Rings

“Potential energy,” the arborist said.

“Come again?” asked the plump, business-casual man standing next to him. The heat was making his short-sleeved button up shirt damp in spots and it was sticking to him in places. Beads of sweat were forming along his receding hairline.

“That’s what the trees are after they’re cut down,” he explained, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. “They might be dead, but, the way I see it, their bodies are full of this potential energy. You know that kind of energy you learn about in elementary school? Not kinetic, the moving one, but the other kind? So the trees’ bodies go on to become lots of other things. Useful things. Like sawdust that composts the soil or paper for writing letters. They go to woodworkers to become rocking chairs for mamas to rock their babies. All that kind of good stuff. It’s like their life don’t just stop when they’re cut down,” he finished, contemplating.

“Ah,” replied the balding man with a half-hearted nod and insincere half smile. He looked as if he didn’t care much about the potential of anything save the potential to clear lot 114E, recently purchased by MaxWay Enterprises, as quickly as possible, in order to make way for the new commercial complex that it would soon become.

“Yeah, I get bummed out sometimes taking down all of these trees,” the arborist continued, “but if I don’t do it sure as shit someone else will. Sometimes I like to count the rings of a tree that’s been cut down to see how old it is. Then I like to think about, like, where I was when the tree sprouted from the ground, or how old the tree was when I was born, you know? Like something like that? Like say… okay, so this tree here was about…” he started, moving toward a small stump and squatting down to study it. After a minute, he continued, “... 42 years old, right?” He said, standing once more. The business man was shifting in his Sperrys now and started to look around uncomfortably, but the arborist wasn’t phased. “So 42 years ago, I was… hm… okay, I was about 6 years old, right? Aw man, that was a great year for me…”

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The pink bike skidded to a stop on the dry, cracked pavement and Kendra with it. The plastic baubles knit to her hair elastics clicked together hollowly. Her gaze was curious and furrowed as she re-read the sign

LITTLE FREE LIBRARY

TAKE A BOOK LEAVE A BOOK

Glittery swirls of faded green and pink ink decorated the small, plastic box scuffed with wear. Inside she could see the rough and peeling edges and bindings of slim chapter books, reminding her of the quiet stacks of her old elementary school library. Her curiosity urged her to look more closely, but she was wary of anything that claimed to be “free.” 

“Kendra, there ain’t nothin’ in this world that comes for free,” her mother’s matter-of-fact words echoed through her head.

Despite this, she took a hesitant step closer and looked around briefly, to see if anyone was watching. There was not a soul on the seemingly deserted residential street. Her heart was pounding, and she felt that if she heard someone speak she might just leap out of her shoes. Yet she pulled the acrylic knob of the little door to open gently anyway.

Her slender finger caught the edges of the books as she read the titles. She pulled out a small chapter book from the disheveled row and flipped through the pages. She loved the waft of musty page smell that hit her nose, awakening her excitement at the world that would unfurl from the words on the pages. The little paperback felt awkwardly stiff as she flipped through, slightly warped from perhaps sitting too long in a damp room or being left in the grass by a swingset on a summer afternoon. The sun caught the pages and she could see the veins in the wood pulp, glowing in the thin spots. 

After another glance up and down the street to make sure that no one was watching, Kendra slipped the book into her backpack and mounted her bicycle to head home. 

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Sylvia sat on the cement block of the front stoop with her strawberry cream popsicle she had purchased from the ice cream truck not five minutes earlier. The happy tune emitting from the ambling, yellow truck and floating in through the open windows of the little house was the highlight of her week. Looking out over the vacant lots that made up her view to the smoggy cityscape horizon, the air was thick and hazy from the overwhelming heat of a midsummer afternoon. Time was sticky and yellow like honey, but she didn’t have to worry about how long her youth would last. 

A small drip of sticky, pink juice dripped on her white, ruffled dress and bled into the delicate threads. She had now eaten the popsicle down to the stick. She didn’t like the way the rough wood grain felt sandpapery against her tongue. It made her gag to think about it too much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Augustine admired the way the sunlight filtered through the slightly undulating leaves of the giant oak and came to rest in flitting diamonds on Paul’s face, arms and hands. He was lying reclined on the rough cotton blanket spread out below the green canopy. She as much appreciated the shade it gave on this exceptionally hot day, and the breeze coming off of the small pond felt nice as well. She looked out across the glittering water and watched as a family of ducks made their way lazily across. 

“Augustine, there’s a question I’ve been longing to ask you for a while now, my love,” he said with his sugary voice. Augustine knew this had been coming for a while now and broke into a glowing, bashful smile. She had been wondering when he would finally pop the question. She and Georgette had been sneaking looks at the old bridal magazines in the back of the shop when old Madge, the shop keeper, wasn’t looking, for months now, and she figured she had the whole thing just about half planned out already.

“What is it, dear?” she said coyly.

He sat up and removed a velvety blue box from his back pocket. “Would you, Augustine Dolores Almeda, do me the great honor of being my lovely wife?”

Despite her prior knowledge to his intentions of engagement, Augustine’s heart fluttered with the leaves at the sound of the words. Her breath caught and she could feel the well of happiness about to overflow in her chest.

Before she could reply, he opened the box, and the brilliant faces of the crystal stone caught the summer sunlight and cast rainbows on the blanket and the trunk of the tree, slipping into the grooves of the bark.