🪾 Decision Tree

by Karama Neal

People always told me I was lucky. When I was younger, I believed them, though I didn’t understand why they weren’t lucky too. They say luck, if it exists at all, favors the prepared. Perhaps, but knowledge is much more important. Even sitting in my high chair, I knew how many Cheerios I could drop on the floor before my dad’s eyes lost the smile lines and narrowed—three, maybe five if he was singing and making a warm breakfast. I’d get a clue just before I dropped one that would show me the outcome so I’d put that Cheerio in my mouth rather than drop it to the floor. By the time I was in elementary school the mental clues were familiar. In my mind’s eye, they were trees—with the trunk as the current moment and the big branches in various shades of gray as the multiple options were shown before me. 

Should I lie to my mom about not doing my homework? The dark branch of the tree shows a future in which my lie is not detected—so I lie. Should I run an extra mile even though the coach didn’t require it? The dark branches pointed to my seeing my crush on the longer route, so yes! As a little kid, I’d sometimes choose a pale branch, just to test the trees, but the results were never good so I let the pale branches fade from consideration.

I never talked about decision trees because I assumed everyone had them. In retrospect, the fact no one else did explained some of their poor decision-making—especially as young people. Why would they speed if they knew they would get a ticket? Why host a house party, if they knew their parents would come home early. I mean, why would they even pick up the plate with wet hands, if they knew they would drop and break it?  Once it was clear I could trust the dark branches, those kinds of things never happened to me. I never got caught, never got hurt, and much of the time, I could get exactly what I wanted. 

I got used to things going my way and I thought they always would. Then one lovely spring evening, I was enjoying a scenic drive home when a pale tree appeared. Each branch was bleached. I panicked and looked for another route, hoping to find some darker options. But I still only had a pale white tree. I double checked my headlights, slowed down, and put distance between myself and other cars, but when I saw a car with no headlights speeding towards me going the wrong way down an exit ramp, it all made sense. Sometimes, there are no good options. 

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