2152 A.D.
“Granny’s here! Granny’s here!” shouts one of the children, pointing to the monitor with glee. The cry is taken up by the other two. Their parents come swiftly from the next room. At ninety-six, it is best not to keep Granny waiting.
“Open,” commands the father. The door swings open, admitting the wizened old lady. Her chair automatically wheels forwards into the apartment.
“Hi Granny!” The children shower her with kisses and hugs.
“That’s a Sierra I see!” she says, kissing the excited little girl, “and a Canyon over there?” a pudgy little boy receives an affectionate pat on the head. “And that one seems to be a Brook!” The smallest child bounces up and down with excitement as she receives a quick squeeze. Words and kisses are exchanged between Granny and the parents. Then everybody enters the living room and settles themselves on the synthetic gray sofa and chairs.
Later that afternoon, Sierra, the eldest and most verbal of the three youngsters, demands:
“Granny, tell us a story!”
“What about, dearest?”
Sierra ponders this for a moment, then replies:
“Tell us about when you were little!”
Granny thinks for a few moments, trying to recall. It seems so long ago. She stares out the window, buying time. The sky is smoggy as ever, as it has been since The Switch. It is fitting somehow: gray sky against gray buildings planted firmly in the gray ground. However, the sky brings back a memory.
“When I was little the sky was blue,” she begins. The little ones lean in closer, intrigued. Canyon’s eyes are wide and shocked.
“Blue?” asks Sierra.
“Blue like…like…” she is trying to think of something natural that is blue. Finally it comes to her, “blue like your mother’s eyes,” she explains. Sierra’s mouth forms an o of surprise at the idea.
“The sky was blue,” continues Granny, “and filled with puffy white clouds. As white as – as clean dishes straight out of the purifier, and puffy as cotton candy. None of the thick smog we have now.
“In my day the ground was covered with grass and the dirt-”
“Grass?” interrupts Sierra.
“Grass was green like your father’s eyes and shaped in little blades, but not sharp. You could run on it without shoes on.”
The children gasp. Today to go without shoes would be to end up full of splinters and cuts with your feet as black as if you had trod in one of the coal factories.
“And the dirt was soft underneath your feet.”
“Granny, what is dirt?”
Granny is puzzled at this. How to describe dirt? Eventually she says:
“Dirt is like animal dung but clean.” She cannot think of anything else to say about it. The children look horrified at the idea.
“But clean, oh so clean. And soft and squishy under your feet. And the grass needed the dirt to grow.
“Back then there were clean, natural lakes. And you could go canoeing or kayaking or swimming.”
“Canoeing?”
The simple question makes Granny think of a day long, long ago. A day when she and her parents had gone canoeing and she had stood up in the boat. How they had tipped over and she had thought her parents would be angry with her, but when they surfaced they were laughing. She brushes a tear from her cheek as she remembers her parents. Of course, they are long gone now. She wrenches herself back to the present. Yes, canoes.
“A canoe is a boat…like a hover-car that you push along in the water. Back then the water was clean and sparkly. And it wasn’t contained with a plastic cover, but open to the elements. It smelled lovely, too, not like dirt and burnt coal. We used to go boating every weekend, and sometimes we would swim.”
“Didn’t you get burns?” asked Sierra, awestruck.
“The water back then hadn’t nearly as many chemicals as now. You didn’t have to worry about acid burns or infected cuts.”
All this talk of her childhood has opened a tap. Now the information comes easily. It is no longer hard to recall. Memories of all varieties come rushing back in. Her head feels clearer than it has in years.
“In my day we had trees, too,” she continues enthusiastically.
“Not metal trees like there are now, but real living trees. As living as you and I. They couldn’t move, but they could grow, and grow they did. When I was little trees grew as tall as buildings and taller. They had branches and leaves, and you could climb up in a tree and sit in its arms.”
A memory of climbing up the tall pine tree in her back yard and poking her head out very near the top arrives. And of her mother being worried that she would tumble down. But she had not been afraid, for the tree held her and would never, never let her fall.
“Granny,” says Sierra seriously, “we want to know more about trees.” The other two nod in agreement. Even their parents are finally listening attentively, hanging on the old woman’s words.
“Trees,” continues Granny, “are neither plant nor animal but something much older and more important. In the old days, it was trees that made air for us to breathe. Trees grow slowly, very slowly. My pine tree was at least a hundred years old, with another hundred to go. A tree was your friend, and it would hold you in its branches always and forever. It would protect you as long as you needed it. And it was a wonderful confidant, for it listened well but never told a soul.”
For a moment there is silence in the room, as they all ponder over Granny’s words. She has woven a magic spell among the family.
After what seems like a very, very long time, Sierra breaks the silence in a small voice full of wonder.
“Granny, I want to plant a tree.” Granny considers her for a moment. Is it possible? Can she share the magic with her granddaughter? Finally, it comes to her. She commands:
“Wallet!” Her wheelchair complies, unearthing Granny’s gray wallet from some deep recess and opening it for her. With remarkably steady hands for her age, Granny pulls out all the bills she has. These she carefully organizes and hands to Sierra, who looks awe struck.
“Take these, child, and go down to the market. They will claim not to have a tree, for it is a rarity and very expensive. You must show them your money and ask again. When they have given it to you, and mind that they give it to you in a pot big enough for it to grow in until we find some land for it, you must bring it straight back here. Then I will show you how to care for it.”
After the children have gone to bed their mother approaches Granny as she sits in her wheelchair, staring vacantly out the window. There are no stars now. But Granny can remember a time when the sky was full of them, tiny pinpoints of light. And she can remember a time when they were barely visible, because the world was becoming enshrouded in smog. And she knows that now her grandchildren and their children will never see them, except in pictures. Her daughter’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts.
“Are you sure you want to give Sierra all of your savings?” she asks.
“Well, I’m not going to need them,” she replies reasonably, “I’ll be gone soon enough and then no amount of money can help me.”
Her daughter stares at her for a while, then nods. She understands.
The next day, Sierra returns to the house on foot. Her hover-car is obediently toting the tree. It is a small thing, and not too healthy looking. Maybe four feet tall, and with none to many leaves. A baby. A maple, though, and that a good sign. Maples are hardy.
Now comes the tricky part. The sun rarely shows which is why plants cannot grow here. Granny explains to the little girl exactly where her growing lamp is. The one that gives plants what they need for photosynthesis. Under her grandmother’s strict directions, Sierra sets up the lamp so that it shines on her little maple tree.
The two move back to survey their handiwork. The maple is small now, but will soon grow. The family will now be helping to clean the air for others.
“It’s beautiful,” Sierra whispers.
Granny hugs her tight. The maple tree helps her recall many things from when she was young. She remembers climbing with her friends to the top of the maple tree in her backyard. She remembers hanging up bird feeders and trying to keep the squirrels away. But now one memory swims to the forefront. She remembers, for the first time in years, a day when she was very young. She remembers the day that her grandmother helped her plant a tree in their front yard. A maple tree.
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