Shrub the Christmas Tree

He wasn't the tallest tree in the nursery. He wasn't the shortest, either, but he was close. And his trunk was crooked. His branches weren't bushy at all. Even his needles seemed thin.

But deep in his heart, Shrub believed he was the tallest, straightest, bushiest Christmas tree ever. He dreamed of ornaments on every tip of his branches, of a star lighting his head. He also dreamed of the day that he would be planted outside where birds could nest in his bushy limbs, and the children who had taken him home could climb his straight trunk and strong branches.

So every time a family came by his row, looking for a Christmas tree, Shrub would pull himself as tall and straight as he could, and would fluff out his branches. He would even shake out his needles. Then he would smile his warmest smile at all the children, only to have them pass him by without a glance.

Each time, he watched the other trees – all taller, all straighter – get picked and taken away. Shrub tried to be happy for the other trees.

But each night, after the nursery closed, Shrub would want to sink down into his roots, and never come up from his potting soil.

Jasmine, the nursery cat, saw the little tree's bravery and sadness. In all of her nine lives, she had seen many Christmas trees. She took to rubbing on his lower branches as she prowled each night.

“Do not worry, little Shrub,” she would purr. “Children see the Christmas trees that are meant for them. Only the right child will see you. Then you will be picked.”

But day after day, families passed by Shrub without a glance. His dreams of ornaments and stars began to fade.

Jasmine rubbed his branches each night. “Do not worry, little Shrub,” she would purr. “Only the right child will see you. You will bring joy to that child, and that child will bring it to you. Have the courage to wait.”

It was the day before Christmas. Most of the other trees, both potted and cut, had been sold. Only two trees were left: Shrub, and the tallest, straightest, bushiest tree in the nursery.

Shrub had let his dreams of ornaments fade into nothing. His roots were a ball of misery in his potting soil.

Shrub didn't bother to look up when the last family arrived just before closing. He didn't straighten up as tall as he could. He didn't fluff out his branches. He didn't shake out his needles. And he didn't smile.

But then, he heard a child's voice right before him:

“Mommy, this tree looks like me!”

Curious, Shrub looked up. The little girl was not looking at the tall tree. She was not admiring that tree's bushy branches or shiny needles. She wasn't even marveling at how straight its trunk was.

She was looking at Shrub.

The girl's mother came over and stood next to the girl's wheelchair. Shrub could see that the girl was not very tall, and her back looked a bit crooked. Her arms and legs could not be described as strong.

But her smile was warmer than the sun.

Shrub did not straighten himself up. He did not fluff out his branches. He didn't even shake out his needles. He didn't need to. But he did smile. Shrub smiled the biggest, warmest smile he could.

Jasmine rubbed her friend one last time before he was carted out to the family's car. “I told you,” she purred. “The right child would see you. And she did.”

Word count: 602