by Jordan Eudy
read by the author

published 4/5/25

Andy’s dad came home one day and said “You’re going to have a treehouse, what do you think about that?” and spent the next three weekends up in the tall elm tree–the one with the tire swing in the corner of the backyard–making lots of hammering racket with the bright yellow nail gun that he had bought on sale, but which made mom kind of angry because the dishwasher was so old. Andy never asked for a treehouse, but he was seven years old and loved to climb trees, so he wasn’t complaining.

When it was done, the treehouse was about as wide as the guest bathroom, but much shorter, and fifteen or twenty feet off the ground, which (when you’re barely four feet tall–“rollercoaster tall”, his mom called it) seemed like it was within spitting distance of the clouds. There wasn’t really a roof, just a blue tarp that had been sitting in the corner of the shed and tied down with some brown string, and the floor was made of the old carpet that used to be in the living room, and Mom smiled a little when dad said “I told you we’d use it!” It didn’t have a trapdoor, but Andy still thought it was cool. A rope ladder is pretty cool, anyway.

When it was finally finished, he spent the whole morning bringing his prized possessions up into the treehouse. The most important action figures first, then some finished Lego sets, along with the one he was currently building, and a flashlight in case it got dark, even though he had to be inside by dinnertime which was well before dark–but just in case. He was having a hard time climbing the rope ladder with just one hand until his mom suggested using his school bag, which was really smart. Mom said really helpful things, sometimes. After stuffing four triangles of a ham sandwich into his mouth, and housing a juice pouch in one gulp, Andy sat in his treehouse, looking out into the bright blue rectangle of the northward opening, more excited than he’d ever been; even more excited than the Christmas he got his bike. Dad wouldn’t let him bring his bike into the treehouse.

“Al?”

Yeah, Andy?

“Did you ever have a treehouse when you were still a kid?”

Al thought for a moment, the deep scar on his left cheek wiggling as he chewed his unlit cigar. The blue tarp sagging a few feet above their heads covered everything in a muted, marine light, like they were resting on the ocean floor. Andy was having trouble sitting still, balancing on his hands as he bounced from knees to feet, sneakers flashing blue and green. They used to make noise too, but dad said they stopped working, which is why they were on his workbench one morning, because he was trying to fix them.

There weren’t big trees where I grew up. Can’t put a house in an olive tree, see? We had forts though. We’d build forts out of old stones and bricks lying around, and we’d steal sheets from the old ladies when they hung them out to dry.

Andy wasn’t looking at Al, but Al could tell he was listening. The boy’s hair was long enough that he had to sweep it out of his eyes. It was loosely curled, and turning brown with time. His had been the same: light in youth, dark in age. His father would joke that they turned the town inside out looking for the blond casanova that touched his wife. He didn’t use those exact words, though.

“Oh,” said Andy. “Do you like this treehouse?”

It’s a little drafty. I don’t think it’ll make it past the first good rain. If this place had wind like Chicago…

He drifted off, shrugging his shoulders and squinting. Andy was looking at him now.

But, I uh, think it’s probably in the top five best treehouses I ever seen.

“Yeah. It’s pretty great. It’s top five for me, too. Do you think Zeko would like it here?”

Yeah… Oh yeah, you should ask him! His bushy, gray eyebrows lifted.

Andy turned away quickly and did a sort of kneeling pirouette in the middle of the faded pink carpet. He was wearing his favorite shirt, the green one with the plastic army men in mid-combat. His parents didn’t like guns, so this is as close as Andy could get. Al gnawed on his cigar and watched his great grandson spin and topple over.

You don’t wanna ask?

“Not really.”

Why?

“Just because.”

Just because repeated Al. He took off his wide-brimmed hat and scratched his head. Even now, he was balding. One of his fingers was still missing at the second knuckle. He cleared his throat in a way that would’ve made a grown man shrink out of the room, but Andy didn’t notice. The boy had moved on to other things, tinkering with one of the little plastic dolls that he had dragged up here, making it speed through the air and punctuating its jumps with spit-laden explosions.

Don’t you like Zeko; isn’t he your friend?

“Yeah.”

He’s your friend, but you ain’t never been over to his house. Are you scared of him?

“Um… no.”

Then why don’t you ask him up here? Climb down the ladder, cross the street, ring the doorbell, and ask him if he wants to see your treehouse

“Well, it’s almost dinner time, so it’s too late. Plus, he probably doesn’t wanna.”

Al stuck his head through the east wall of the treehouse and looked through the leaves at the sun. It couldn’t have been later than two in the afternoon.

It ain’t too late, and why wouldn’t he wanna?

Andy didn’t say anything, but switched action figures. This time, it was the red superhero that they had bought when just he and Dad went shopping for some string for one of Dad’s lawn tools. At the time, Andy was more interested in the string, even though his dad had bought the action figure special because Andy had been so patient in the store. 

“Maybe tomorrow,” said Andy. Al floated closer.

You got school tomorrow. You won’t have time because of karate and homework.

“…”

So, why don’t you ask him?

“Maybe he doesn’t like treehouses, or doesn’t think that this is a good treehouse?” It was more of a question than a statement.

What are ya talking about! This is a great treehouse. Top five, you said, right?

“Yeah.”

Right! So you go over there, tell him that you’ve got a top five treehouse over here, and he’s out of his mind if he doesn’t want to come over and see it for himself.

Andy hesitated, but Al knew he was thinking about it. He needed a push.

I’ll go with you. I’ll tell you what to say if you get nervous.

Andy looked down and picked at the plastic caps on his shoelaces. There was a bird in the tree, and it sang quietly into the wind. The leaves shuffled gently, and the tarp swelled slowly like an ocean wave, the blue tint in the tree house ebbing and flowing with it.

If you go, I’ll finish the story about the mechanic.

“The one who got too lucky?”

That’s right, said Al, squinting a little in his effort to stifle a grin.

“You said I’m not old enough.”

You do this, and you’re old enough.

Andy looked at Al and smiled as he crawled towards the ladder, twisting around to descend backwards, carefully, the way dad had showed him. The sunlight slid up his back and over his head and brightened his face as he descended.

Al’s scar twitched when the grin finally escaped

He floated down out of the treehouse to hover just a few inches off the ground. He didn’t need to fly low, or move his legs in a nostalgic imitation of a casual stroll, but he did anyway. Andy ran ahead, stopped cautiously at the curb, looked both ways, then took off across the street. Following at a steady pace, with his hands clasped behind his back, the loose folds of his dark, tailored suit hanging unruffled in the breeze, Al gazed ahead at the neighbor’s house. It was a pale baby blue with white trim, small and tidy with a yard that belied the owner’s pride in their home. Shallow gables faced the street, holding up a dark shingle roof. The front door was dark blue with paneled glass, set outside of the main house in a small entryway, with two worn brick steps leading up to it.

Andy had stopped in front of these steps and was staring up at the door, hands deep in his pockets and his tongue running back and forth across his top lip. Before Al could reach him, he stretched one skinny leg up onto the top step and awkwardly heaved himself up, shoes flashing. Slightly unbalanced, his momentum continued forward, one arm emerging from his pocket and thrust out in front of him. Three soft knocks, and the hand went back in the pocket. He turned around.

“I don’t think he’s home.”

Al washed up alongside Andy just as the blue door swung open. A tall woman with round glasses resting on an equally round nose looked out. Seeing nothing, she looked down and saw Andy.

“Hello,” she smiled.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you?”

“Um, yes, please,” said Andy. He had been staring at the opened door, but now glanced past the woman and into the house, which was clean in a way that most houses with children and at least one dog try their best to be clean. It smelled nice, like savory pastry.

Tell her you wanna see Zeko, prompted Al.

“Are you here to see Zeko?” asked the woman, still smiling and opening the door a bit further.

“Yes, please,” said Andy, his shoulders slumping with relief. The woman stepped back and opened the door all the way, turning and pointing through the house to a frosted glass door that was slightly ajar.

“He’s in the backyard. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” he answered, even though he was a little thirsty. He had learned from watching his parents that you always say no thank you when someone offers you something the first time. He wondered what kind of soda she had as he walked down the hallway and past the kitchen on his right. The walls were painted a light mint green, pictures hung in mismatched frames with a chaotic purpose, displaying a happy family of four. The door to the backyard was slightly ajar. Andy pulled the silver handle, feeling a small, round dent under his thumb, and squeezed through.

The yard was about as big as his own, and kept as nicely as the front. There was a yellow bat and a soccer ball sitting on the concrete patio that continued out six or seven feet in front of him. A vine with pink flowers crept across the top of the fence to his right. It was sagging just a bit. Zeko was digging at its base with a spade, his long dark hair blocking his face.

In the middle of the yard was a big tree. And in the tree there was a massive treehouse.

Andy’s insides felt cold. He stopped walking. Al emerged from the wall to Andy’s left and stopped beside him.

They got Moretti in the fridge. The last time I had… what’s the hold up?

Al followed Andy’s gaze to the treehouse. His jaw clenched around his cigar, its tip suddenly glowing angry and red. He reached a hand out to rest on Andy’s shoulder, but did not touch him.

Go say hello.

Andy didn’t move.

Go tell your friend Zeko hello. Al’s voice was low and taught, like a bull ready to charge, pawing the ground. 

“I… I don’t… I think he’s too busy…”

Look at me, Al said, his voice softening slightly as he knelt down in front of Andy, trying to catch his darting eyeline. You go over there, hold your head up, and tell Zeko that you got the best treehouse on the whole street and that he needs to come over and see it before you change your mind.

Andy’s hands were back in his pockets. Out in the yard, Zeko stood and turned back to the house, his spade full of dirt, and began to walk towards the patio. He was focused on something in the shovel and didn’t look up to see Andy until he almost bumped into him.

“Oh, hi!” smiled Zeko, jumping a bit in surprise but holding the small, red shovel steady. 

“Hi.”

“How did you get here?”

“Your mom opened the door.”

Zeko looked over Andy’s shoulder at the open back door. He jerked his head and raised his eyebrows in a way that said he believed Andy’s story.

“Do you wanna see a worm?” Zeko asked.

The spade was offered carefully for Andy’s inspection. There it was: long and pink and groping blindly in the sunlight. Covered in dirt and ooze, Andy couldn’t resist pulling a hand from his pocket.

“You can touch it. It was wiggling like crazy when I first found it, but it calmed down now. It’ll probably go crazy again if you touch it.”

It did indeed.

“My dad told me,” ventured Andy, trying to remember, “That worms have lots of hearts, and if a worm gets cut into pieces the hearts will keep all the pieces alive. But he said not to cut worms on purpose because it hurts them.”

“Yeah, my dad told me that, too. He said be careful not to hurt the worms, but mom said I can hurt the bugs on accident.”

There was a pause as they considered the worm and its abundance of hearts.

“Do you wanna see my movie posters?” asked Zeko, carefully lowering the spade to the grass and dumping the dirt and the worm into a small pile.

“Yeah, what kind of movies?”

“All kinds, mostly movies that my dad likes. He collects them and lets me have some of the old ones. We hung them up with comic book tape!” Zeko turned towards the treehouse. Al cleared his throat with a clap of thunder.

“Wait!” shouted Andy, a little too loud.

Tell him about your treehouse.

“I’ve got a treehouse.”

“Yeah,” replied Zeko, the word slightly drawn out in his confusion, “it’s in the treehouse.”

“I got my Legos up there. My dad just built it today…”

There was a pause and Andy’s gaze drifted back up to the competition: lengths of wood were nailed to the tree, creating a crude staircase that led up to… a real trap door. Andy felt the cold feeling again and looked down at Zeko, who had turned back to face him.

“Oh, you have a treehouse too?”

It’s top five, maybe better

“It’s top five.”

“What?” asked Zeko.

Andy could tell that this was going poorly, and he looked down at his feet which were shuffling unhelpfully.

“So, your dad just built it?” asked Zeko.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t have a trap door, but it’s got a blue plastic roof, and there’s lots of room up there.”

It’s bigger!

“It’s bigger than this one,” Andy repeated. He stopped talking suddenly and stared at the clod of dirt. The earthworm was wiggling and digging methodically down into the soil, its back half waving in the sunlight. Andy felt a little bad because he wasn’t sure if it was true–if his treehouse was actually bigger. To be fair they seemed about the same size. He felt a lot bad because he could tell from the long silence that Zeko’s feelings were hurt.

Al had floated out into the yard between the two boys, narrowly inspecting each, his chin in his hand while his other arm cradled his elbow. His feet dangled limply in the air as he thought. A sudden strong gust of wind made the tree creak and bend in the direction of the house, and the backdoor slammed shut behind Andy.

“Well, we could go see your treehouse, then. If you want,” ventured Zeko.

Andy leaned from one foot to the other, and half-mumbled, “Yeah, okay.” Then he turned and started to walk back towards the house.

“Wait!” said Zeko. With a couple of quick steps, he bounded up beside Andy. “Let’s go this way, it’s faster.”

He darted off to the right, around the concrete patio in the direction of the fence. Andy followed, and saw that–around the corner of the house, near where the fence met the wall–there was a rectangle cut into the wood. It was a bit larger than a cereal box, and Zeko knelt down and pointed at the inside edges.

“Be careful that you don’t get a splinter. This is for Patches, but she doesn’t really use it anymore because she’s old now and likes to sleep on the couch instead.”

Andy was impressed. “Okay!” he said, excitedly.

When they had squeezed through the doggy door, and Al had wafted through the fence, they crossed the empty street and headed for Andy’s backyard. Andy didn’t have a fence (a fact that he hadn’t regretted until now), so they made their way directly to the base of the elm tree.

Zeko jumped forward excitedly, hand outstretched.

“Wow, a rope ladder!” he exclaimed, looking quickly back at Andy.

Ha! See, he doesn’t have a rope ladder! Al barked with a big smile, poking the air violently with the end of his cigar. You go ahead and show him how to use it. 

“Here let me show you,” said Andy, stepping in front of Zeko and taking the rope in his hand. “You gotta keep one foot on it all the time, so it stays straight. It makes it easier to grab and pull yourself up it.”

Andy expertly hauled himself up the ladder with the wriggling grace inherent in all children when they climb. The rope stretched taught, shaking between his hands and feet, swinging in a loose spiral beneath him. Zeko’s mouth hung slightly open as he watched Andy. When it was his turn, Zeko copied the form perfectly and clambered up into the tree and under the blue canvas.

“That was cool!”

“Yeah, pretty cool… I wish I had a trapdoor, though.”

“No, I think yours is better. It’s like a pirate ship! Plus, you can’t sit on the trap door once it’s closed because it’ll bend and not work anymore. And I accidentally fell out of it last year. Mom wanted to take it down, but I didn’t break anything so she let us keep it.”

And thought for a moment. He asked, “What was it like when you fell?”

“It was scary, but it was also kinda awesome.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah, at first,” replied Zeko, tracing the outline of a floorboard with his finger. “But not for a long time.”

The boys were sitting with their legs crossed, not quite facing each other. Zeko’s eyes kept darting to the Legos in the corner. Andy was frowning a bit, thinking about falling out of his treehouse and what it would be like. He felt better about not having a trapdoor, but he still thought it added an aura of heightened security. Like a military base.

Al was still hovering around the tree roots, looking over into the next door neighbor’s yard, where Mr. Spiker was grilling steaks and chicken wings. Al watched for a long time without blinking, chewing his cigar.

“Is that a ship from the first movie?” asked Zeko, scooting towards it on his knees.

“I think it’s from the second one. Or maybe it’s in both.”

“My dad and I watched all three of them. He calls them the new movies, but there’s newer ones than that. I haven’t seen them yet, though.”

“I haven’t seen those either,” admitted Andy. “But I really want to.”

“Can I touch it?” Zeko moved his hand tentatively towards the Lego set, looking back at Andy, his expression conveying the gravity of his request.

“Um, sure,” said Andy. He sat completely still as Zeko gingerly picked up one of his most prized possessions. 

“You even have guys in there!” Zeko exclaimed, pointing to the tiny yellow figurines in the ship’s cockpit.

Andy released his breath and crawled closer.

“Yeah, and the side opens up like this,” he said, flipping open a panel by the left wing, “and you can put stuff in there.”

“Like more guys…” breathed Zeko, reverently.

Just then, Al’s head poked up through the floor a few feet from where the boys were huddled together. The floor ebbed down to right below his eyes, and they twinkled with a smile that was obscured from view.

“It must’ve taken you like a whole weekend to build it,” guessed Zeko, turning the ship around to get a closer look at the engines.

“I did it in one night,” replied Andy proudly. Then added, “my dad helped some with the wings.”

Once the toy was safely on the ground, the boys began reviewing the different sets, comparing which ones they each had, and which ones they’d seen in the stores and still wanted. The conversation grew more animated, punctuated by the staccato excitement of shared boyhood interest. Soon, the treehouse was filled with a fleet of imaginary ships crossing the galaxy, staging mock battles and repeated dramatic takeoffs and landings. The action figures soon came into play, becoming space-faring giants alongside the battleships. There was a brief moment of tension where an engine separated from one of the rockets, but the two boys quickly put their heads together and repaired the damage.

Al floated backwards from the boys, half-submerged in the treehouse floor, the marine tint of the roof making him look like some strange, besuited upright shark drifting away in reverse. His smile had left his lips, but lingered in the edges of his eyes. He listened quietly as the din of play subsided.

“How often do you guys watch movies?” asked Andy.

“About once a week.”

“Well, we have a projector, and sometimes my dad puts the movies on the wall. It fills up the whole wall!” Andy finished, rising to his knees and stretching his arms out as far as they could reach.

“That’s awesome!”

“I bet,” said Andy, a bit slower, “I bet you can come over one night and we could watch a movie… Maybe the new ones… since we haven’t seen them.”

Zeko looked blankly at Andy, not saying anything for a long moment. Andy felt embarrassed. He shouldn’t have suggested something so silly to someone who probably had–like the treehouse–his own projector that was even better than Andy’s. He opened his mouth and tried to think of something to say, but Zeko burst out before he could say anything:

“We could watch it in the treehouse!”

Andy was stunned. “That would be so cool!” he said, standing up suddenly and ducking quickly when his head popped into the canvas with a crash of weathered plastic. He shuffled around and examined the walls, trying to find the best spot.

“I don’t know if any of the walls here are big enough,” he admitted, his voice deflating.

“Mine has a big wall!” Zeko offered. “Wanna go see?”

“Yeah!” answered Andy.

Zeko rolled over to his right and stuck his legs out into the open air. His feet found the rope ladder, and he began to climb down with the quick care of a boy who’s fallen out of a treehouse before. Andy waited his turn as Al appeared at his shoulder.

I think he likes your treehouse. Al was adjusting his hat, gripping the crown with his left hand as the right picked non-existent lint from his shoulder. The creaking rope mingled with the sound of the wind-blown branches, and the crackling tarp and its ocean waves.

You did a good job. What you did was very brave.

“Brave?” asked Andy, looking up at his great grandfather.

Takes a lot of courage to talk to someone you don’t know. To make them like you.

Andy’s gaze moved to the treehouse door and he walked, slightly bent beneath the blue tarp, towards the exit. He sat down on the edge, facing out, and looked down to see Zeko on the last few rungs.

“I think,” said Andy, turning on his hands and catching the rope with one foot, “sometimes, when you’re scared, the best thing is to be kind.”

Andy climbed down the ladder and Al grinned, shaking his head and pinching his unlit cigar.