I’ll never forget the city.

Busy. Loud. Alive in a way that felt like it had a pulse of its own.
A city sitting inside a state that couldn’t make up its mind—
bipolar weather, mood swings of Mother Nature,
and cars… always cars.

Automotive was more than industry where I’m from.
It was identity.

The ‘60s riots tried to destroy the sound—Motown.
Diana Ross, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, and Anita Baker reminded the world who we were anyway.

But my story didn’t start with music.

It started with Nana.

She was 17, carrying my mom.
By the time my mom made it to high school, they were out of the projects.
Nana brought a house on the west side.

And in front of that house was the white tree.

Fish frying.
Cards slapping the table.
Cars pulling up and lining the lawn like the street couldn’t hold them.

The block stayed busy.

But somehow…
the white tree didn’t seem to mind.

After my mom met my dad, they brought me home in a powder blue Cadillac—
white interior.

That was the first car I ever rode in.
From the hospital…
to the house with the pool.

Until one day…

My dad did something that changed everything.

He and that house with the pool
betrayed us.

And just like that, we were back.

Back to Nana.
Back to the white tree.

I remember her standing outside, right next to it.

The branches looked wider then.
Like arms. Just like Nana’s arms, welcoming us back.

Cars flew past at 35 miles an hour, day and night—
but right there, under that tree,
everything felt still.

Four houses down sat a playground.

Right next to a graveyard—
like life and death, shared a fence.

I used to ride my Barbie Jeep there.

Until one day…

Roshansa threw a brick.

It hit the hood of the Jeep first and cracked Barbie’s face clean down the middle.

Then me.

Right above my lip.

I remember the blood.
The shock.
The silence after.

I left that Jeep in the grass covered in my blood.

Right next to the white tree.

---

Growing up, I thought that tree made me special. We were the only house on the block with one.

To my left—
a boy who liked me. Played drums in church.
I think he just got out of jail.

To my right—
a kingpin’s son who stayed in trouble.
Now… a famous athlete.

Life moves fast. right?

But that tree…

---

Eventually, Nana left too.
Moved east to be closer to her siblings.

And just like that…
it was just me, my mom,
and the white tree.

---

From the age of four, every big moment started the same way:

“Go take a picture. Stand in front of the tree.”

And I did.

Before parties with friends.
Before events.
Before nights that would turn into memories I didn’t yet understand.

When I snuck out with an up-and-coming rapper—
the white tree saw me…

but didn’t tell on me.

It took pictures with Josh and I on Prom night.
It watched Jalen pick me up in a white Corvette.

If the tree could feel…I wonder. That tree saw everything.

---

One summer, I left for another semester.

It was windy that day.

The branches were swaying heavy—
like the tree was trying to tell me something.

I didn’t understand. I thought I was coming back.

But when I came home for Christmas…
senior year…

My mom handed me a new set of keys.

She sold the house.

She sold my white tree.

---

I still drove by sometimes.
Just to see it.
To make sure it was still there.

Until one day…

There was caution tape wrapped around it.

Someone had died right in front of it. I wanted to hug the tree.

---

That white tree saw everything.

My beginnings.
My pain.
My beauty.
My mistakes.
My becoming.

And sometimes I still think about it…

And wish—
it could tell my story back to me. Or tell me it’s story.

Because one day…

I’m coming back for that white tree.

Just to have it.