Second Prize Short Story 2004
Giving Tree
Orest, Ukraine/Pennsylvania, Age 17

They say first impressions are usually the best. Usually, but not if you're at the age of innocence. Not if you still think that Power Rangers will once rule earth. The first time I laid eyes on the enormous skyscrapers coming from the Pittsburgh International Airport, I was in awe. Wow, so this is America, I thought. My cousins, like me, were glued to the window as if watching a full throttle action movie. As soon as the airplane wheels screeched to a halt, my vision and memories of Ukraine went blank. Everything from the tranquil wheat fields at my grand father's farm to the fresh smell of my mothers dirooni during dinnertime, were all substituted by the sharp cars and stingy faces on commercial boards.

The car was unexpectedly quiet when we were approaching Mckee's Rocks. We were still grasping the idea that we were in a totally different country thousands of miles away. My mom's eyes widened with confusion as our hostess drove us through the dusty deserted streets. Is there a war here? she blurted, not questioning the obscurity of her question. The hostess quickly burst into laughter. No, no, it's always isolated like this, she responded.

As the last shriek of the weary brake seized, we reached our temporary house. Nothing special about the duplex besides the tropical yard it was subdued in. Oak trees stiffly made their stance like ancient Greek columns. In the middle of the yard swayed a large pine tree, stubbornly covering the view of the other side of the territory. A narrow concrete road parallel to the building led to the entrance. The settling took less time then expected. I finished with all the expected helping of unpacking the luggage and crouched on the couch on the porch, resting with the setting sun. Not noticing that I had forgotten to see the other side of the yard earlier in the day, I unconsciously looked through the dust-spotted window and saw a light magnolia tree conversing with the pleasant wind. Its' branches seemed to reach out to something farther then the known. The mystique of its' figure fit harmonically into its' surroundings like a last puzzle piece. It suddenly excused itself from its' conversation and stared back at me. We made eye contact. My stomach sharply twisted, the way it would when I met a stranger. So calm in its notions, it greeted me to my new house. I met my first American friend.

Days flew. The summer's monotonous humidity covered the isolated streets. The more I got accustomed to my new habitat, the more I realized how much I really missed home. Sometimes during midday, I would rest comfortably under the magnolia, dreaming of a better place. As time progressed, the flowers on the magnolia began to bloom, opening to a new world, and things seemed to brighten up for me. At times my dad would invite his brother and Ukrainian friends. Steak smoke sizzled from the grill during the late evenings. At the pour of vodka the adult's laughter could be heard from across the street. My cousins and I took advantage of their misguided judgment and bribed our parents for money while they were still unconscious of their actions. The Magnolia would invitingly sway in the evening wind, laughing at our conduct. We accepted its' invitation; grabbing on to its' supportive branches, playing tag.

Swinging feverishly from one branch to another trying to catch the opponent, I somehow forgot that at this height I should be careful not to fall. Later it came to me that in the back of my mind I was in no doubt that the tree's parental hands would have caught me if anything would have happened. Laughter could be heard from both sides of the yard, the kids and adults both indulging in their own activities.

As the seasons altered so did my perception of life. It began to take a stance with school work. From the living room I often heard my parents screaming at each other and talk a lot about divorcing and moving out. Life in general became more serious. Sometimes I would look outside at the Magnolia's tranquil, consistent form, and recall memories of the peaceful fields where life was so good and blissful. I couldn't thank it enough for all that it brought. They say God sends guardian angels for everyone. For me he sent a Magnolia that nourished me through my youth with its' peaceful presence. It was a substitute for the childhood I would have had in Ukraine.

Orest on life between cultures: (The hardest thing is) probably adaptation to the new environment; knowing that your real home is waiting across the seas.