Tree on the Way Home from the Library

When I was about 7, living in the East Bronx, in 1945, I would take my weekly Saturday hike to the Washington Avenue branch of the neighborhood public library. I don’t know how I crossed those busy streets by myself. Nobody was watching me, I would just go. I’d return the old batch of books, and pick up a new one. It was a huge amount of walking. I had flat feet, so they put me in these shoes with arches, and my feet would hurt. I don’t know how long it took me. It must have been 10-12 blocks. I had to go underneath the train, across Tremont Avenue, and the library was on the left hand side. I would spend a long time in the library getting my new books, and then I would walk home. Going there was downhill but going back was uphill. I got tired holding the books. There was this one tree. I don’t remember what it looked like. It was very big and wide and high. I didn’t look up, but the tree had a place to sit and rest my feet. I would sit there and relax and rest a minute. I’d catch my breath, then head home.—Beverly Bader