I launch myself at the branch. My arms tightly embrace it and I feel the rough bark cutting into my forearms. My legs fall away from the trunk and pedal uselessly seven feet from the ground.
“I’m going to die.”
My brother laughs. “It’s not that high.”
It’s higher than I’ve been before. The elephant tree squats on the bank of the brook with its single branch poking out over the gravel path. Only older, taller, stronger boys can climb it.
I stretch my bare feet and feel the bark with my big toe. It is enough to give me balance and hope. I reach with my other foot, touch the trunk and start walking my feet up.
My legs scrape over the top and suddenly I feel safe and strong. I let go with my arms and dangle. I smile and wave.
“You still have to get up.”
He’s right. I still have to slip around the branch and up onto the wide platform created by past pollarding. The abrasive bark makes the transition harder than I expect but soon I am standing like the king of the castle looking down at my brother, the dirty rascal.
It only takes a minute for my brother to climb. He rolls onto the platform without pausing on the branch. He sits up and thumps me playfully on the arm.
“You did it. I told you, you could.”
I smile. It was my fourth attempt this week. I’d always chickened out before and jumped from the trunk before I’d gone more than a few feet.
I look around at this inaccessible hideout where older boys do illicit things out of reach of younger children. There are a few cigarette butts, a blanket that smells of damp nights and some empty cans. I feel like I’ve entered a palace.
I stay on the platform for hours, enjoying my new status. I shout out to the whole gang; receiving admiration from those yet to make the climb and accepting what’s on offer in the older boys gang.
I am not disappointed. We have matches and set fire to twigs which we drop into the stream.
We don’t live by the clock. Lunch is often forgotten, but at the end of the afternoon the call for tea reaches us. Our mothers have no technology to coordinate things but they don’t need it. Just one mother’s shout is enough for everyone. Games stop, dens empty and my brother crawls along the branch, wraps his arms around it, dangles for a moment and drops.
I shuffle along the branch and manage to slide beneath it. I let go with my feet and dangle for an instant before swinging my legs to grip the branch again.
“Come on. It’s tea.”
I’m too scared to let go.
“It’s not that high.”
I let my feet down, but instantly panic and wrap them tightly back on the branch.
I start to cry and pull myself up to the safety on the platform
My brother shouts. I shake my head. He climbs up, hangs and drops.
“See.
I see how far he fell.
There’s a shout. Mum has come. We’re sure to be grounded. My brother runs to her with excuses and blame pouring out of his mouth.
Mum tells me I must be a great climber to get up here. She asks me how I did it.
I sniffle and tell her, slowly at first and then with pride.
“So all you have to do is the same thing, backwards. I’m sure you can do that.”
I hug my way under the branch. I let go with my legs and dangle. I panic. Mum reaches up and touches my feet. She lifts me a couple of inches so that I am standing on her hands like a circus performer but I still can’t let go of the branch.
“I’ll catch you.”
I make her promise. She counts down from three. I don’t let go. She counts from ten. I don’t let go.
She gets me to count. She promises she’ll catch me. She promises I won’t be grounded. She promises ice-cream.
I count and drop. She catches me. Not like a baby. Her arms guide me so that I land gently on my feet. She hugs me and I am safe.