I was hanging out in a small bar down close to the river. It was comfortable there, no weirdness or scary people. After a few beers, a skinny, red-headed woman came up and asked if I would buy her a beer. Couldn’t say no, so I said okay. She sat down and started telling me about her treehouse. She was so enthusiastic, I got interested. Her house was on the riverbank, isolated and mysterious. I grew more and more curious. At that point, an equally skinny man came in and told her he was leaving, and she needed to come on. Reluctantly, she got off the bar stool and followed him. “Come on out anytime!” she called as she went out the door.
"How do I get there?” I hollered back, but she was already gone.
So, I started spending more time in that quaint saloon, in hopes of seeing the “Treehouse Lady” again. In time, my efforts were rewarded. She came in all wobbly and grinning one afternoon. Right away, I offered her a beer. “I can stay longer if you buy my boyfriend some beers, too!” she stated.
“Well, sure!” I offered, like a dummy. She went out and brought him in from the truck, smelling like stale beer and cigarettes and something left in the refrigerator too long.
A six pack or so later, I realized he was drinking them as fast as I would buy them. And my treehouse friend was engrossed in conversation with everyone but me. Finally, I had had enough. “Got to go now. Could you give me directions to your house?” I asked as I got up. She gave me some sketchy directions I would have trouble remembering later, but my money was running out and I had to go. I drove home on dirt roads lined with woods and fields, going over her vague directions in my head.
Finally, one Sunday afternoon, feeling adventurous, I filled up my station wagon with gas, and the ice chest with beer. Went down backroads and two ruts, looking for her place. When I finally found it, I walked right into a dispute over who had drunk up all the beers in the house. I was welcome at once when I unloaded the cooler! Her house was attached to two huge water oaks and shored up by pilings. It had a porch going all the way around, but no plumbing or electricity that I could see.The outer walls were covered in tar paper and the whole building was off level. But, she had flowers blooming in pots all around, giving it a festive look. What looked like an outhouse stood off to one side.
But that lady was so proud of her place, I was, once again, carried away by her enthusiasm. She wore a light blue nightgown as a dress, and talked and laughed and skipped through the trees like a child. Her joy was contagious and her delight with her makeshift home was inspiring. I left the ice chest full of beer for her and her boyfriend when I headed out.
Time passed and I got too busy to hang out at the bar. Then, one day I was riding by, and stopped in just to say hello. My friends were all there, as usual, and I was glad to see them. “What about the Treehouse Lady?” I inquired. Sad faces looked at me and I knew something was wrong. They told me she had passed away, while dancing and giggling in her nightgown down by the river. Her boyfriend moved somewhere else, and no one knew what had happened to the treehouse. So I had to go find it.
Once again, I plowed through dust and weeds, rattling along on washboard roads. A few more miles, and there it was, swaying in the breeze, along with those beautiful old oak trees. Windows had been left open and I could tell there was water damage on the inside. Then, as I walked around in the surrounding forest, a sudden breeze blew up and a bright wildflower landed at my feet. There was the flash of a light blue gown amongst the trees, and, maybe it was just the wind, but I’ll swear I could hear the echo of her laughter bouncing off the river banks.
