I thought the trees were random decoration. Just a beautiful eye-bemuser or a shady pitstop for long-distance runners. Then I acutally counted them.

Ten. One for every mile. The first one had “Mary + Jim: 10 years together” carved into its side. The seventh tree read “Ben + Rose: 70 years of kisses.” Two white crosses stood next to each other just beyond the tenth tree. A ribbon connected them: “Everett & Jeanie: together under the covers forever.”

I smiled and finished my run home.

I peeked at the boxes in my room. Almost finished, almost ready to move into my new dorm. Boxes of old clothes and books stood at the door for donation, and a couple old, ragged stuffed animals sat on top. I grabbed Knuckles, the bear. He was my first security toy.

Next morning, after my morning run, Knuckles was sitting in the grass 1,056 feet behind the second tree. Scrawled across his yellow-white T-shirt was a black Sharpie message: “Melanie & Knuckles: 18 years in bed.”