The Tree Goddess

by Tom Raimbault

  Unfortunately, Sara now found it necessary to explain herself to Mark as to what she was doing alone on the nature path. “I'm going for a walk over at the bike path… It's not bad outside…”

  Oh, but it was bad outside! Mark would see that she understood this. No one in his or her right mind would ever consider hiking in frigid temperatures. And to make matters worse, Sara was woman, alone in the woods at 7:30 in the morning. Reminded that it wasn't quite 50 degrees, she was next asked if mace or a taser was carried.

  “Mark, I'm fine! I've been doing this for years… Well, I'm going to let you go so you can get back to sleep… Okay, bye.”

  Brian wouldn't have thought that it was too cold outside. The woods were beautiful, especially in autumn. This was the same path that they shared together; walking, jogging or biking at least twice a month. And although Sara was alone, Brian's voice spoke as-if walking next to her. It was a welcome fantasy that often filled the gap of his sorely, missed presence.

  His imagined voice declared, “Yep, fall is here. Pretty soon we won't be able to walk. We'll have to get the snowmobiles out.” And of course he would throw in some silly joke, a jab that made fun of insurance agent stereotypes. “Do you have insurance, Sara?”

  Uh-oh! Not again! Smiling at the joke of someone who was not there, Sara deliberately replaced it with the gentle reminder that Brian was truly gone. Then she reminded herself of the need not to relapse into those overpowering fantasies.

  People mourn in different ways, and Sara had an unusual way of coping with the loss of the man she loved with all her heart shortly after the tragedy. She heard of people who maintained relationships in the “astral world” with the use of directed dreams and fantasies. Strangers sometimes connect this way; why not people who were close in life with a desire to maintain a loving bond? Sara may have lost Brian's love in this world, but she knew he was someplace else, continuing to love her. She simply needed to focus on that realm and continue the bond with the man she felt was her soul mate. Hugging her pillow at night while hoping to have another vivid dream of Brian, or having strong daydreams of him at day; his sorely missed presence was still with Sara to the point that it was very real. It was almost too real.

  For months, Sara lived in this fantasy realm while talking to her deceased soul mate. He was with her while she drove; he was with her at work; and he was with her during breakfast, having detailed conversations. Eventually, Sara realized this to be unhealthy and had considered that perhaps she was having temporal lobe hallucinations. Counseling was soon followed.

  There are healthier ways to mourn the loss of a loved one. And it's true; we can resume a relationship with someone who has passed into the next world through prayer, feeling that person watching over us and maintaining certain traditions followed when he or she was alive. But we must accept the fact that a loved one is gone. Having strong, overpowering fantasies that a deceased love one is still with us, in person, can be detrimental. During her therapy, Sara followed the suggested homework, visited Brian's grave and spoke out to him that she needed to move on. And after weeks of taking it one day at a time, she pulled out of the overpowering fantasies and moved on.

  Still, on that Saturday morning in October, Sara felt that a much-deserved, fleeting fantasy wasn't a bad thing. Besides that, Brian probably was with her on that nature path.

  She softly replied to Brian's suggestion of riding snowmobiles, “Well Brian, I don't think snowmobiles are allowed out here, not in this town; you know Sillmac.”

  After the morning walk, she stopped at the bakery where she and Brian often visited. Since the bakery offered a dining area, she sat down and enjoyed her fresh bagel and orange juice. “So how are things up there, Brian? Sorry I couldn't order your cinnamon bun and coffee; you understand.”

  Being that Sara offered a mini-bakery at her own coffeehouse, Brian often playfully reminded her of supporting the competition. He did so at that moment as well. “How do you like that? The owner of the Mapleview Coffeehouse is sitting down at another bakery, drinking their coffee. It's not as good as yours, right?”

  She had to be careful not to smile too much. Only crazy people smile and laugh to themselves. And then she thanked him for the time spent on that Saturday morning while throwing away the wrapper and empty orange juice bottle. He was gone and it was time to come back to reality.

  A short drive back to Mapleview, Sara quick showered and then paid her Saturday, morning visit to the coffeehouse where employees had greeted their boss. All was in working order and her small bakery was nearly depleted. That's okay; having too much waste at the end of the day was not a good thing. The coffeehouse closed at 5:00 on weekends. Since midmorning was nearly over, people wouldn't be looking to eat donuts and pastries in the afternoon.

  Sara offered, “Do you girls want to go on break while I'm here?”

  Jessica and Lynn had been working since 6am and handled the Saturday morning rush. Now slow, Sara could man the counter with maybe only one or two customers; customers like Daren who now entered and greeted Sara.

  He was a regular customer, most friendly and a very, good looking man. He spoke while approaching the counter, “Hey there; how's things?”

  The need for Daren to make deliberate small talk was so obvious. Sara often wondered if he came in just to see her.

  She exchanged the greeting, “Good morning!”

  Ah, but despite his good looks, wonderful charm and money; the man had one turnoff that prevented Sara from having any interest. Daren was married, as evidenced by the wedding band that held the massive wad of cash—20s and 10s rolled up and counted with his right.

  Daren made his request, “I'll have a medium pumpkin spice coffee.”

  Did he really need to count the ridiculous amount of money to verify there was enough for the beverage? Sara responded, “Sure, coming right up.”

  Sara was an incredible woman to drool at, and Daren painfully yearned for her. Mary was well endowed, herself; but Sara probably had the biggest pair of breasts in all of Mapleview. Mary had a robust body frame, but certainly not rubenesque like the woman who owned the Mapleview Coffeehouse. Daren liked women of all sizes, shapes and colors. There were so many that he was literally in love with. And there was something so intriguing, so sexy about a chunky lady. As far as Daren was concerned, a little “muffin top” gave the appearance of being healthy, cute and very cuddly on a cold, winter night.

  Sara filled the medium sized cup with the popular blend for the season. Suddenly, her cell phone rang. Not a big fan of answering calls in front of customers, she merely checked the number with the intention of calling back. But it was the unrecognizable number that had called twice while on the walking path earlier that morning.

  She looked up at Daren in apology, “Excuse me.” And then she answered her phone, “Hello?”

  This time there was definitely a voice as it called out, “Sara?” The voice rang through the static and produced a flood of memories, bringing Sara nearly to tears. It was the voice of Brian—impossible! And he continued to call out, “Sara, can you hear me?”

  The memories and near tears were quickly replaced by distress and confusion as she quickly snapped the phone shut and focused on the customer. The lid was placed on the cup and brought over to the counter.

  Even Daren in his selfish quests took notice of the disturbed look on Sara's face. “Is everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  “No, I'm fine, just a wrong number. That'll be $1.89”.

  He flipped through the ridiculously, oversized roll of money and pulled out a ten. It's funny; only moments ago, Sara resisted any possible hints of flirtations from the good-looking, married customer who often entered. Now she savored every moment in giving him the change back. Being that Daren was the only customer in the store, Sara would soon be alone in the case of another baffling and frightening call.

  How do you tell a stranger to stay for company, much less explain an impossible phenomenon? There is no
way to ask a stranger of this. Daren took the change and brought the cup of java to the cream and sugar table where a quick pour and stir happened all too quickly. The bell sounded as the door opened. Sara was now alone. Hopefully the girls would soon return from their cigarette break or whatever they were doing outside. Maybe they were having a quick and sensible breakfast at one of the fast food restaurants nearby.

  Steve Coldsworth was up late the previous evening, touching up parts of his masterpiece painting, the Tree Goddess. He could have slept in later, but Steve accepted an offer for some Saturday, afternoon overtime at the sawmill and lumber distribution warehouse. Much in need of a serious java jolt before work, he stopped at the Mapleview Coffeehouse for his regular cup of Joe with a shot of espresso.

  Sara nearly appeared relieved to have seen him enter. Steve recognized her from the numerous times previous of visiting the coffeehouse. But this was the first time Steve had taken notice of Sara's enormous breasts with cleavage that she proudly displayed in her low, cut blouse. If that weren't enough, nipples protruded through her bra and blouse, and it wasn't easy for Steve to keep his eyes off them. They were the perfect breasts for the Tree Goddess!

  “Hi, can I help you?”

  Steve peeled his eyes away from Sara's breasts and gazed up at her face. “Yeah, give me a medium coffee and throw in a shot of espresso.”

  Sara wasn't unfamiliar with requests like this. Many people came in asking for two or three shots of espresso in a cup with ice. There's been an age-old argument of whether or not espresso contains more caffeine than regular coffee. Some experts claim there is less while others claim there is more. Still, the Mapleview Coffeehouse seemed to be gaining a reputation as a legal pharmacy for liquid crack. Sara didn't mind. Shots of espresso added to the charge so that an ordinary cup of coffee could be double, even triple in price.

  She gladly announced, “One hammerhead coming right up!” A coffee expert certainly boasts her knowledge of the various beverages made.

  While preparing the customer's beverage, Sara's cell phone rang. Why would she do the unthinkable? Why would she answer to the unrecognizable number that had spooked her moments ago? Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was a need to prove to herself that Brian's voice was only imagined through the harsh static. She looked up at the customer and apologized before answering.

  “Hello?”

  The voice spoke through loud and clear, “Sara, it's Brian!”

  Such cruelty! Such a mean joke! Sara darted into the backroom, barely withholding her tears. The phone was no longer at her ear, but she could see the call was still active. And Brian's deceased voice yelled through the receiver, “Sara!”

  The phone was snapped shut and the battery removed. Who was doing this? The voice was so perfect. It couldn't have been her imagination that time. Was Brian's family so cruel as to play a wicked joke?

  Nervously pressed for time, Steve watched as Sara emerged from the back room with eyes that had been crying. She sniffed while speaking nasal, “That'll be $3.78”

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon overtime at the sawmill and lumber distribution warehouse required the simple task of transporting grosses of plywood from the sawmill to the showroom floor. Licensed to operate a forklift, the uniquely-creative, starving and frustrated artist spent a few hours slowly and carefully driving the lift with hundreds of pounds while observing safety.

  Such a job required strict attention to detail. But after a few hours of monotonous driving, backing, raising and then lowering, Steve began to think of his Tree Goddess painting. The woman at the Mapleview Coffeehouse had remarkable breasts, indeed. But would breasts that large disturb the essence of the painting while distracting the onlooker from the art?

  And then there was the reality that outside her protruding nipples and smooth cleavage that displayed through the low, cut blouse, Steve had yet to see much of anything. Too bad there wasn't a small device that would enable Steve to freeze time. He could enter the Mapleview Coffeehouse where the small device would be activated.

  Steve created a daydream in which everything in the Mapleview Coffeehouse had stopped! One second, the well endowed woman behind the counter was preparing his beverage. The next, she was in suspended animation—thanks to the small device that enabled Steve to freeze time! As if walking throughout a stationary image, Steve freely entered behind the counter and lifted up her blouse which exposed a bra about to burst from enormous mass and weight. Undoing her bra let it all hang out! Smooth and milky white, the breasts were ginormous in size, almost frightening. Steve caressed, squeezed and explored every inch of her bare breasts, taking mental photographs while admiring how the breasts, themselves, nearly bulged as if to burst.

  Satisfied, he struggled with the ginormous mass and barely refastened her bra. The blouse was pulled back down and Steve walked in to the position behind the counter where the time-freezing device was deactivated. Clueless of what had just happened, the woman behind the counter merely had the sensation that things didn't fit right, underneath.

  Customers at the sawmill and lumber distribution warehouse observed as the crazed, forklift driver sped down the main isle of the showroom floor and past the cash registers. He looked as though having some sort of mental seizure, completely oblivious and just staring off into space. It was necessary for parents to yank their small children off the deadly path of the runaway forklift. Hundreds of pounds of plywood approached the brick wall that had an employee break room on the other side.

  CRASH!

  The explosive crash snapped Steve out of the daze. “Damn it!” The uniquely-creative, starving and frustrated artist had another unfortunate vision from the Tree Goddess while driving the forklift. The mess that lay before him was a pile of bricks and drywall dust that lay over the pushed break room table. Fortunately, the only person on the other side of the wall was his supervisor who sat on the adjacent side of the table as the forklift battered through the wall.

  Poor Steve, he was in big trouble now as the supervisor called out, “That's it, Coldsworth! You've just lost your forklift privileges!”

  Chapter 32

  Years ago, when originally conceiving of owning a coffeehouse in Mapleview, Sara planned to remain closed on Sundays. I'm sure many of the business owners in downtown Mapleview thought the same. And perhaps some of these small shops and outlets do observe the old fashioned rule. But when it comes to coffee, do lovers of this drink refrain from their daily java jolt on Sunday? The fact is Sunday brings in many weekend shoppers, tourists and simple residents who can't get enough of the Mapleview Coffeehouse blend. Guess what! Sundays became regular days of operation for the Mapleview Coffeehouse!

  People could wait until 8am, of course. Throughout the workweek and Saturday, Sara's business opened the door at 6am. But when first starting years ago, Sara was the sole operator and needed at least one day to sleep in. And the same can be said of the girls who now open the shop on Sundays. They should be able to get some rest after a Saturday night, out, perhaps even join the family for church.

  And it's a good thing that her business had grown to the point that there were shift supervisors who handled the business opening on weekends. On the Sunday morning that followed the Saturday of terrifying phone calls, Sara needed to make a trip to the cemetery where Brian was buried. It was about an hour drive from Mapleview. Maybe that fleeting fantasy during Saturday morning's hike made it necessary for a gentle reminder that Brian was gone.

  Sara hadn't been to Brian's grave in over a year-and-a-half, much less seen his family members since the funeral. It wasn't that she felt awkward visiting her deceased fiancé's grave as much as she feared encountering his family. Recall that at the funeral, Brian's mother had spoken the damaging words, “Maybe if you weren't such a backseat driver, my son would still be alive!” But no one rushed in to hold back the woman from speaking further. No one did so much as to apologize for the mother's frazzled emotions. It was as-if Brian's family truly did believe that Sara's b
ackseat driving resulted in the tragic death.

  Sara pulled into the mortuary and memorial gardens that Sunday morning and drove her car to the area closest to Brian's grave. It was a large, old cemetery. Her fiancé was buried some distance from the road which required a small hike through fresh, cut grass mixed with small and barely noticeable remains of autumn leaves mulched from the tractor.

  This lonely walk through headstones was a symbolic confrontation of that which tormented her the previous day. Perhaps this is why she willingly answered the ring of the cell phone that displayed the dreaded, unrecognized number.

  “Hello?”

  “Sara, it's Brian; don't hang up! This is really important!”

  The sound of his deceased voice returned Sara to distress. Whoever it was could emulate Brian's voice so perfectly. Outraged, Sara shouted, “Damn you! It's not funny! Leave me alone and stop calling me!”

  Tears ran down Sara's face as she ended the call and threw the phone in her purse. What was wrong with that person? Maybe it was someone in Brian's family finally getting revenge. It was a cruel, sick joke indeed!

  Sara reached Brian's grave while close to sobbing. “It's been a while. I haven't been to see you lately. I bet you wonder what brings me here. Well someone keeps calling me and pretending to be you!”

  She stopped her words short upon noticing something smashed into the ground near the headstone. Apparently a supposed tractor tire had rolled over the mysterious object and wedged it into the ground. It was a sight that would lead one to ask, “Do cemetery groundskeepers roll tractors over the graves?”

  Whatever the thing was, it didn't belong there. Graves do not include these unusual items. Sara bent down and used her fingers to dislodge a sun-faded, water-damaged cell phone from the ground. The LED display was cracked and the buttons were caked with dirt. It surely belonged to a member of the living at one time, but it was now part of Brian's grave.