Plastic Leaves

Beau didn't much care for leaves.

At least as they were told, they were smooth and soulless, easy to tear yet plasticky. And yet, at the end of a late autumn afternoon, they found themselves staring out of the window, a gentle breath warming the windowpane and obscuring their vision. Each leaf browned like fresh bread crust while fluttering to the ground, making itself comfortable on the dirt below.

It was a sign of the time, that's for sure. After all, their bedroom housed no clock, and there was no calendar or workdays to remind them of the passing minutes. They only cared about the season's change because they knew their father would return in summer. Other than that, they didn't bother with the time. Whether it was July or December, Monday or Thursday, day or night. It didn't matter. The light on their ceiling told them if it was time to rise or sleep, and the air conditioner on the floor chose if it was hot or cold. The bare white walls were consistent year-round, never dropping leaves or hiding woodland critters, never bending in the wind or attracting bugs that bit and stung. Everything here was under control, exactly the way they liked it.

But today, they saw a new creature. She sat upon a rock with her legs crossed and back hunching over, pencil tightly gripped while sketching away her thoughts onto a yellowing page. Her hazelnut hair had an angle cut fringe while the rest was bundled into a thick ponytail, running down her soft woollen sweater over jeans.

Her hair blended with the leaves.

Beau's glittering eyes examined each movement from the confines of their house, taking in the unexpected visitor. It was rare for anyone to come near their home, and their father said this was a good thing. Better to have no company than a home intruder. Still, this creature of the woods seemed docile. Maybe even friendly?

As if she'd heard their thoughts, the creature's head lifted and turned, meeting their eyes through the glass. Beau yelped and ducked their head when spotted, snatching the nearby blanket so they could yank it over them. Too close, they were almost engaged in a confrontation with the beast. What if it had jumped to its feet and charged at the window? They needed to be more careful next time...

Beau didn't really like bark.

At least they assumed. It was bland and stiff, braving against the cold as the winter snow came early. When they awoke after yesterday's encounter, they found the scene through their window sadder than ever. It was only bark for miles, twisting and curving into spindly branches. They wondered what it would be like buried in snow just as the trees would be in the coming months, but it was only a passing thought.

They figured a book would be enough to cheer them up. Even on their tippytoes, Beau struggled to reach their top bookshelf, hiding away their adventure novels and tales of fantasy. If anyone found these books, they would be in some big trouble. They were always told stories of long journeys far away from home would give them crazy ideas, but these books were their favourites. Even the most nervous cats could picture themselves as the bravest tigers.

They cosied themselves on a corner of their bed. In one hand was a cup of peppermint tea, the other holding the thick leather-bound novel. This was the only bark they knew, and for a moment, they let their mind wander with the question... Would they ever get to touch it alive? Their father would have whipped them hearing thoughts like that. No. They were happy right here.

Tap, tap, tap.

Beau's mind jolted back to reality from a light thudding at their window, the disturbance almost causing them to drop their tea. A vaguely familiar face peered through the glass, rugged in a thick sweater lined with heavy cotton. The stranger was back, so bold this time she even gave a wave at the startled hermit inside their den.

Her eyes are as dark as the forest bark.

Beau barely realised they had lifted a hand to greet her in return, that was until a few hot drips of tea hit their sweater, forgetting the cup they were holding. They darted their eyes down to brush the stain from the wool while the figure in the window covered her smile. They were curious what she was doing in the snow... But their silent question was only met with a silent answer as the stranger began to move her hands in a formulaic pattern, watching them expectantly as she paused in motion for a response. It was a language Beau quickly recognised, but one they didn't understand.

A sigh escaped her in a puff of warm steam, smiling downcast at the confused head tilt. Before Beau could comment further, she trudged back through the snow, weaving herself around the baren trees until her figure disappeared inside the naked forest. She continued her travels alone.

Beau wasn't a big fan of flowers.

At least, as their father explained, they attracted bugs and spread pollen to trigger allergies. And yet, they turned their head with colour painting their cheeks when an orange butterfly rested for a moment on their windowsill.

Maybe it liked their book. The cover featured an outline of cheery sunflowers, unrelated to the inside that was filled with symbols of hands and signs. They ordered the paperback yesterday from the local bookstore, the only store besides the grocer to know them well. The store's owner was kind enough to drop the book off that morning, and despite not speaking with them at the door, Beau hoped they knew the gesture was appreciated.

Their eyes followed the butterfly as it decided it had relaxed long enough and found its interest drawn to a pearly flower. That's when they saw her. She was sitting on the rock she'd sat two days before, the same sketchbook in hand and pencil in the other. Her outfit was far warmer in colour than other times, joggers and a pair of loose brown bellbottoms, topped off with a t-shirt and buttery jacket.

Her shirt is flowery, like the book cover.

Beau grinned a little at the book they read, comparing it to the bundle of sunflower patches embroidered into their acquaintance's shirt.

Tap, tap, tap.

The girl lifted her head at the sound catching her attention, smiling at the wave the homebody stranger offered. She returned the gesture before looking back to her sketchbook. There wasn't much else to say.

Tap, tap, tap.

The girl lifted her head again and was surprised to see an unsure collection of hand movements.

"What's... Your... Name?"

Beau jumped. Their new friend was at the window instantly, having galloped over and thrust her hands against the windowsill to stop the momentum. Her signing was a flurry of excitement. They had to refer to their book while processing each shape, but after a few tries, the word was finally understood.

"C H A R L I."

Charli. The forest nymph.

"B E A U."

There was a pause between each letter as they formed, careful thought behind each shape. They were just lucky that they had such a short name. The conversation was slow, clunky and awkward, but it was communication at last.

"Where... You... Going?"

"My tree. I draw there."

"Draw?"

"Yes. I draw trees."

Charli offered them a glance inside the sketchbook she held, picturing landscapes and dense seasonal forests. There were dark trunks and flourishing leaves dotted with flowers of every variety. Beau's eyes widened in awe, pages coming to life as if she'd grown the trees within the book.

"Come with me."

She bought out her hand and signalled to them, turning towards her home within the forest. Beau found their fingers twitching, their eyes fixed on the mystery girl of the woods as a beating in their chest released a whirlwind of indecision and emotion.

And then, their father's talks of plastic leaves were only a murmur.