Knuckles of gnarled tree trunks exhibited a lifetime spent in a swamp covered valley forgotten by civilization. Each wooded knot told a story that only the trees had observed. The Spanish moss that draped from each outstretched limb camouflaged the building it surrounded.

Constructed from redwood logs harvested from a neighboring tract of land, the Tavern On The Water sat nestled under a canopy of cypress trees. It catered to an exclusive clientele. Inaccessible by roadways, boaters and swimmers alike frequented the establishment.

When my friends suggested meeting there, I searched for an excuse not to go. I wasn’t in a social mood. After breaking up with a longtime girlfriend, I hadn’t been able to put everything into perspective. All I needed was time. Or enough alcohol to drown out the memories.

Hours later, with countless pitchers of beer emptied, Murray and I sat at the bar debating inconsequential philosophies. We defended our respective positions with a slurred insistence. The most meaningful contribution to the conversation, however, was that neither of us had fallen off our barstools.

“Wouldn’t life be easier if we were statues?” Murray proposed. “Fixed in a moment of time, we’d forever be idolized by those who stared with admiration.”

“I’d much rather be a tree. I’d still get rained on but that’s better than being shit on by pigeons.”

“Trees are asexual. You’d never get any! And I would have a permanent erection.”

“I’m not getting any now, so what’s the difference?”

A few seats away, a girl nursing a drink giggled at our debate. I turned towards her and asked if she cared to add anything to the conversation.

“Some trees have both male and female organs,” she advised, “so that means you could screw yourself.”

“Story of my life.”

Over the next hour, the crowd at the tavern started to thin out. Drunken patrons hopeful to be paired off before retreating home for the night flirted their way to either invitations or rejections. A few stragglers sat by themselves lost in their own thoughts.

When the girl sitting nearby stood and started towards the exit, Murray elbowed me and nodded in her direction. I shook my head from side to side, unwilling to pursue. Twenty minutes and another pitcher of beer later, when Murray headed for the restroom, I stepped outside for some fresh air. Loitering by the water’s edge sat the girl.

When the door closed behind me, she looked up and flashed a smile in my direction. A strange feeling washed over me. It was relief. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t over my ex or that all the beer consumed felt ready to make a reappearance behind a nearby bush. I was relieved to have not been born a tree.