In 1968 when I was seventeen I was walking my best friend and Godfather Wilson sixteen back to his new home in Queens.
We had been walking and talking along time and turned down a beautifully gardened and tree lined street.
I was commenting on how nice everything looked and how much I wished I could live in an area like that, when suddenly Wilson said,
"Oh man we got to get the hell out of here!"
"What's wrong?" I asked confused by his sudden nervousness.
" Come on we got to hurry up, we got to get out of this area." he said as he sped up.
"What? What?!" I asked racing to catch up with him.
"We took a wrong turn." he said and started to jog,
"We got to get out of here."
We started to run what to me was a random pattern but actually was Wilson trying to find his way back to a familiar area.
We turned down one tree lined block that had granite slate side walks.
The trees were old and there roots had pushed under the slabs and so the side walk was uneven.
I was still looking about at the beautiful well kept lawns and gardens as I ran and stumbled over an up heaved slab of pavement and fell against a huge and badly leaning tree.
Suddenly my head was filled with pictures an events of me and Wilson that I knew had never happened.
Somehow I knew then these things were to come about.
In an instant I realized what had transpired, but before then I had never heard of such things, the tree had spoken to me.
Excitedly I called to Wilson to tell him to wait, come back and touch the tree for I wanted to see if it would talk to him also.
"Wilson hold on a minute!" I called but he just speeded up.
So I raced up next to him and said, " Yo man that tree you got to touch that tree, we got to go back."
"Go back my ass," Wilson said,
"Me and Kevin made this mistake before, we turned the wrong direction and ended up here, then this gang of Italians called us niggers and started to chase after us with bats."
Terror swept through me and danced like electricity on my tongue.
We safely made our way out of the area and I later started to tell Wilson of some of the things the tree had said or shown me, for some of the things were not as I wished them to be.
He laughed and called me crazy as he often did for I spoke then as I do now about everything strange that happened to me.
From that point on I only spoke to Wilson of the things the tree had said to me, when I saw the identical events it had shown me, were occurring in the exact sequences that it had shown me they would.
The last thing the tree had said was that Wilson would enter the army and when he returned we would never be the same friends we were as we were before he entered, and just as the tree had whispered in my mind years before all the events had come to pass.
Is this tree still there?
I don't know but doubt it for it was so huge and leaned toward the street as if it was going to fall over.
So either it fell by now or has been cut down for safety reasons.
Another twist to this story is once as I was riding the subway from my home in Brooklyn to my sisters home in the Bronx as I got on the train there were these two black youths on the subway.
One was saying to the other,
"Yo, those people are mad crazy out there are you sure we should be going out there late like this?"
The other youth smiled and said,
"We will be ok, they know we are coming to get the car."
At that point the train stopped at Utica and I got off to transfer to the express.
I later learned that young boy who was so certain they would be safe was Youseph Hawkings he was to be murdered that night by a gang of young Italian males in what was the same area that Wilson and I fled over twenty years earlier.
So in as much as me going back to look for that tree that is not an option I feel is open for me to take.
Within The Cracks Of The Paranormal