Choose Me

          The whispering of the other trees woke me from a nap that frigid morning. I allowed the breeze to brush the snow from my eyes as I tried to figure out what caused all the excitement.

          “Oh, I hope they choose me,” the tall, stately fir beside me murmured.

          “They will surely take us both,” the mighty spruce answered.

          I could hear people voices at the edge of the woods. “What’s happening?” I asked.

          “The men are coming to choose Christmas trees,” the tiny cedar answered. “I wish they would choose me, but I heard they don’t like cedar.” He sighed.

          Excitement built as we waited for the men to work their way through all the trees. We could hear them as they stopped and discussed which trees to take. Soon two stood between me and the fir. “I like this fir,” the largest man said as he grabbed one of the branches. “It’s good and healthy.”

          “What do you think of the small tree?” the thin man asked, thumping my trunk with something hard. “Last year we had some folks who wanted a smaller tree than we had.”

          “Let’s do it, then.”

          The men cut us down - I won’t describe how that hurt, but I wanted to be a Christmas tree all my life. I finally got my wish, so I won’t complain about the pain. Everyone had been told that it hurt. After cutting several of us down, the men tossed us into a big box-like thing that moved. We bumped along for part of the day before the box stopped, and different men grabbed us and hauled us out, standing us in a funny kind of forest.

          Since I’ve been in this place, lots of people in all sizes have visited this woods. They look at the other trees, and one by one the others have been chosen. No one has chosen me. Most of the other trees are gone now.

          The man who chose me in the big woods stopped by me a short time ago. “I thought someone would want you, but guess I was wrong. Sorry, tree, but tomorrow is Christmas, and, well, guess you’ll go to the mulch grinder.” He shook his head before moving away.

          “Wow!” I said, “he never talked to me before.”

          “Don’t think you’re important,” a Douglas fir leaning on the fence snorted. “He talks to everything. Don’t get excited, either. I’ve seen what they do with trees that start losing their needles or get broken.” He waved a branch over the top of the fence. “There’s a monster over there that eats them.”

          Eats them? Eat me? Oh, no! I frantically thought. But, but, I’m supposed to be a Christmas tree. I felt my branches droop. The disappointment loosened my needles, and they started falling off.

          “Hey! Stop that!” the Douglas shouted. “If you lose your needles you’ll go right now.”

          “But I’m supposed to be a Christmas tree,” I repeated aloud.

          “Yeah, so am I, but people look at me and say I’m too big.” The Douglas leaned back against the fence. “So here we are: I’m too big, and you’re too small.”

          Just as the sky started getting dark, some more people came to the woods. One group of a tall man and a shorter woman and two small people chattered like squirrels as they poked and prodded the remaining trees.

          “I told you we were waiting too long to get a tree, but, no, you wanted to wait until Christmas Eve,” the woman told the man. “Just to save a few dollars. Well, I hope you’re happy because now we probably won’t find one worth getting.”

          “Look, Daddy, look!” one of the small people said, a girl, I think they are called. “Here’s a biiiiggggg one.” She pointed at the Douglas.

          Please look at me, please. Choose me. Choose me. I silently plead over and over. But the man and woman went straight to the Douglas.

          “This is just the one,” the man stated. “And you thought we wouldn’t find a good tree. Ha!”

          In minutes the Douglas left to be a Christmas tree while I stood all alone at the back of the woods. I could see all the way to the front now. Not many trees were left, and another man and woman looked at them.

          “Look at me. Please look at me,” I whispered.

          They moved closer, talking quietly to themselves. The man who chose me in the forest walked up to them. “All prices are reduced. You can have any tree on the lot for a dollar.”

          “Any tree?” the woman asked. She turned to the man beside her. “We can get a tree after all.” She looked around at the skinny, sad looking trees that stood toward the front. Then her eyes spied me all alone at the back. “There!” She pointed at me. “Oh, George, there is the most perfect little tree.”

          George ambled over to me and around me. “Yes, it’s just right. It’ll fit in our apartment on the table.” He turned to the man who had brought me here from the woods. “We’ll take it.”

          Sigh. I wish everyone could see me now. I’m a real Christmas tree. I have some twinkly lights and a string of popcorn. A very little person, a boy I think, stood and stared at me for a very long time.

          “Mommy, it’s pretty,” he whispered. “It’s so pretty.”