If a Tree Falls: a story in 60 seconds

You never know what's hiding behind it

“You can’t cut it down! You just can’t,” the woman pleaded from the sidewalk. “That tree brings life to the whole neighborhood!”

“It’s a town landmark,” another voice shouted behind her.

A crowd had formed in the street across from Tucker Daniel’s new home. He had purchased the foreclosed property over three months ago, and now it was time for renovations, landscaping, and—hopefully—a quick resale. He didn’t hate the tree, a giant elm with a canopy full of verdant leaves, but it didn’t add value, either. The contractors said that, given its age, it could be an insurance liability. Plus, it blocked the sun.

Tucker cast a glance at the protestors, then turned to the logger.

“So?” Tucker asked. “What do you think?”

The logger took another stroll around the base of the tree. “It’ll take a couple of days,” the man said as he puffed his cigarette. “But it shouldn’t be a problem as long as you got the permits.”

“I had all the paperwork finished last week.”

The man flicked the cigarette butt in the crowd’s direction. “Great,” he coughed. “Then we can get started tomorrow if you’d like.”

Tucker nodded. “The sooner, the better.”

The group on the sidewalk continued to hiss and jeer, but Tucker was already on his way back inside. After fixing himself a drink and watching some television, he walked upstairs to the master bedroom and stared out through the window. The elm’s bushy clusters of leaves obscured much of the setting sun. What does a tree really add to a neighborhood, he thought to himself.

At the crack of dawn the next day, a team of loggers began working on the tree, and by noon, it had been stripped of its massive branches. Now, the once mighty elm looked sickly and bare, like a lion without its mane. The protestors had gone home, and the street was quiet except for the intermittent buzz of the wood chipper.

Later that night, as Tucker prepared for bed, he took one final glance out his bedroom window. A light glowed lazily from the neighbor’s house across the way. He had never noticed it before. He kept staring and watched as a man with a sagging pot belly moved into his line of vision. Without the tree branches to block the way, he now had a clear view of his neighbor, who had begun fondling himself with his right hand as he waved to Tucker with his left.