Beautiful Trees in a Wretched World 

Anslee Reaves

There is nothing like the brush of a cool breeze against one’s face in the midst of the changing seasons. As I age, I learn to appreciate days that approach with little humidity despite having lived along the Mississippi River most of my adult life. I suppose it was the people, ah yes, the kind, bright smiles that initially lured me to North Mississippi from Chicago. I still sometimes can hear the whistle of my late husband as I approached him in the farmers’ market forty-three years ago, “What’s a nice lady like you doing out here on such a hot day?” Now at age sixty, I count every day that reminds me of that single moment as a blessing. 

What a horrible thing it is to be agoraphobic when one learns to appreciate the world as I have. I suppose it feels like a chess match that I’ve yet to win, but I’ve learned that I’ve lost the chance to try at such an age. Before now, sitting near the window was a victory. I wasn’t always so paradoxical. As a girl, I was practically transcendental. Walt Whitman and Henry David Thoreau brought me such comfort during the hardships of my parents passing. As of next Monday, it would have been exactly one year since I was brave enough to quickly pace down my driveway and retrieve my mail. 

I missed waving at my sweet neighbor Glinda during my stroll. She used to bring her grandbabies over, we’d play bingo, and I’d make them all ripe strawberry and banana smoothies. I suppose they have made their way to college now. Robert and I never had kids of our own. I suspect something was twisted up inside of me, but we lead a good and happy life together. From a small salary at the farmers’ market, he paid his way through law school. In his prime, Robert S. Holdin could be found folded between a weekly newspaper amidst the most shocking of cases. He’d always pester me, “Martha, when will you join me at trial? Just there in the pew, you’d be welcome.” 

That was until March of 2014, when my sweet Robert was taken from me. We were both in our mid-fifties enjoying a new movie at our local theater, and out of the darkness came the robber. It stirs my soul to speak of that night, but I suppose now that I’m out, I should discuss how my agoraphobia was triggered. Dr. Philip, are you getting this? Need I say more? 

The psychiatrist’s eyes slowly met mine. “Yes, Mrs. Holdin, I think you’ve answered enough of my questions for today’s session. After such a horrible fall, it’s a blessing your neighbor found you so soon. I imagine it’s still sort of uncomfortable, but I hope we can further work through your phobia here. You are in good hands.” 

His eyes were the same comforting shade of blue as my Robert’s. “Thank you, I don’t think I would’ve ever made it out of that house if not for Glinda bringing my mail in. In all honesty, I don’t think I wanted to at first. That wasn’t until Glinda reminded me of all the beautiful trees in this wretched world.”