Maple

2

"They say it's going to be a crazy winter this year." The old man spoke with a lisp so sharp it made me cringe.

"Well, it can't be any crazier than you, Charles." The second old man had less of a lisp and more of a gritty rumble.

Both of them were sitting outside a little brick barber shop, chatting it up despite the sun barely peaking its head over the pastel-colored sunrise. The roads were nearly empty and the birds were almost entirely gone.

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. Did I mention my inability to speak? I'm an orphan, a runaway, and a mute. I was born this way and stopped wondering what I'd sound like if I had working vocal cords; it was too depressing.

I was laying there, basically at their feet like a dog, just resting. The two old men acknowledged me, but it wasn't much. One of them complimented 'my beauty' but it felt strange; almost as if he were saying it to an inanimate object. There wasn't much I could do in response, I was too tired to move yet. I'd begun to enjoy the wind nudging me into the day. Besides, it was kind of nice just listening to people with working vocal cords.

"Do you think there will be less homeless folk this year?" Charles had a squinty face, and it was even squintier when he asked a question. I think his lispy accent was german too. What a character.

"No. Oh no, I don't think so." Grumbly replied, "Well, can't say for sure."

"Because the mayor swears she's going to try and clean up the streets."
Grumbly pursed his wrinkly old lips, "I hope so. I do. But well, you can't be so sure. Can't be certain."

 "Why are you so unsure, didn't you vote for the woman?"

"No, no I voted for the young man."

Charles squinted even harder, "Which one?"

"Well, the Asian one, Charles!"

"Hm, but he's from out of state." Charles fixed the grey cap on his head and let his face soften for a moment before reverting back into an aggressive squint. The sun was barely out and he was acting as if they were outside a Saharan barbershop.

"Oh, well, you see...." Grumbly trailed off, looking frail. "Well, to be honest, I don't know about politics anymore. Well, they all seem the same to me." This comment made me sad and I'm not sure why. I could care less about politics.

"Oh, George..."

Suddenly, a young man approached Charles and George, a young man with quite unruly blonde hair. I swear he smiled at me. But maybe, like in so many instances, it was a hopeful daydream.

"Jared!" Charles exclaimed. He attempted to stand up and with a grunt, waved his hand absently in the air, "No getting me up out of this chair for a bit, you'll have to be cut by George."

"Howdy." Jared had a smile to match the sun. Immediately I wanted to know everything about him. "How's the morning treating y'all." A southern accent? Images of swaying corn and slow cows entered my mind. I wondered if he's ridden horses.

"Better now that you're here, son." Charles beamed, his mouth full of empty gums.

"Well, I can't think of anyone who wants to get their hair cut at, well, 6 in the morning more than you, my boy." George shook his head, a timid smile gracing his thin, tired lips, "Come on in." He ushered Jared inside and almost as if the two of them entering the shop were a strange cue, the wind blew by. I sensed something like crapes cooking and the dust from traveling farm trucks. It was time to move along.

If anyone knew about my strange relationship with nature, and with the wind, they might not understand. I wondered if Jared would understand. Would he find it strange that I took the weather as a cue to move on from place to place? If he knew about my past, would he judge it? It didn't matter, Jared was just another passing individual who'd never stop to ask my name. And even if he did, I couldn't answer anyway. I knew already in my somewhat askew adventure away from home, I might never end up in the same place more than once. Maybe that was strange of me too.

The sun was beginning to peek up over the horizon and lend a hazy, glowing backlight to the trees. It made me nostalgic and I had to stop every so often to watch this yellow softness grow and melt along the leaves. I couldn't deny that it made me a little sad.

The sky began to turn into a powdery blue, little clouds shifting along quickly. It wasn't very cold yet, but it wasn't warm anymore. People were swapping out their tee shirts and sundresses for sweaters and cardigan pants, the kids often stitching them with creative little suns and frogs. Seems like frogs were very popular these days, but I've always loved them. I loved them–with their big eyes and joyous croaks–before it was cool.

When I was very little, a long time ago, I remember staring down at this big bullfrog. He was so out of place there in the park, his throat beating and his big eyes unmoving. I remember thinking that maybe he loved me, or else he would have hopped off already. I never saw him again when he did eventually hop off, but I adored him. And even if we couldn't speak to one another, I know there was a mutual understanding.

Sometimes I wish I could have this same sort of connection with a person, but life wasn't that easy. It wasn't that fair. I wanted to know about someone's passion, about their past, about the way they butter their toast in the morning. But maybe all I was meant for was friendships with the sky, the trees, and fleeting bull-frogs.

As I continued along the sidewalk, people barely giving me a second glance, I tried to tell myself it was okay. All I really need is that friendship with nature and nothing else. And yet....

I wondered what haircut Jared had gotten.