“What are you doing?!” my mom raged. “I wanted to give it some color” I timidly responded. I was ten years old and all I wanted was to paint the inside of me and my brother’s tree house. The walls were plain white and I felt that it needed some flair. I couldn’t find paint so I decided I would use the next best thing; nail polish. I had been working with my rather small paint brushes for an hour, and when I had finally painted about three inches, my mom came up and saw what I was doing. She grabbed me by the hand and took me to my brother so I could explain. When I told him, smoke erupted from out of his ears. “Taylor,” he said angrily in his slightly lisped voice.

Tree branches and leaves surrounded the tree house in the summer when my brother and I used it most. In the winter we would jump off of it into snow piles that we would spend hours building. When fall came around it would be hidden from the overwhelming amount of leaves that hovered around it. Technically it was my brother’s tree house, because it was built for him, so he felt like he was the king of it. I still used it, as much as it irritated him. When I was in it, I felt like the queen. On one half my brother would play ninjas and on the other side I would be tucking in my Lee Middleton doll for her nap.

It wasn’t much, just a simple box, made out of left over wood. A platform surrounded the outside of it. To get in there was a ladder which went from the door down to the ground. The windows and door were always covered with my doll’s blankets. Looking out one window you could see Pond road, and the horses running around inside the fence that never ended. When you looked out the other, you could see my real house which looked like a mansion compared to my little tree house. I felt so safe and secure in it, as if it acted as a barrier to the outside world.

As years went by we began using it less and less. Then it began getting weaker, and it was rotting out. Eventually it became unsafe to go in it. Finally one day it was gone, all that was left were the childhood memories my brother and I had made in it. I’ll never forget the nights that my friends and I would sleep in it, but then hear noises and run inside. I use to play in it by myself for hours with my dolls. It was light brown wood that had been part of my front yard forever and when it was finally gone, my yard looked naked.

The tree house being gone just shows how my life has changed since I’ve grown older. I wish I could go back to when I would spend all day in it just playing house. When I was in it, I could escape from the rest of the world, or hide from my brother. I grew up in that tree house, it wasn’t just a box made out of wood, with two windows and a door to me; it was my very own sanctuary.