EVERYDAY the girl sits under the myrtle tree atop a hill.  It’s quieter up here, away from the bustling world below.  Away from that boy.  Gosh, I hate him.  But does she really hate him?  Or does she hate how she loves him?  She’ll never truly know.  What she can be certain of is that this tree is her safe place, and as long as it stands, she will be okay.
HOME is where the heart is.  For the girl, her heart is certainly not in Downtown Brooklyn.  There’s a party every weekend in her neighborhood, each one seemingly louder than the previous.  The stench of alcohol, sweat, and weed travels with each underage teen that drags themselves out the venue and onto the pavement.  They don’t even make it home before knocking out.  The days following are filled with recaps on how the party was “a movie”.  Oh my gosh did you here she couldn’t come because she’s a month pregnant?  The girl thinks to herself, “Who could she be?”  But her curiosity is short-lived as she realizes it could honestly be anybody in her school.  Home is where the heart is, but is her home really filled with sex, drugs, and the melodies of parties?  This life isn’t like the fairy tales the girl read about in her childhood books.
THEN she met the boy under the myrtle tree.  On a Friday evening, she went train hopping and ended up in the middle of nowhere.  Uh Oh, no service.  That’s okay, she’ll find her way back eventually.  She walked and walked until she came across a hill with a singular tree at its peak.  Being the curious teen she was, she twerked her way to the top, and when she reached the summit there it was.  The myrtle tree bore fruit, almost too many.  It was the middle of July and myrtle berries weren’t in season yet.  The girl, having just learned all about fruits on Tiktok, knew something wasn’t right, and she definitely knew that these berries weren’t good to eat.  But curiosity beats all, and she walked right up to the tree and took a bite of a berry.  She gagged from the overwhelming pungent taste.  However, upon recovering, she opened her eyes to a boy standing across from her.
HE was beautiful.  To call him perfection served as an injustice to his face.  The boy seemed surreal to the girl.  Am I high?  Nah, someone had to have laced those berries.  No, that's stupid.  This boy was real, and the girl wanted him.  He gestured for her to follow him and she did.  The boy broke into a full sprint and the girl followed him.  A man this fine wouldn’t hurt me.  The girl followed him for what seemed to be miles.  She turned her head in the middle of her sprint and she saw the world.  On her left there was a sunrise, a canvas of fuschia and clementine.  On her right was a scarlet sunset.  How the-?  Several strides later there was a flower shop.  The girl reached out to touch the flowers and when she retracted her hand, there was a massive bouquet of baby’s breath and red roses.  As she kept going she saw a chapel, its bell sounding, indicating a new marriage.  This is amazing.  The girl was running through her fantasies, experiencing her dreams with this mysterious dream guy leading the way.  She kept going, longing for more, but suddenly she was back in Brooklyn.  The sobering smell of a classic Brooklyn function drained her adrenaline.
IF home is where the heart is, then the girl’s home was that tree.  Every Friday night she found her way back without remotely any hint at directions.  She walked in any direction and ended up finding the hill anyway.  Year-round, that tree bore fruit.  Years passed by, and the tree remained ornamented with these berries.  And with every bite of the navy blue morsel, another corner of her imagination was brought to life along with that boy.  Her weekly sprints were journeys into her deepest desires.  One night she ran by an Italian restaurant.  Little Italy?  But she took one bite of pasta and was sure she was in Rome itself.  Another night she was in Hawaii, taking in the sea breeze devouring a bowl of loco moco.  Every night ended with her returning to the sobering town of Dumbo, but those visits to the myrtle tree, knowing it would always be there for her, kept her going.
REGARDLESS of the party life all her friends lived, the girl still believed in her fairytale.  She would meet her dream guy, the perfect man.  She would find a way for the boy to be there permanently, not just a fragment of her wild imagination brought to life by a fruit.  But for now, she would settle for the boy by the tree.  As long as the tree stood tall, she would believe in her Cinderella story.  Love comes from the heart, and home is where the heart is.  Her home is the tree, and so her dream of authentic love comes from the everlasting myrtle tree.