This is what she knew.
At some point, you begin to grow up. It's true for all life: plants, animals, humans, everything. Nothing stays young forever.
It started with a seed. A lima bean seed, to be precise. Its growth was the catalyst for that relationship. It could all be traced back to a lima bean seedling.
Eventually, however, seedlings become a mature plant, ready to be harvested. Once the harvest is complete, the plant's purpose is finished. Lima beans don't live forever.
Neither do relationships.
It ended slowly. Little by little, the romance had drained away until only the friendship was left. It had been organic, a return to fallow soil. One day, they'd looked up and realized the harvest was complete.
This is what she was learning.
Trees were very patient. They took their time, growing in small increments, until one day you find yourself standing next to them, wondering how they got so tall. You realize the tree has always been there, part of your world, just blending in with your surroundings. You see the tree everyday, but you really look at them when the leaves change.
Seasons always continue to turn. One moment you are a wide-eyed freshman in the booth of a Chinese restaurant, babbling about lima beans.. The next you are a savvy junior, watching a graduation and thinking about trees.
Trees are solid. Once a tree reaches adulthood, it takes extreme circumstances to destroy them: lightning strikes, disease, drought, lumberjacks. Left on its own, the tree would be protective, steady, sheltering the forest below under its branches. You could rely on a tree. Trees don't leave you, trees stay where they grow.
The only exception is when they are uprooted and shipped away, assigned to protect a city on the other side of the country.
Nothing stays young forever.
This is what she knows she will do.
Pulling him away from the mob at graduation was child's play. Coaxing the ivy to form a bower for some privacy, simple. Looking up into his confused face, the words she wanted to say dying in her throat...difficult. She kisses him instead. Her fingers twining into the hair he still wore long, tugging him down to meet her. He tenses, going stiff for a moment, and she thinks she has made a classification error. Then he melts into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her a little for a better angle.
The heat ratchets upwards and she feels like she is standing in the midst of a forest fire. Metaphorically, of course. He has much better control these days.
Forest fires are a necessary part of a forest's ecosystem. The flames burn the debris on the forest floor, releasing vital nutrients and minerals faster than decomposition, helping the environment to thrive. They feed on old wood, wiping away plants that are no longer flourishing, creating holes in the canopy, allowing new plants to get vital sunlight. Perhaps allowing a tiny seedling hidden in the shadows to reach for the sunlight, allowing it to grow.
He ends it, his hands tangled in her hair, looking intently at her face. She smiles wryly, her fingers clenching on the leather of his uniform. He smiles back.
This is what she doesn't know yet.
They will fight. A lot. He is hot-tempered. She is stubborn. He scorches the walls. She wraps his car with climbing hydrangeas.
They will break up during her sophomore year in college. It will last for 22 days before he will show up outside her apartment with a sapling. He will never leave.
They will get married in the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. It has cool & dry weather for him and trees for her. It will be the happiest day of their lives so far.
They will save the world together three times before she will retire. She will be pregnant, new life growing inside her.
They will have two children. Their daughter will be able to cause earthquakes. Their son will be a gifted herbalist.
They will still fight.
They will always make up.
They will be in love for the rest of their lives.