Chasm by Pear Tree

It stood the test against the clobbering paws of the rambunctious black golden retriever, the heavy snowfall, changing of seasons, other children, and me. It was lush, lavish, and free. It was the gorgeous Green D’anjou pear tree. But it was on the other side of where I would be. I yearningly watched it in my neighbor's yard from my own backyard while wishing I didn't need permission to enjoy its splendor.

When it was summer, the pear tree stood there as my savior, quenching the last bit of my thirst. Walking with other schoolchildren in the blazing afternoons, I made a beeline from my bus stop to get to it first. I couldn’t wait to break a pear’s skin for the luscious flesh to burst. Mr. Nelson had hinted plenty of times that he didn’t mind us having a few. I didn’t want to abuse this given privilege, so I savored every bite to make it last.

When it was fall, the pears stood out as the brightest green against a backdrop of colorful leaves roughly pieced together like a mosaic. Although it was almost time to leave them alone by then, it was anything but prosaic. I was still grateful for the summer heat it saved me from even though this was basic. I anticipated the pears to be on the cusp of browning because it meant that they would soon be gifted to my parents, thus then to me.

When it was winter, death did the tree and me part. Though, it was still a shining beacon of green in my heart. The fact that they were pears on a tree in nature was simply more appealing to me than any pear in any grocery cart. The memories of the tree scattered around with the snowfall as we all knew its rebirth was to come in a few months.

When it was spring, I waited earnestly for the first pear to produce. I knew that it would be my time again to get the juice. I had grown accustomed to it pleasing children as its secondary use. Nevertheless, I still wanted Mr. Nelson to offer it to me first. I wasn’t one to make the first move as the shy kid I was. So I would form the excuse of wanting to play with and befriend his lone dog to be allowed full access to his yard. The pear tree was my treasure, and I was on the hunt for it through a playful scheme.

The tree was almost like a statement piece in Mr. Nelson’s yard, but it was the catalyst of my first connection to him and his black golden retriever, Domino. Although it was a byproduct of my mild obsession with the pear tree, I noticed how Domino became more and more dynamic and cheerful towards me each time I stepped into his yard. The conversations with Mr. Nelson gradually evoked a similar feeling to what I would have from conversing with my best childhood friend. The pear tree helped bridge the generations between us.

Decades later, the pear tree has been long gone. In its place are a shed and a fence that has divided us physically to further confirm the broken bond between us all. Domino has no longer been on the same physical plane for years now. The passing of the pear tree seemed to be the symbol of abandoning my childhood friendship with my neighbors. The pear tree stood the test against many things except for the test of time as it died along with my neighboring friendships during my late adolescence and adulthood.