Quaking Aspen

She had a most deceptive appearance. She looked like a girl with auburn hair and pale skin, skin that was almost white. She was thin--so very thin and tall. She sat with her arms stuck at her sides. Her brown eyes showed nothing. No happiness, no humor, no pain, no anguish. Because she only looked like a girl. The girl was just a façade. She was actually a tree.

“You are Aspen, yes?” a woman in gray asked.

Aspen nodded. Trees could nod, after all, if so moved.

“Aspen, I am Dr. Saltalamacchia. Can you say ‘Saltalamacchia’?”

Of course she couldn’t. Because Aspen was a tree. Trees cannot talk. Aspen shook her head ‘no.’ That was also within the nature of a tree, wasn’t it?

“That’s fine,” the doctor said with a smile. “It’s a rather clumsy name, I know. Most of my patients call me Dr. Salty. You may, too, if you wish.”

Aspen didn’t, but the invitation was kind, anyway.

“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” the doctor asked. Aspen shook her head. “Is there anything you would like to tell me?” Again, Aspen declined. “Very well, then,” said the doctor. “Shall I tell you about myself?”

Trees can’t shrug, so Aspen nodded.

“Well,” said Dr. Salty, “I’m forty-two years old, have two children, and I graduated from Marshall University. I did both my undergraduate and graduate school there. Best years of my life, following some of the worst. Not unlike your own.”

Aspen nodded. Dr. Salty, though she was also very tall and thin, was not a tree, though, so Aspen was sure they were nothing alike. Aspen had more in common with the beech outside than with the doctor, physical similarities aside.

“Can you tell me how you feel about being here?” asked Dr. Salty.

Aspen shook her head. Trees didn’t have feelings.

“Do you feel like you are being punished?”

Aspen shook her head.

“Do you feel like you will be helped?”

Aspen shook her head.

“Do you feel like you need to be helped?”

Aspen shook her head. Though trees don’t have feelings, Aspen didn’t like this line of conversation. Her hands trembled. Quaking aspen, she thought, I am a quaking aspen.

“Your father loves you very much,” said Dr. Salty.

Aspen nodded. He said this often.

“He says you don’t listen to him; you haven’t listened to anyone since you began your diet back in seventh grade. Do you think this is true?”

That. She had been a girl back then. Just a girl, round and soft and red. But the doctor had asked a question. Was it true she didn’t listen? Aspen shook her head.

“Do you want others to think you aren’t listening?

Aspen shook her head.

“But you won’t respond to them,” said the doctor, finally. Aspen sat still as ever, but she felt like she was being blown. She wished so deeply that she could put her roots down and hang on.

“Do you feel physically able to speak?” asked the doctor.

Aspen nodded.

“Do you want to speak?”

Aspen didn’t respond. Because trees aren’t always moved to nod.

“Well,” the doctor said, “I think that is where we could start. I told your father this would probably be a short session. Here’s what I want you to do, Aspen. I want you to go home and think about what you want. What you want from these sessions, what you want from your life. We will discuss it when you come Friday. Okay?”

Aspen nodded. Trees didn’t walk, so Aspen didn‘t either. The doctor went to the door and called her father in. He picked her up in his strong arms. Like oak, she thought. Once outside, Aspen tried not to look at the blossoming cherry tree. It didn’t like her. Girl, it said. Girl, girl, girl, girl.

Aspen rolled her window up. She was not a girl. Girls talked and walked and ate solid food. Aspen did none of those. Aspen was silent and still and had a root that fed her. She was a tree. Populus tremuloides: the shaking poplar. But Aspen preferred the alternate translation: the shaking people. She was one of the shaking people.

Trees are trees, she had concluded long ago, or what felt like long ago. They do not worry. They do not care. They shake but are not moved. They do not want. So she would be a tree. It was a better existence.

But deep down, Aspen knew that while trees may not want to talk, she did.

A/N: I wrote this for a creative writing class. I don't think my execution is quite right yet, but I like the idea and would like to bounce it off all of you wonderful people. The subject is a girl with an eating disorder, in case I have failed and was too subtle. Please tell me what you think.