Exposure (24 page)

As class president, Selena Alvaro delivered what she thought was a fitting tribute, reading from Shel Silverstein's
The Giving Tree
(as if that would somehow make us all less culpable for tree murder). I glanced around expecting to find an outraged Jenna, but she was strangely keeping a low profile. In mourning, I suspected.

“That was just depressing,” said Craig at Selena's conclusion of the book. “I always preferred
Where the Sidewalk Ends
.”

“Did you know Shel Silverstein wrote ‘A Boy Named Sue?'” Kaya leaned in and whispered.

“The Johnny Cash song?
Awesome
,” said Craig. He and I were camped out in the middle of the crowd with Kaya, Cat, Tess, and a few of Craig's hockey buddies, who, turns out, were pretty cool. Cat's crush on Craig's teammate, Nick Horne, had continued to bloom, and she now acted like she thought hockey was the most intensely interesting activity known to humankind.

“Well,
I'm
partial to the Red Wings, but I guess the Kings aren't bad,” she flirted as Tess and Kaya rolled their eyes in my direction.

“She is so gone,” Kaya groaned.

“Well,” Craig said, eyeing his pal, “the girl's got great taste.”

“Not as great as
mine
.” I fake swooned and threw my arm around my new boyfriend's neck. He had a dark mottled bruise on his right temple where Duff had punched him, but otherwise he was no worse for wear. The bump on the back of my head was still tender, but not visible.

“Get a room, you two,” Tess teased. “And Craig, maybe you should find some concealer while you're at it.”

“Yeah, man,” said Kaya. “Was Duff wearing brass knuckles when he did that?”

“I can't believe they're cutting this huge sucker down,” I said, trying to change the subject while eyeing the giant evergreen.

“Our ancestors would be having a conniption fit,” said Cat, taking a break from her flirting long enough to recognize the injustice.

“There are things that are right in this world and things that are wrong, and it's up to people to choose,” I weighed in, feeling mildly indignant as I took a few last photos of the majestic landmark. “That anyone on this stupid planning committee could convince themselves that this is the right thing to do means they are deluding themselves.”

“But the plans are already in motion,” Craig said. “I agree with you, in principle, but that train has left the station. It's not like they can do anything about it now.”

“Aren't you and I living proof that it's never too late?” I reminded him. “It's certainly never too late to do the right thing. I mean, look how beautiful this tree is! Isn't anything sacred anymore?”

“Now you're talking Yup'ik,” Tess said, stifling a laugh.

“Or maybe she's channeling Jenna,” said Kaya.

“Speaking of,” said Nick, his eyes gazing past us, “here's your girl now.” We all glanced in the direction Nick was looking and saw Jenna marching in front of a battalion of what looked like … wait, what was that?

“What are they all carrying?” Kaya echoed my sentiments as we squinted into the harsh noontime sun. Having amassed a brigade of at least twenty students and some local citizens, Jenna's Green Team was marching from the far side of the quad toward us. Each student held a posterboard with what looked like construction paper leaves pasted onto it. They were shaking and rustling the poster boards en masse while yelling a still unrecognizable chant.

“It looks like we're being attacked by a grove of angry trees,” said Sean Stax, who braced his tall frame in front of Kaya and Tess. “Don't worry ladies: I'll protect you!”

“Who's that next to her?” Kaya wondered, jumping to see over Sean's shoulder.

“It's Duff,” answered Craig. His voice — and his body language — had suddenly tensed up. I glanced at him inquisitively but he kept staring intently at the oncoming “forest” of students. By this time I could see Jenna and Duff more clearly. Both wore wild wreaths of pine branches on their heads and their faces were covered in camouflage war paint. Their militant rag-tag crew was similarly decked out, and they all chanted passionately.

“
SAVE THE TREE OR YOU'RE NEXT! SAVE THE TREE OR YOU'RE NEXT!
”

The whole student body soon picked up on the chant, although I personally thought the implied threat coming from the protesters was a bit heavy-handed. The chant grew more impassioned now.

“
SAVE THE TREE OR YOU'RE NEXT! SAVE THE TREE OR YOU'RE NEXT!
”

Craig dropped his hand from around my waist, and I turned to find him looking like he was about to puke.

“What's wrong?” I said quietly. He only shook his head in response, staring at his feet. Jenna and Duff broke away from their army of dissenters now and approached the stage in their strange foliage fashion statements. Principal Schaeffer stepped forward to stop them, but their body language made it clear they would be heard from before they accepted their punishment for humiliating the administration. The rest of the protesters waited off to the side of the stage, rattling their leave-bedecked posterboards, the sound of which lent an ominous drama as Jenna took the microphone.

“Distinguished friends, teachers, fellow students,” she said, looking like the queen of the woodland sprites with her petite frame and limp, light-brown tresses. The poster-rattlers were subdued at the sound of her commanding voice. “We stand before you today as a coalition of diverse beings united in one cause: to save nature before we destroy ourselves. This majestic tree, in all her arboreal splendor, has been alive longer than all of us — before the cornerstone of this edifice was ever laid, before the earth under our feet became American soil, before our grandparents' parents took their first breath of air.”

“Heavy,” whispered Cat.

“She is sooo busted,” Kaya added. I had to agree; Principal Schaeffer looked steamed.

“The forward march of time brings progress,” Jenna continued, “but as we, the students of East Anchorage High, get ready to embark on our own future, we take one last stand to preserve the best, the most ideal, the most consecrated emblem of our past. Please do not pave paradise to put up a parking lot.”

Jenna stepped aside now and yielded the microphone to Duff, who nodded as he positioned himself sternly at the podium.

“Yesterday is ashes. Tomorrow wood. Only today the fire shines brightly,” he began, reading from index cards. “That's a native proverb, and it rings true for the cause that brings us here today. The memories that we seniors have created over the last four years are only that: memories, like dead leaves that wither and disintegrate. We don't know what the future will bring us as we go on to carve out our lives. But today we can choose to flourish. And so we must act.”

“Well, they
are
building a theater,” Tess said. Nobody laughed, and by her facial expression, even she realized it was a bad pun.

“The mistakes we've made,” continued Duff, “the mistakes we are certain to commit in the future…. They're beside the point this afternoon. But the mistake we're about to make in destroying this testimony to God's grandeur is one we can't allow!”

The students erupted into a fit of applause, while the adults surrounding Schaeffer stood silently, looking like they had all just smelled a rotten egg that had been baking in the sun for hours.

“This tree nourishes us. We learned that in biology class, thanks to Mr. Gallagher,” Duff went on. “It releases oxygen, which we need to exist. This tree has done its small part to keep us alive. If we cast aside Nature, we may not feel the consequences in this generation or the next. But mark my words: if we cast aside Nature, Nature will ultimately cast
us
aside. And so it is with one last heartbroken plea that we humbly ask you, Principal Schaeffer, and you, esteemed members of the school board, to reconsider removing this stately companion to countless graduating classes. Save the tree … or you're next. Save the tree, or we
all
will be next.”

In my peripheral vision I noticed Craig's hand graze his cheek. Was he crying? Duff's speech was poignant, sure, but I didn't peg my boyfriend to be such a tree-hugger. Still, he was most definitely misting up, so I gently rubbed his back without looking at him or saying anything.

Having said their piece, Craig and Jenna returned to their throng of protesters, seemingly acknowledging that regardless of their attempt, they could not stop Old Burny from literally getting the axe. Principal Schaeffer looked vexed and unnerved as he returned to the mic.

“Mr. Wallace, Ms. Powell, thank you for your stirring speech. Er, uh … you raised a good point, which is why I am so pleased to point out that one hundred percent of Old Burny's pine cones, branches, bark, and roots will be salvaged and put to good use. Not one pine needle will go to waste.”

“Tell it to the paper mills,” yelled a guy from the back of the student section.

“In fact,” Principal Schaeffer said, “the wonderful trunk of this tree will be carved into a totem pole next year by our art students, under the supervision of Mr. Ted Richter, to honor the native Alaskan cultures. It will be displayed proudly in the lobby of our state-of-the-art auditorium, where students and our very generous financial donors will be able to marvel at it and remember the stately tree it once was.”

A number of boos emanated from my section of the crowd. Schaeffer's attempt at sprinkling sugar on this shitty situation wasn't working.

“Wait here.” Craig broke free from our group and weaved his way toward the front of the crowd of students congregated on the lawn.

“Dude, where's he going?” said Nick, shooting me a bewildered glance. Craig stood a few feet in front, facing the podium.

“Principal Schaeffer, you've raised a really terrific point,” he proclaimed loudly as he emerged from the crowd and walked toward the dais. I noticed he didn't seem teary-eyed anymore. Resolute was the better word. “If I may, I'd love to elaborate on what you've just suggested.”

It was pretty evident that trying to stop all six-foot-two of Craig MacKenzie would be way more trouble than letting him have his two cents, so Schaeffer mustered a tight smile and ushered Craig to the podium as if it was his idea all along. Just as they'd listened thoughtfully to Duff and Jenna minutes before, my fellow classmates waited with bated breath for their Prom King to weigh in. I cringed, remembering what he'd said the last time he had a captive audience. All I knew for sure was, this wasn't really about the tree.

Craig cleared his throat before lowering his head closer to the microphone.

“Principal Schaeffer is right,” he began, hesitantly. “We ought to pay tribute to this tree. But totem pole or not, it's inevitable: people will forget. When you destroy something so strong, cut it down in its prime, people mourn … for a while. But the memory soon fades. Future graduating classes will never know that a tree once stood here. It'll show up in photographs from time to time,” — here he caught my eye in the crowd — “but we won't be able to sit under its shade or enjoy watching the birds that nest here. I used to think that forgetting was the path to healing, the path to forgiveness. But I was wrong.”

As if on cue, the birds were chattering overhead, giving his words more relevance. This time next week, there'd only be the sound of construction equipment.

“I don't know if I truly valued the meaning of life until recently,” Craig said. “We all were affected by death in a profound way this year when we lost our classmate, Duncan Shaw.” Although he barely flinched at the mention of his late son, I could sense by the look on Edward Shaw's face that the subject still caused him profound pain. Did he realize that the person responsible for his son's death was now addressing him?

“Mr. Shaw, I know that you will never forget Duncan. But I want you to know that I won't forget him, either. And I'm sorry. … He should still be alive, and he would be if only….”

Craig placed both elbows on the podium and leaned over it as if he'd just been punched in the gut. He took a deep breath to collect himself before raising his head again.

“Duncan is gone, and there's nothing that can bring him back. But we can give him a much more fitting tribute than a dance routine in the gym and a few pages in the yearbook. This school is the last place where Duncan shone in his all-too-brief life. Sure, we can go to a cemetery and visit his grave, but wouldn't there be something more joyful and life-affirming about coming and sitting under this old tree and being surrounded by laughter and friends and youth: the very things that best represent him? I propose that we honor Duncan's memory by dedicating this tree to him with a memorial plaque. Let Old Burny remain standing as a testament to
his
life.”

Of course, the crowd of students erupted into applause at Craig's suggestion, while the adults on the stage looked uncomfortable. Craig had really put them in an awkward position now. Would anyone be able to veto this idea with Duncan's still-grieving father present?

Duff and Jenna began leading the crowd in a brand new chant: “
SAVE THE TREE! DO IT FOR DUNCAN! SAVE THE TREE! DO IT FOR DUNCAN!
”

It occurred to me that Craig might have more to say on the subject of Duncan, so I was relieved when he backed away from the microphone and stepped off the stage, weaving his way back toward me. Through the din of the chants, Duncan's father, Edward, approached Principal Schaeffer, and several other members of the school board joined them in a discussion. After a few minutes, the crowd quieted, but the adults on stage were still mired in conversation. Finally Principal Schaeffer nodded his head and returned to the podium.

“The school board has decided to convene for a meeting this weekend to explore our options with regards to Mr. MacKenzie's suggestion. And so, since it looks like our dedication ceremony has come to a startling, er, impasse, I'd like to invite everyone to please partake of the punch and baked goods that members of the PTA have provided in the gymnasium.” Schaeffer could barely hide his annoyance but I noticed that Mr. Shaw looked thoughtful. Craig had found his way back to me by now. He smiled but looked uneasy as we followed the crowd migrating toward the gym.