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Trees
K A T I E
W I L L I A M S
Chapter ONE
Jonahs old engine rattle, so I run back to the house next to where
hell park and pretend Im just coming down its front walk, even
though I already delivered a paper there half an hour ago. Jonah pulls
into his usual spot along the curb, and I can see that salt and rust
have turned the bottom of his doors into lace. When he gets out, he
pats the side of the truck, like its done a good job getting him there,
which I guess it has.
I call out, and Jonah raises a hand. No one looks as good raising a
hand as Jonah does. I dont know why that is. Maybe its something
to do with the angle of his palm or the torque of his wrist. When
Jonah waves, he looks like he could be hailing his golden retriever
or his old, doting grandmother or his college roommate (though
probably not the last one, since Jonah dropped out of college two
years ago).
I am, of course, none of these. But I pretend to be as important
as each of them as I wave backin fact, more important than all of
them added up together. Jonah lets his hand drop and gets so busy
rummaging in the bed of his truck that Im able to walk all the way
over to him without him even noticing me. When I tap him on the
shoulder, he jumps.
Boo, I say.
Boo, you, he says.
Youre late. Did you have a late night? Did you stay out and
party? Did you drink until the sun came up?
He frowns and returns his attention to his truck. The words Jefferson
Wildlife Control, stenciled on its side, are peeling a little at their feet.
I push the bottom of one of the ls down, but it rolls back up again.
Jonah is trying to get out his sled, but its stuck, the prow of it jutting
Jonahs old engine rattle, so I run back to the house next to where
hell park and pretend Im just coming down its front walk, even
though I already delivered a paper there half an hour ago. Jonah pulls
into his usual spot along the curb, and I can see that salt and rust
have turned the bottom of his doors into lace. When he gets out, he
pats the side of the truck, like its done a good job getting him there,
which I guess it has.
I call out, and Jonah raises a hand. No one looks as good raising a
hand as Jonah does. I dont know why that is. Maybe its something
to do with the angle of his palm or the torque of his wrist. When
Jonah waves, he looks like he could be hailing his golden retriever
or his old, doting grandmother or his college roommate (though
probably not the last one, since Jonah dropped out of college two
years ago).
I am, of course, none of these. But I pretend to be as important
as each of them as I wave backin fact, more important than all of
them added up together. Jonah lets his hand drop and gets so busy
rummaging in the bed of his truck that Im able to walk all the way
over to him without him even noticing me. When I tap him on the
shoulder, he jumps.
Boo, I say.
Boo, you, he says.
Youre late. Did you have a late night? Did you stay out and
party? Did you drink until the sun came up?
He frowns and returns his attention to his truck. The words Jefferson
Wildlife Control, stenciled on its side, are peeling a little at their feet.
I push the bottom of one of the ls down, but it rolls back up again.
Jonah is trying to get out his sled, but its stuck, the prow of it jutting
up out of the truck bed, the stern trapped under some junk. He has
so much trash in his truck its like he was raised by raccoons.
Its like you were raised by raccoons, I say.
He doesnt answer.
I watch him work at it, and while he does, I look him overthe
shadow on his jaw, the curl of his nostril, and the underbrush of his
eyebrow. I think, He is assembled so correctly.
I know something you dont. I dance a little on the spot; he
doesnt look. I know what youll get today.
Get? He squints.
Out in the woods. What animals youll get.
Oh, yeah? What?
Rabbits.
Yeah? He finally yanks the sled out with an ugly metallic sound.
Rabbits, plural?
Barely plural. Just two. I lean against his truck and take the
sleds pull-cord with my finger. The cord is stained gray from all the
grime on Jonahs hands. Sometimes I try to hold the same thing hes
holding but in a different placelike, just now, Jonah has the end of
the sled and I have its cord. This makes it almost like were touching
each other. Jonah drops the sled.
Is rabbit the minimum? I ask.
Minimum?
Size-wise, I mean. If you see something smaller, do you still
have to pick it up? What about a frog? Would you have to pick up a
dead frog?
I guess, he says.
What about a snail? A beetle? A potato bug?
up out of the truck bed, the stern trapped under some junk. He has
so much trash in his truck its like he was raised by raccoons.
Its like you were raised by raccoons, I say.
He doesnt answer.
I watch him work at it, and while he does, I look him overthe
shadow on his jaw, the curl of his nostril, and the underbrush of his
eyebrow. I think, He is assembled so correctly.
I know something you dont. I dance a little on the spot; he
doesnt look. I know what youll get today.
Get? He squints.
Out in the woods. What animals youll get.
Oh, yeah? What?
Rabbits.
Yeah? He finally yanks the sled out with an ugly metallic sound.
Rabbits, plural?
Barely plural. Just two. I lean against his truck and take the
sleds pull-cord with my finger. The cord is stained gray from all the
grime on Jonahs hands. Sometimes I try to hold the same thing hes
holding but in a different placelike, just now, Jonah has the end of
the sled and I have its cord. This makes it almost like were touching
each other. Jonah drops the sled.
Is rabbit the minimum? I ask.
Minimum?
Size-wise, I mean. If you see something smaller, do you still
have to pick it up? What about a frog? Would you have to pick up a
dead frog?
I guess, he says.
What about a snail? A beetle? A potato bug?
it; I only knew a few of their namessome Jennys and a Kier. Bye,
I said to all of them. And even though we wouldnt be friends, it was
nice to exchange hellos and good-byes. It wasnt like we had anything
more than that to say to each other. But then, the next day when I sat
down at their table, wouldnt you know it, they were talking about
Jonah Luks.
It turned out that a number of the Whisperers lived in Hokepe
Woods, and theyd seen Jonah tromping out to the trees, his sled
bobbing after him like some loyal beagle. Jonah is older, has broad
shoulders, and has a bit of red in his hair; this is more than enough
to build a crush on. The Whisperers, I soon discovered, talk about
Jonah all the time. They murmur, squirm, and, if one of them says
something even a little bit sexual, squeal.
That guy? I said that lunch a few months ago. Back then, Id
never talked to Jonah, but Id seen him on my route. I know him.
Suddenly they were blinking at me, and I felt like Id turned on the
lights in a roomful of mice. Evie, one of them breathed, and then
they were all squeaking my name.
At first, talking to Jonah was a game and winning it meant that
I came to lunch with a new Jonah story for the Whisperers. I dont
think it was their friendship I wanted so much as their attention. No,
more than that, I wanted something to happen; I wanted something
to happen to me. And to make something happen with some collegedropout laborer guy, rusty truck and muddy work boots included,
was... well... better than nothing happening at all.
The Sunday after I found out that the Whisperers were obsessed
with Jonah Luks, I found his truck and waited by it until I spotted
him coming out of the woods at the edge of the neighborhood, at
it; I only knew a few of their namessome Jennys and a Kier. Bye,
I said to all of them. And even though we wouldnt be friends, it was
nice to exchange hellos and good-byes. It wasnt like we had anything
more than that to say to each other. But then, the next day when I sat
down at their table, wouldnt you know it, they were talking about
Jonah Luks.
It turned out that a number of the Whisperers lived in Hokepe
Woods, and theyd seen Jonah tromping out to the trees, his sled
bobbing after him like some loyal beagle. Jonah is older, has broad
shoulders, and has a bit of red in his hair; this is more than enough
to build a crush on. The Whisperers, I soon discovered, talk about
Jonah all the time. They murmur, squirm, and, if one of them says
something even a little bit sexual, squeal.
That guy? I said that lunch a few months ago. Back then, Id
never talked to Jonah, but Id seen him on my route. I know him.
Suddenly they were blinking at me, and I felt like Id turned on the
lights in a roomful of mice. Evie, one of them breathed, and then
they were all squeaking my name.
At first, talking to Jonah was a game and winning it meant that
I came to lunch with a new Jonah story for the Whisperers. I dont
think it was their friendship I wanted so much as their attention. No,
more than that, I wanted something to happen; I wanted something
to happen to me. And to make something happen with some collegedropout laborer guy, rusty truck and muddy work boots included,
was... well... better than nothing happening at all.
The Sunday after I found out that the Whisperers were obsessed
with Jonah Luks, I found his truck and waited by it until I spotted
him coming out of the woods at the edge of the neighborhood, at
before their mothers led them away. The fathers claimed that the
deer, a full-grown buck, had tossed its head, and they couldnt get
close enough to pull it out. One of them managed to lasso its antlers
and nearly got yanked in with it. By the time they called Jonah, the
deer had put its head down and sunk to the bottom. When Jonah
got there, he asked them why they didnt drain the pool. They hadnt
thought of that, they said.
After he goes into the woods, Jonah usually walks among the
trees nearest to the houses because the dead animals there are the
ones people are most likely to find and complain about. If I listen
hard, I can hear the sound of his sled runners on the ground, and I
can walk along at his pace, both of us working our way around the
edge of the neighborhood, him through the trees, me on the side
walk. When I get to a house where I have to deliver a paper, I go do
it and then hurry back to catch up with the sound of Jonahs sled.
When Jonah stops to take a look at something or tie his boot or pull
out a smoke or whatever he does, I wait on my side until the sled
sound starts up again. Then I keep walking with him.
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11
before their mothers led them away. The fathers claimed that the
deer, a full-grown buck, had tossed its head, and they couldnt get
close enough to pull it out. One of them managed to lasso its antlers
and nearly got yanked in with it. By the time they called Jonah, the
deer had put its head down and sunk to the bottom. When Jonah
got there, he asked them why they didnt drain the pool. They hadnt
thought of that, they said.
After he goes into the woods, Jonah usually walks among the
trees nearest to the houses because the dead animals there are the
ones people are most likely to find and complain about. If I listen
hard, I can hear the sound of his sled runners on the ground, and I
can walk along at his pace, both of us working our way around the
edge of the neighborhood, him through the trees, me on the side
walk. When I get to a house where I have to deliver a paper, I go do
it and then hurry back to catch up with the sound of Jonahs sled.
When Jonah stops to take a look at something or tie his boot or pull
out a smoke or whatever he does, I wait on my side until the sled
sound starts up again. Then I keep walking with him.
10
11
that my forehead is sticking out over their fuzzy tops. The cedar
chips poke at my hands, and a little ant crawls across my knuckles.
None of it is too comfortable, really, and I dont know how much
longer I can squat there, so thank God when the door of that house
swings open. The only problem is that where Im crouching, I cant
see whos answered it. Jonah starts talking, but hes too far away
for me to hear what hes saying. Then, he disappears inside, which
Im sure is against all of Mr. Jeffersons rules.
Well, I sit around in that garden for nearly fifteen more minutes,
which I count off on my watch one after the next, like papers deliv
ered to porches. The house Jonah has gone into is the only modern
one on the blocka stack of a houseand the windows are all
tinted dark, so I couldnt peek in even if I had the courage to. Sure,
it crosses my mind that Jonah is having sex with the woman in that
house. On my paper route, I see dozens of Hokepe Woods divorcees
trussed up in shiny jogging suits and skinny headbands, speedwalking themselves into successful and fulfilling futures. Theyre the
only ones who dont wave at me, because theyve got their eyes set in
the distance, like theyre looking for the next thing. Jonah could be
their next thing.
I think about how Im going to explain Jonahs affair with a divor
cee to the Whisperers Monday at lunch. How can I spin it? What
words can I use? I finally decide that I cant tell them anything
because I dont know how to say it, and they wouldnt know how to
understand it either. The Whisperers think that Jonah and I are in
love with each other. And maybe thats okay after all because we were
in loveno, are in lovein the story Ive been telling. And the story
hasnt changed, no matter whats happening in the house.
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13
that my forehead is sticking out over their fuzzy tops. The cedar
chips poke at my hands, and a little ant crawls across my knuckles.
None of it is too comfortable, really, and I dont know how much
longer I can squat there, so thank God when the door of that house
swings open. The only problem is that where Im crouching, I cant
see whos answered it. Jonah starts talking, but hes too far away
for me to hear what hes saying. Then, he disappears inside, which
Im sure is against all of Mr. Jeffersons rules.
Well, I sit around in that garden for nearly fifteen more minutes,
which I count off on my watch one after the next, like papers deliv
ered to porches. The house Jonah has gone into is the only modern
one on the blocka stack of a houseand the windows are all
tinted dark, so I couldnt peek in even if I had the courage to. Sure,
it crosses my mind that Jonah is having sex with the woman in that
house. On my paper route, I see dozens of Hokepe Woods divorcees
trussed up in shiny jogging suits and skinny headbands, speedwalking themselves into successful and fulfilling futures. Theyre the
only ones who dont wave at me, because theyve got their eyes set in
the distance, like theyre looking for the next thing. Jonah could be
their next thing.
I think about how Im going to explain Jonahs affair with a divor
cee to the Whisperers Monday at lunch. How can I spin it? What
words can I use? I finally decide that I cant tell them anything
because I dont know how to say it, and they wouldnt know how to
understand it either. The Whisperers think that Jonah and I are in
love with each other. And maybe thats okay after all because we were
in loveno, are in lovein the story Ive been telling. And the story
hasnt changed, no matter whats happening in the house.
12
13
officers and the ambulance workers follow him, all except one, who
disappears back inside with the old lady.
I wait there in the garden for about half an hour. My papers
arent delivered and I have to keep pulling my sleeves down over
my hands to keep the cold from stinging them, but I tell myself
that there are things more important than newspapers and hands.
Another couple of cars pull up, and more men get out of them.
These men arent in uniforms, but I can tell that theyre police. They
say a few things into their radios and troop back into the woods
after Jonah and the others.
I wait some more. Every once in a while, one of the neighbors
wanders out onto his lawn and stands there swaying for a second
before losing his nerve and going back inside. But no one comes out
onto the front lawn that Im hiding in, and no one bothers me in my
garden; in fact, no one even sees me except for one young police
man who just happens to glance my way as he walks by. He stops
and stares as if he doesnt think Im really there. Hes all freckled,
and it looks funny, the combination of freckles and uniform, like hes
just a kid dressing up as a policeman and not a real cop at all. For
a second, Im afraid that he might order me to go away. But when I
raise a hand and wave at him, he waves back, a little mystified, and
then walks on.
Most of the policemen have been going into the woods along the
far side of the house from where Im hidden, so to me, they appear
and disappear like actors walking on- and offstage. To pass the time,
I give them stage names: White Mustache, Likes His Hat, and Little
Ears. I realize that Jonah must have found something in the woods.
I suppose I even know what hes found.
14
15
officers and the ambulance workers follow him, all except one, who
disappears back inside with the old lady.
I wait there in the garden for about half an hour. My papers
arent delivered and I have to keep pulling my sleeves down over
my hands to keep the cold from stinging them, but I tell myself
that there are things more important than newspapers and hands.
Another couple of cars pull up, and more men get out of them.
These men arent in uniforms, but I can tell that theyre police. They
say a few things into their radios and troop back into the woods
after Jonah and the others.
I wait some more. Every once in a while, one of the neighbors
wanders out onto his lawn and stands there swaying for a second
before losing his nerve and going back inside. But no one comes out
onto the front lawn that Im hiding in, and no one bothers me in my
garden; in fact, no one even sees me except for one young police
man who just happens to glance my way as he walks by. He stops
and stares as if he doesnt think Im really there. Hes all freckled,
and it looks funny, the combination of freckles and uniform, like hes
just a kid dressing up as a policeman and not a real cop at all. For
a second, Im afraid that he might order me to go away. But when I
raise a hand and wave at him, he waves back, a little mystified, and
then walks on.
Most of the policemen have been going into the woods along the
far side of the house from where Im hidden, so to me, they appear
and disappear like actors walking on- and offstage. To pass the time,
I give them stage names: White Mustache, Likes His Hat, and Little
Ears. I realize that Jonah must have found something in the woods.
I suppose I even know what hes found.
14
15
16
Chapter TWO
I run for a while, but Im not that good a runner. Also my satchel
keeps slamming into my legs. So after a few blocks, I slow down to
a walk and pick up the satchel, carrying it like a baby up against my
chest. I look back a few times, hoping maybe to see Jonah jogging
after me, arms ready to take me in, or else an officer snapping open
his handcuffs, adjusting them to fit my wrists. No ones following
me, though, and I make it back to Moms car all by myself.
Jonahs truck is still there, parked in front of me. I glance into the
truck bed as I walk by: a mess of tools and rope, a few torn plastic
sheetsall of it dusted with these little twists of fur. I feel exhila
rated by what Ive seen, by the run, and yet guilty, too; after all, some
one has died. And its this mix of giddy and guilty, this feeling that
none of the rules apply, that urges me to step up to the truck bed and
stick my hand down in the mess. I could take something of Jonahs,
I think, something little that he wouldnt miss. Something I could
hold in my hand.
I feel around in all that junk, rough with rust and grime, until
my hand wraps around some sort of metal handle. It feels right, like
the handle was waiting there for someone to grab on to it. I think