Lucky in Love

Sharon used to drive her husband crazy on road trips. She wanted to stop at every historical marker, every kitschy display, every vegetable stand. He just wanted to get to their destination as quickly as possible.

The divorce didn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Road trips were just one symptom of a bigger problem.

Once everything was final, Sharon started driving aimlessly on the weekends. She loved being able to stop whenever she wanted, with no one sighing or groaning or tapping his watch. Sure, she got lonely sometimes. She hoped she’d eventually find a partner who liked exploring the world with her. In the meantime, she got out on the back roads as much as possible, trying to make up for all the interesting stops she’d been forced to pass up before.

Of course she stopped when she saw the wooden head in the yard. How could she not?

Sharon pulled her car onto the shoulder, parked and got out to take a closer look. Someone had carved it, apparently, from a large chunk of tree trunk. It was roughly done but somehow magnetic. Sharon didn’t feel able to take her eyes off it.

“One-fifty,” a voice said.

Sharon straightened up in a hurry. A man in jeans and flannel had come around the side of the house while she’d been distracted. He didn’t look dangerous, but Sharon backed up a step anyway, just in case. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I just couldn’t help stopping to look at this.”

“It’s for sale,” he said. “A hundred and fifty bucks. Heck, I could go one twenty-five.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I live in an apartment. It’s good work, though. You’re talented.”

He laughed. “I didn’t make it. I was just driving around one day and saw it in the yard of the guy who did make it. He told me it was one-fifty, and it would make me lucky in love. Figured I couldn’t pass that up.”

Sharon smiled. “And did it work?”

“Not a bit. That’s why I decided to sell it. Maybe it’ll work better for you.”

“I doubt that.” But as soon as she said it, she wondered.

“One hundred, and I’ll haul it out and put it on your balcony.”

She hesitated. “Did you say you were driving around and had to stop when you saw this?”

“Sure. Same as you, I guess. How could you drive by something interesting and not stop?”

“That’s right,” she said. She realized she was grinning. “I guess maybe I could find space for it on my balcony, if it’s going to make me lucky in love. And if you haul it out there, the least I could do is treat you to dinner.”

“Well, I wouldn’t turn that down.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Sharon.”

“Mike,” he said, and they shook.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mike,” she said. And oh, it really was. 

All the Ways to See a Tree

This photograph has been more divisive than any other I've taken.

I love it. I can’t look at it without giggling a little, or at least smiling. I see a big-time opera singer, or maybe just a wannabe, puffed up and singing his heart out. He thinks of himself as Pavarotti and wants everyone else to think of him that way, too. It reminds me of the silliness of life.

My son says the picture scares him. He sees someone screaming in terror as an axe murderer bursts into the room. He can’t figure out how I see it as a happy picture, because to him, it’s horrifying.

My husband says the photo reminds him of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” Rather than finding it scary, though, I think he’s a bit offended by it. It takes something that should be realistic—a tree—and turns it into something it was never meant to be.

In this strange little photograph, I see a picture of the reasons it’s so hard for people to get along with each other. If three people can look at the same image and see three completely different things, how could we help but clash over bigger, less well-defined issues?

Each of us can only see an issue from the perspective we bring to it. I have always loved fantasy and magic and happy endings, so that’s what I see. My son likes his fantasy a bit darker, so that’s what he sees. My husband prefers realism, so the whole idea of this picture bothers him.

However.

Even though I will never see this tree screaming, I can understand and accept and appreciate that my son does. Even though I’d hate for all my fiction to be about things that could have happened, I can understand and accept and appreciate that my husband prefers it that way.

This is how humans get along with each other. This is how it’s possible to form connections and relationships and communities. We have to be able to understand and accept and appreciate that other people see things differently, and that’s ok.

The internet has made it too easy for each of us to seek out others who believe the same things we do. We band together in little groups and mock those who think differently. We moan about how horrible life will be if  people with different beliefs get their way. We strengthen our positions by finding others who approve of them. We create a feeling of belonging even while the distances between groups grow from cracks to canyons.

The results are fear and hatred, division and a splintering country.

It makes me sad to get on Facebook most days. It doesn’t matter what the current hot button issue is—I’ll inevitably see half my friends spewing hatred disguised as sarcasm from one side, while the other half does the same from their own perspective. I want to say, “Look, this isn’t helping, just stop,” but I know that either side would only see that as support for the opposition.

It’s probably too late to say we should all just get along. But then, what’s our other alternative?