The rental car slowly pulled into the parking spot and was perfectly centered between the solid, white lines. A man and his two daughters emerged from the vehicle, stretching their legs after spending hours trapped in the cramped box on wheels. The older daughter did not mind this. After all, she spent most of the drive asleep, letting the steady hum of power coursing through the car cradle her. The younger, however, was restless, unable to do something as dull as sleep as the anticipation of their arrival grew with every passing moment. The sisters excitedly took off across the snow-covered ground to the park they knew oh so well. It had been a year since they last visited the park, but they knew it like the back of their hand. 

The park was home to many different things: a playground with a creaky, old seesaw that the sisters adored, a large lake that was covered in ice at the moment, a botanical garden that not only had beautiful plants, but also works of art, and a treehouse. The sisters loved the treehouse. It was made up of many different levels with a large, winding staircase leading to the top. There were plaques scattered throughout the structure that held the history of the park. The older sister, an intellectual, loved to read them, and would search the treehouse to learn all she could. The younger sister didn’t have such patience or interest, and instead preferred to chase the squirrels she saw scurrying about in hopes of befriending them. The family usually came during the fall, when the levels were adorned with leaves that were colored yellow, orange, and red. The younger sister loved the leaves, and would handpick the most beautiful ones to add to her collection. However, because the family had come later in the year this time, there were no colorful leaves, only a fluffy blanket of snow, coating the park in still, undisturbed perfection. The sisters rarely saw snow, so whenever they did, they naturally began assaulting one another with a fiery passion that contradicted the frozen world surrounding them. These snowball fights usually ended in tears, (almost always those of the younger sister,) but they loved them nonetheless. 

The girls’ great-grandfather would sometimes visit them at the park. He was the whole reason for their trip, so any moment with him was a gift, especially with his old age and ever-present health problems. Although he was nearly ninety, the sisters’ great-grandfather was young at heart, and he adored spending time with his great-grandchildren above all else. He played with them in the snow, making angels of ice and men with carrot noses until he could no longer, and at that point would go sit with the girls’ father and discuss unimportant adult things as the sisters continued to dance on the icy, white stage as if it had been lain for them. 

Years passed, and this annual tradition continued. Until it didn’t. The rental car pulled into a parking spot, the same spot the family had claimed as their own for so many years. The youngest sister got out of the car, no longer filled with the energy of her youth, her eyes stained red and her heart heavy with pain. She walked across the vibrant, grassy ground that had once been hidden under a sheet of beautifully flawless snow. She never saw the park in the springtime, and she thought it looked rather beautiful and calm, with birds singing and flowers blooming for the first time that year. She searched for the heartwarming melody of the birds’ chirps and chimes, but all she could hear was a depressingly somber piece, as if they were echoing the notes ringing in her soul. She walked over to the treehouse, the source of so much joy when she was young, and stopped at its first step, staring up through the needly branches of the trees. The wood was stained darker from rain and had warped and splintered after years of use. It no longer seemed like a whimsical wonderland full of secrets and adventures, but was merely a house of wood that was haunted with memories. Her father called to her, telling her it was time to go. She took one last look at the treehouse and turned around, avoiding the puddles of the spring rain so as not to muddy her black dress. She got into the passenger seat of the car and the gloomy pair slowly drove away from a land of fantasy and innocence into one of painful reality. She wished her sister was with her, for her sister was always there when she needed her most, ready to face the darkness alongside her. But she understood her sister’s decision to not go. Part of her wished she had chosen to not go as well. Once the two reached their destination, they were greeted by relatives both young and old, holding onto each other for strength and support. The sister rarely got to see so many of her kin at one time, being that this honor was reserved for celebrations or mournings. The family, a united front now without its head, took their places at the front of the chapel. 

The younger sister walked across the crunchy, lifeless grass in the sweltering Arizona heat. She longed for the cool breeze Wyoming harbored, but they didn’t go there anymore, not since the funeral. That didn’t stop her from dreaming of her home away from home, however. She thought of her relatives’ ranch, the Culver’s they always stopped at, and, most of all, the park they had spent so many hours of their visits. She thought about the time she and her older sister had spent stomping in puddles, climbing the playground, looking at leaves, and playing in the snow there. She thought of the treehouse and its many levels, each one holding a different story. She thought of the people she loved, both living and dead, who held a connection to the park. She thought of all of this in an instant, and then continued on her path, holding these treasured memories close to her heart.