by Janel Kolby
And I know they’re right. They’ve seen what can happen.
I hold to one tree trunk as another reaches. Grips of rough bark. One to another. I feel for their ridges as they feel for me. And I run. Keep running.
Not sure how far I’ve come.
Keep running.
I will as long as they’re with me.
My hand reaches to the next but slips off a smooth surface, and I stumble to my knees.
The tree didn’t catch me.
“Rain!” King calls from somewhere behind.
I’m safe. That’s why the tree didn’t catch. King is coming, and he’s bringing my breath. It comes back extra hard as I check my knees. But they’re fine, and I breathe easier. Dad always says how I need to be more careful. Mending is hard to come by.
The tree shudders above.
I look up and teeter.
Now I understand why the tree didn’t catch. Why it couldn’t.
A bright yellow paper is stapled to it. Four staples. One on each side.
I reach to touch when all the trees call to me.
Look at me. Look at me.
My legs stand me up. Yellow papers. Yellow papers. On all the big trees around us. They’d be pretty decorations if they didn’t have staples.
“Rain!”
My legs are heavy as I step to the tree that didn’t catch me.
I read.
CITY OF SEATTLE
PUBLIC NOTICE OF DEMOLITION
THIS PROPERTY IS OWNED BY THE CITY OF SEATTLE. IT IS UNLAWFUL FOR ANY PERSON TO ENTER OR OCCUPY THE AREA FOR ANY REASON. ANY UNAUTHORIZED PERSON FOUND ON THIS PROPERTY ON OR AFTER THE DEMOLITION DATE WILL BE FORCIBLY REMOVED AND PROSECUTED.
DEMOLITION DATE: OCTOBER 1
PLEASE VACATE THE PREMISES BY: SEPTEMBER 30
THE CITY OF SEATTLE WILL NOT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY DAMAGE OR THEFT OF PERSONAL BELONGINGS.
I read again and try to make sense.
The trees bristle behind me. King’s here. He’ll erupt if he sees. I cover the notice with my hands, though it won’t be much use. If I were ivy, I could cover the papers on every tree.
My arms shake.
A tree taps my arm.
King taps my arm.
“Why’d you run?”
He’s focused on my face. He doesn’t yet see the trees.
His arms are full of wild bush cuts and scrapes, and a line of blood stretches down his cheek.
“I told you.” He smears the blood. “Never run. Never, ever run. I’ll take care of it—just like before. What if someone else found you? It wasn’t even nothing. Just a squirrel.”
“A squirrel,” I say.
“A squirrel.” He breathes hard. “Was lookin’ out for us.”
Of course. Of course he was. “Of course,” I say.
He tilts his head at me. Then his eyes wander to my outstretched arms. Then out to all the trees.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“What is this?” he says.
“A story.”
King’s eyes harden. “About what?”
“A fairy tale, you wouldn’t like it, because you only like real things. I’m tired.” I yawn. And then I yawn for real cuz all I wanna do is curl up in my tent and pretend I never saw this. All the note means is that if you don’t belong, get out. Maybe they heard what happened to me. Doesn’t mean the folk who live here. “Let’s go back. You can go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” I yawn again, cuz now I can’t stop and my eyes are tearing.
But he’s already at one of the trees. He braces against it as he reads.
He’s quiet.
I take cover behind my tree. Sit and plant my fingers in the earth.
“Fucking cowards. Unauthorized person. Why don’t they just say what they mean? Take your crap and get out.”
I dig the toes of my boots in the dry earth. Searching for the bottom. Hasn’t rained in days.
He rips the paper from the tree, and the tree grazes his knuckles. “Sanitation problem. That’s what we are.”
I look at my buried hands and feet. “They don’t see us.”
“Exactly.” He tugs at his hair, and it comes loose from the elastic. “You see? Didn’t even bother to spread the notices. Dumped them all here. We need to get out. There’s too many of us now. Too much garbage.” He begins to pace. “I’ve done this before. We’ll find a place. Maybe south.”
“You want us to leave?”
“Don’t worry about your dad—I’ll wave a bottle. I need to tell the Winterfolk.”
I lift my hands from the dirt, and they look like they’re part of the earth. He’s right. How would they ever see us?
My toe hits a rock, and I pry at it with my foot. I pick it up and brush off the dirt—gray, blue, black. Used to be someone’s wish. I’m sure of it, but might have been buried too long.
I put the rock to my ear.
Silence.
It happens to the best of wishes.
2
I FOLLOW HIM DOWN the hill. He rubs his knuckles, red and scratched. But he’s not doing it to soothe. He’s putting his hands back together. He’s good at that. Must hurt, cuz trees are strong. But he doesn’t let the pain reach his head. Can’t be real if you don’t feel it. I’m sure the tree felt it. The tree was right to fight back after he tore off that paper.
I brush my hand along the trunks as we pass. He didn’t mean to hurt them. They know that. He’d do anything to protect.
I hold the rock to my chest. “They won’t hurt the trees, will they?”
“Why not? Best way to get out rats, don’t you think?”
“They can’t do that,” I say.
He laughs.
And he laughs.
But I don’t let it reach my head. And I don’t feel it.
We’re going down, down. Past our camp, and down. He’s going to tell them. The Winterfolk.
Bits of electric blue appear through the branches. A circle of twelve tents and a fire pit in the middle with the last of the morning’s embers. Beside the pit, the oatmeal pot is already clean. A laundry line sags across two of the tents—with still-dirty jeans, boxer underwear, and a long floral skirt that used to have color. They wash their laundry in a bucket with a bar of soap. I’ve watched them. The water gets dirty fast with one bucket of water to share, and not everything gets clean. They share everything. I’m lucky with King, who finds our own way of cleaning.
Plastic buckets of potted flowers grace the entrances of tents, and wind chimes dangle from tent poles.
King won’t let us have chimes. Too much noise.
“Stay here with the trees,” he says.
He doesn’t need to tell me.
Sabbath barks to greet King as he approaches. Big dog, a sheen of black fur. Matches King.
King strokes the top of Sabbath’s head and behind his ears. He sits in the biggest chair and scoots it back, away from the pit. Heck comes out from his tent with a mug of coffee and a cigarette. As young as King but with rough skin and a webbed tattoo down his neck. There’s a scar caught in there. I know. I’ve seen how it waits to be eaten.
He shakes his head at his dog, who rests his head on King’s feet. “Amigo?”
The dog ignores him.
I wonder if Sabbath will go with us when we leave.
Heck sits in a chair and sticks the cigarette in his mouth before clasping hands with King. He holds up his mug, and King waves it off. Heck looks tough, but I’ve seen how he gives the best of his plate to Sabbath.
Gray Hamlet comes next. Gray hair, gray skin, gray clothes. Cuz he’s so giant. Have to fade out when you’re that giant. Has wrinkles on his face for hiding the pieces of him that don’t want to fade. We all have some of those pieces.
I look for his white bucket—not the one he uses for a stool, but the one that’s a home for his twelve hamsters. Must be inside his tent. King says they dance—how Hamlet gets his pay—but I’ve never seen it. I wish he had his bucket. Haven’t seen those hamsters in forever.<
br />
Hamlet sits on the other side of King. They don’t clasp hands, but King nods with respect.
Couple more come out, young and old, but none as young as me. I am the youngest. Was always the youngest. That’s what King said.
Some heads poke out of other tents. All pretend not to see me.
Like they do the Lady. On the other side of the camp. She sits and spreads her dress upon the ground. Her hair is different shades of brown, like the bark of a tree.
She sees me. And I see her.
King takes the note from his pocket, and the Lady turns her attention to him.
Can’t hear what he says when he passes it around, but backs that were slumped now straighten. More come out of tents.
Heck reads the note while other hands tug at it. He lets go, and the chair falls as he stands. Sabbath lifts his head and whimpers.
King says something to Heck, and they stare at each other.
Hamlet doesn’t read the note. Must already know what it says. He gets up and goes back into his tent.
Another crumples the paper and throws it in the pit.
The wind chimes clink like tin.
And one of them. A woman. She wipes at her face.
I know what that means.
But she shouldn’t cry. No need to cry.
And then I’m there with her. Don’t know how. But I hold her hand.
King tries to push me back.
The woman’s eyes grow wide as if she’s never seen me.
“We’ve just gotta stay invisible,” I tell her. “We know how to do that.”
She squeezes my hand tight.
I try to pull my hand away, but it hurts, and King yanks it from her.
“That’s right.” She rubs her face and stands.
And then she doesn’t see me no more. Not without holding my hand. I almost give it back to her.
She wrings her skirt. “I didn’t look at her.”
The cold puckers the skin on my arm into raised pieces. I try to smooth it out with my rock.
The Lady stands.
Yes. She sees me.
I wave.
King looks off into the forest where I was looking, and frowns. Rubs his wrists.
“When you leaving?” Heck asks King.
“Huh?” King comes back to us.
“Your farewell?”
“Tomorrow,” King says. “Change your mind.”
“Nah,” Heck says. “I’m staying, holmes. Your girl is right. About being invisible.”
I almost want to hug him for acknowledging me.
“We’ll stay long as we can,” Heck says. “Then hide out while they clean this shit up—like how they clear the campers on Airport Way when the president’s in town. Right? They don’t wanna see what they don’t wanna see, and it takes money to prosecute. You think they wanna spend it on us when they could use it for a new basketball stadium? I’ll even thank them for takin’ out my garbage. Leave ’em nice presents.”
“I’m not worried about you.” King lowers his voice. “But . . . the others.”
Heck takes a drag on his cigarette. Careful not to look at me. “You do what you gotta. I do my own.”
King looks around, but no one looks back. “Don’t do this.”
Heck shrugs with the cigarette in his lips. “It’s my home.”
I climb up the hill after King. “You’re worried about the Winterfolk. Why? They make themselves invisible. Same as us. What can happen?”
“Anything.” He walks fast.
“What does that mean?”
“Means anything.”
He brushes the leaves from his arms. My arms tighten and I want to push him. “Hey.”
He stops and turns around. Shoves his hands in his pockets.
I squeeze the rock—for some of its wish to strengthen me. “I want to stay, too.”
“Stay?”
“Yeah. I’ll hide.”
“In the trees?” he asks.
I nod.
“And where you gonna hide when there aren’t any trees? Demolished. That’s what the sign said. Everything gone. You think you’re that invisible? You’re not. Did you forget about the berries?”
I glare at him. It’s not nice to talk about the past.
He swallows. “You don’t get it. We’re not real to them. We’re either invisible—or we’re rats. And when there are no more hiding places, the Winterfolk will need to run—that is, if they care enough. And then they’re as good as rats running from BB guns. If they get away and split up—how many you think’ll come back? Like Rosemary?”
I pull a lock of hair from beneath my hat. Rosemary was the only one who’d visit me. She used to weave my hair in a long braid down my back. Until King went to talk to her. He said we needed to be cautious. Better not to make friends.
They found her frozen under a bridge.
He grinds his foot on a tree root. A tree root getting squished. “I didn’t tell her to leave.”
“I know you didn’t.” I nudge his foot off the root with my own. “But it’s coming on winter. How’re they gonna make it without each other? Without you?”
“The Winterfolk will do their own, and we do ours. This is my decision.”
“Why? Because you’re older? I’m fifteen tomorrow, but you’ll always be older, won’t you? When will I get a say? And stop telling them they can’t look at me—was fine when I was little, but now it’s embarrassing. Like I’m any different from them.”
“You are different.”
I shake my head. “You’ve always worried about the bad—that it’ll make me like them—but it’s too late. I already know what bad is.”
He points at my heart. “You’ve met it, but you haven’t become it, and you never will. Plus, I haven’t been telling them not to look. They’re used to it.”
“Is that how it started with the Lady? They got used to not looking?”
His face falls. “Rain. You know she’s not real. Right?”
“No, I know. That’s what happens when no one looks at you. You want me invisible forever.”
He clenches his teeth and gets walking again.
I can’t talk to him.
The door of our tent hangs open. Dad is awake.
“Rain?” Dad calls.
I follow King to his tent, and he gets me some water.
Dad coughs. I set the new rock in my path—almost fifteen full circles wide—and take off my shoes before I climb in.
He stretches in his sleeping bag, and I hand him the plastic bottle.
Dad takes a sip. “Why were you gone so long?”
“Wasn’t long. Got berries.”
He nods. Takes another sip. Looks at his watch.
“King go with you?”
“Um-hmmm. Got scared by a squirrel.” I fold my blanket in a square. Put it on my pillow. Roll up my sleeping bag and take out the hand sweeper.
Brush brush. Brush brush. Across the floor of the tent. Tiny bits of earth that’ve lost their way. A small ant. I scoop him up and out the door.
I wait for Dad to get out of his bag. Then I wait for him to put on his shoes and go out the same way. Bits of earth. Bits of earth.
When he’s gone, I fold up his blanket and roll his bag.
Brush brush. Brush brush.
I put the empty bottles—one glass, one plastic—into a bag and set it outside the door for King. Then carefully put the finished bracelets into Dad’s backpack for the market.
I roll the sleeping bags back out and fold them in half. Cushions for sitting.
I wait for Dad.
Wonder if King’ll talk with him about the paper on the trees.
Dad takes off his shoes before he comes back in.
Looks nice. Is what he says every day. But today. He doesn’t say anything.
King talked.
He sits on his sleeping bag and stares at his stockinged feet.
“Tired,” he says. “Aren’t you tired?” He looks up at me.
I shake my head.
>
“Don’t know if I’m up for walking,” he says.
“You’re not going to Pike Place? What about the bracelets?” And food. All we have is that apple.
“Pike Place?” he asks.
Oh. He’s not talking about Pike Place.
I touch his hand, and he startles.
“Daddy—”
“You should learn the bracelets.”
I put my hands in my lap. “Tonight?”
“Tomorrow.”
“For my birthday?”
He looks to me. Figures me. Thirteen? Fourteen? Fifteen? Not sixteen. Can’t be sixteen.
“So grown,” he says. “I don’t have anything to give you.” His eyes go watery. They go extra watery the day after a full bottle. “Your mom would’ve—”
“The beads,” I interrupt. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”
He sniffs and nods. “Did you see the designs from yesterday?”
I forgot to look, but I climb over to hug him anyway. “Beautiful.”
He pats my back. “They’ll sell nice. Reminds me.” He lets go and reaches for his kit. “Got another bag for you.”
“Oh. Great.”
He lifts the tray at the top and pulls out a bag the size of four empty sandwich ones. The bag is filled to the top with mixed colored beads. He gets them cheap when they’re mixed. He sweeps them off a store floor. A trade. Must’ve taken weeks.
“Should take you some time to sort,” he says. “Occupy your mind. Sound fun?”
I take the bag and smile.
His smile falters. “You used to beg to help me sort. But I’ll teach you the beading tomorrow. You need to learn before you go.”
I drop the bag. “Before I go?”
“Before we go. We’ve always been fine, haven’t we? And this time King will be with you. He knows his way. Always finds a way. Smart kid. Remember when he found us on the corner? You were . . .” His mouth trembles. “You were ten.”
“Dad—”
“This has been a good home to us. He’s a good friend. Remember that. Never wanted us to separate. He knew we’d be better off here. And we have been. He kept up your reading. I wish you’d let him teach you how to write. You should know how to write. Never heard of reading without writing.”
“Dad, why are you—”
He tilts his head. “Listen.”
I listen.