Doug and Maple

“Any day now Maple.”

“You mean any year. They don't even know you're alive. Not in any meaningful way at least. Even if they did, what makes you think they'd care?”

“Why do you always have to embrace the negative?”

“Doug, you've never seen humans for what they are. They kill us. They make houses out of us. If you became one of them, you'd do the same thing.”

It was a conversation both of them were tired of having. After five decades of debating the merits and faults of humanity, they had agreed to disagree. But every couple years Doug had to pipe up and say something stupid. Maple was convinced that Doug's fixation was not only irrational but a symptom of some illness. Perhaps he was carrying a beetle of some sort under his bark that whispered all this nonsense.

“Not everyone is like that. Remember that kid who climbed you?”

“Oh, the little brat that ripped off my branches a decade ago?”

“That boy loved you Maple!”

“He just wanted to get up high. I was so scared the little guy was going to fall out of me and hurt himself. Human's aren't very bright.”

“Not very bright? Do you remember when those guys were able to telepathically greet each other over the internet?” It was a absurd question. Of course Maple remembered. They had both felt the WiFi signal transmit and were duly impressed.

“So they're finally beginning to wake up. But you and I are awake. We know what is real and they still don't. They can already talk to each other in the garbled language, but they can't hear what's really going on.”

“But they're close. They're getting there, and when they find me--”

“Doug, they will never learn about you or me. And like I have said thousands of times, even if they do, they won't care about you or me. Any of us.”

Doug looked up at the small cotton puff of a cloud. No rain today. That was alright. The cloud muttered an apology before dissipating completely.

Another decade passed.

“See how many they planted! Did you feel the love Maple?”

“Yes Doug, I did, but it's nothing more than self preservation. They're getting desperate.”

“No, I think they're waking up. They're right on the edge and just need a little nudge.”

“Doug, it's too late. The Amazon is gone, and...” It hadn't rained in over a year and neither of them wanted to mention anything to do with water.

Doug had heard Maple's sobs a few months earlier. The poor girl was losing her leaves in August. He had tried to think of something nice to say, but she became furious with him for even pondering pitying her.

“We need to get out of this soil Maple. You and I need to make it, and I know it sounds selfish and I should be more empathetic with our kind, but I just can't help but feel that everything the humans are doing will pan out.”

“Pan out? You mean that they'll be okay?” Maple was furious, but Doug looked at her with such hope and earnest belief that she burst into laughter. A paper thin wisp of bark curled upward in the sun, and though it burned like a heat blister Maple's laughter spun outward.

“Have you ever been happy being a tree Doug? I mean seriously. You always talk about humans and how wonderful you think they are, but what about you? What about your life? It seems like you waste all your time marveling over what you can never have.”

“Once again, it seems to me that you are taking the glass is half full approach.”

“There is no glass Doug. There is no water.” Immediately after mentioning the word, Maple regretted it. Doug softened his gaze.

“We're going to be okay, Maple. Don't worry, they'll save us.”

The little rock around the little fire ball in the little galaxy spun and spun. Time flexed its grip on mortality and humanity continued to innovate. Maple and Doug listened to it all with the critical awareness of two souls awaiting a miracle.