chris' mom has the ear of an owl. The slightest creak of the stairs would wake her. Chris decides not to chance it. He places his house key in his pocket, opens his bedroom window, and removes the screen. He climbs out the window and on to the roof. From there, he is able to grab ahold of the basketball rim and drop down to his driveway.

You brought four eggs with you and hand two to Chris. You're afraid of the streetlights giving you away so you hide behind the Rizvi's shed and Chris follows you. "We can throw them from here," Chris says. "A few houses down they have a sliding door in the back. We can peg the shit out of it from here. It's not that far." You look over to the sliding door. It seems pretty far to you. You've never thrown an egg but you have thrown a baseball before. Chris has a better arm than you and you want him to go first.

Chris cocks his arm back and lets it fly. You gaze at the magnificent flying egg until you lose it in the darkness. Splat! A direct hit. "Holy shit," you say as you get ready to throw. You release. Splat! Another hit, just below where Chris connected. You become so excited and you body fills with adrenaline. You don't wait for Chris' turn. You throw again. This time with all your might. Splat! That one almost hit the roof! Splat! Chris had flung his last egg.

"We should get out of here," Chris says. "I'll see you tomorrow." Chris jumps back into his yard as you jump the Rizvi's fence and head across to your house. Your first act of petty vandalism and it feels so good.

Staring out your window and your eyes move to the Rizvi's front lawn. The Rizvi's didn't always live there. Before they bought the house, it had gone unsold for many months and the original owners had already moved out. No problem. You and the rest of the neighborhood kids adopted the house as your own. You played on the giant tire in the backyard and swung on the swings. Occasionally, each kid would bring food from home and you'd eat together on the patio. When basketball became boring, and it hardly ever did, you would play tackle football in the Rizvi's yard. It was the only house that wasn't fenced in -- plenty of room for a mock football field. The neighborhood kids don't play basketball or football nowadays. It's all about hockey. You can't drive anywhere without having to wait for a kid on roller blades to pull his net to the curb.

When the Rizvi's moved in you were devastated. The house you ate and played at, and took so much care of now belonged to someone else. At your age, you didn't know the first thing about home ownership but it felt like your house was being taken from you. This was supposed to be the house nobody wanted. Shortly after assuming ownership, the Rizvi's had a fence built. Your football field became but a distant memory.

The three men packed up their demolition tools and drove off. They left four piss-colored patches of grass in four different yards. Your once obstructed bedroom view is now a mirror to your past. That tree used to scare you as a kid. As you tried to sleep, its branches looked like monster's claws waiting to break though your window. You don't even sleep in this room anymore.

Why did it take the removal of a dead tree to help you remember? Why did you push these memories aside in the first place? You're sure of one thing: with loss comes recollection.