3. Tree Climbers

The halls of the old house had grown smaller in my absence from them. There was nowhere new to go, nothing in the next room, and no one there either. Though she had stocked the pantry and even had managed to keep a jar of coffee beans ready to be ground, I needed to go the store. Only for an hour, I needed to be away from the place and the lingering smell of her last brew of tea.

Driving towards the town I noted the tender mountains already wore a cap of pearly snow. It would be a long winter, a heavy snow-filled season. I had seen a few throughout my childhood. Cody wasn't like other places that stalled in the frost. The hard-boiled town would shovel out its driveways and unaltered press on. I had once heard it said that the people of the Rockies had to be made of thicker substance, that they had to be more hearty in their spirit so that they wouldn't despair in the bitters of winter. I have since come to believe that this is more than true.

Sagebrush, painted a muzzily gold, carpeted the stretching landscape that separated the North fork from the city of Cody. For a gleaning moment I let my eyes wander from the road to the alabaster sky, lit with a fresh orange sun. The sunrise was muted with the haze of yet another area wildfire, and the air smelled of its vigor. I would not consider myself the kind to revel in destruction, especially not at such a devastating capacity as a wildfire, but some destruction, I have discovered, is necessary.

The roads changed from dirt to decaying gravel to chipped and paved as I entered the city's limits. Three stoplights and a momentary pause for a family of deer brazen enough to cross the main drag, I was parking in the lot of the one of the local groceries.

The town of Cody was one of such size that while it was likely to see someone you knew on an outing, there was still a chance of blending in to a small crowd. A busy in a grocery store could bring either fate. In my years away I had changed much of my appearance. My hair was shorter, my glasses a new shape, my nails done, and a slimmer face could have thrown almost anyone trying to identify me. Almost anyone.

At the end of the apples, a young man with dark hair and olive skin perused the oranges. He hasn’t changed at all, except a tattoo?

Freddie looked up just in time to meet me in surprised eye contact. That smile hasn’t changed either.

“Ames?” He nearly threw the fruit back in the bin. “I thought I had seen a ghost! God you’re pale! How are you? God sorry, I heard about your mom. Is that why you’re in town?”

"Yes, she left me the house." I offered. I should have said something more cordial, more friendly, but I couldn't think of anything to say that he didn't already know.

"How long are you here?" He inquired, tenacious in his manners as always. His charm could grace us out of any awkwardness we might have stumbled into.

"I'm not sure. I want to go through some of her things, sort through it." I picked at my sweater, "But it's hard to be in the house. I don't know how much more I can really take on." This was my first symptom of grief that I had revealed to anyone other than Terrance. Freddie was such an old friend, he had to know what I was feeling. It did not feel like an intrusion to share this piece of my pain with him. That had always been his secret power, to read my mind, even when I hadn't wanted him to and particularly when I needed him to.

"Of course. I'm sorry. That must be," He changed course mid-way through the sentence, "You just need a break from all that. Have dinner with me? Just like old times." He smiled.

"Freddie, the people in this town- when they see me, I mean what will they think?" I couldn't meet his eyes. "She wasn't at the funeral and now she's here strolling around like nothing happened. I can take the pain, I think I can, of loosing-" I was crying in the middle of the fruit, and there was nothing that could stop it, "I can't take them thinking the worst of me. Especially because they aren't wrong. I wasn't here for any of it. I'm too late and-"

"Ames. You're here now." Freddie hugged me, leaving his basket on the floor, "And we're going to give you a chance to look this town right in the eyes and find peace, one way or another."

I couldn't read what he meant, only that there in the comfort of this old friend I began to feel like there was hope, a glimmer of it anyway, a faint breeze, and the smell of pine.

On my way to dinner, I couldn't help reminiscing on thoughts of my evening's company.

When we had been much younger, Freddie’s bare pale feet would peak out from the leaf canopy. When he was barefoot, as he usually was, his jeans would be rolled up to his mid-calf, and dirty around the bottom. This snippet was all other people observed of Freddie.

He sat in the normal meeting place, the greatest, nubbiest, tallest tree on the entire property, a novelty find, we had thought. Sitting next to him in our tree I could see Freddie in his entirety. His earthy hands would clutch the branches on either side of him. This caution was taken because Freddie had a tendency to lose his balance at the worst moments and go flailing towards the pale green grass below.

On the day I remembered he had broken the silence by saying, “You have to fall out of a tree now and then.”

“Why?” I replied. We were so young and so naive.

“If you never fall, like ever, then you will never know the feeling of getting back up.” Freddie said, stretching as he spoke.

“So?” I pressed, my own feet dangling off the tree’s arm.

“So, you’ll never know what it feels like to conquer the world.” He smiled. I, seizing my opportunity, pushed him and, as was expected, sent him falling down, where he hit the ground with a thud. We were rough children and bruises were part of playing. Instead of crying, we just kept laughing. I like that about childhood. It can be numb to pain. Children will censor themselves from anything.

Freddie had brought so much joy to my life. It was hard to believe that we had fallen out of contact over the years. He had been there for moments in my life that effected me in new ways every day. He had been there when I fell in love with the city, a place that would lead me to Terrance.

Another memory fluttered into my head.

We landed at Laguardia International Airport at about 5:00pm. While many in the party sloshed off the Boing with an unwanted souvenir of jet lag, I bounced into the terminal already smelling the putrid odor of my city of poems.

One deep breathe and an airport coffee later I was staring out a taxi window, the meter ticking away paychecks with every blink, my bright purple suitcase shoved into the trunk, my eyes plastered to the bright and bursting environs outside the stuffy car.

Freddie laughed at something one of the other girls said but I had been so engrossed by the vivacious scenery that I had not heard the jest. I did smile though, because we were happy. Even though we were charmed by two separate thoughts the fact that we were both alive and well and enjoying life gave my hope that his was one life I had not destroyed, even if I had hurt him.

The effordesent Times Square, dripping in champagne and romance and smelling of dead rats, stood as a blazoning contradiction to the life I had been living. Like all true connoisseurs we had to make a point of eating at the most luxurious places in the city. Our first destination for a meal with a place called “Stout”. It was brick and decorated to give the idea of being a very fashionable lounge. The restaurant was dimly lit mimicking candlelight. Though it was more of a bar than any sort of romantic setting. There was a rumble of voices and glassware clinking as it was carried too crowded tables, and lines of bar stools surrounding a very large and well stocked bar counter.

We were led to a large table in an upstairs room. There was a mahogany an iron balcony that one could lean on and look over the rest of the restaurant. From this vantage point I observed businessmen and elegant women. There were entrepreneurs, lobbyists, and all manner of people trying to squeeze their way into the upper circle of the city’s social life.

I love that about New York; no matter how low you were there was always a way up. There was always another floor. Even the penthouse was not the best view of the city.

Our party was brought a platter of cheese, the names of most of which I still do not know. I do know however that I loved dining in anywhere that is not Wyoming. And nowhere is there as much diversity of cuisine as there is in New York City.

After our cheese platter, the waiter took the rest of our order and we were left to converse amongst the party. I being the introvert that I am, opted out of this socializing endeavour. I instead watched those trying individuals below us rambling on about the insignificant, talking about issues that perhaps did not matter, things they want even interested in themselves, constantly trying to impress. One should be expected to make their own opportunities, especially whilst in New York. While I would love to rely on the kindness of others I would perhaps prefer to know that I have been tested, challenged, maybe at times doubted by the whole of humanity and that I had succeeded. That would feel like true victory.

Though I prefer to keep to myself I did spark up conversation with the blonde freshman who had sat next to me as our meals were delivered. She was a sweet girl who had brought two other friends with her. They all seemed lively enough and figuring that I was going to spend the next week with them I figured I might as well extend the olive branch of friendship. There is nothing quite so awkward as being the one who gets left out of group activities because of my own anti-socialism.

The girls and I left the restaurant full of laughter. I am told this is what good food should do, that is, create relationships to be more specific friendships. We laughed our way down the street to the chocolate bar next to our hotel. It was like living in an episode of Sex in the City. We were all so glamorous and we all felt so rich.

“This,” I declared, ”This is living.” And there was more giddy laughter, and absolutely no debate. Living it was indeed.

We put our coats and ventured into the humid cold and next door to the great and exclusive Herald Square Hotel. The doorman buzzed us inside it’s small lobby, and an elevator ride later we were all ready for some sound sleep. I was about to crawl into my own bed when there came knock at our door. The girl I was sharing a room with was asleep already, so I tiptoed cautiously through the room and peeked into the peephole.

“Freddie, what are you doing?” I asked.

The tall, lanky boy stood in his striped pajama pants, a white t-shirt and a thick bathrobe on top. He scratched his head.

“I found something cool, just trust me.” He said.

“Fine what is it?” I opened the door.

“You may want to put on your coat.” He said.

Once I had put on my coat, he led me down the hall to a staircase marked, “Employees Only Beyond This Point”.

“Fred, is this a good idea?” I asked reading the aforementioned sign.

“Calm down. We’ll be fine.” He said, and continued up the stairs. I followed, because even though I say that I like everything predictable, I do on occasion get a kick out of adventure.

Ascending the tile stairs I was able to let myself wonder what Freddie was leading me towards. He had led me to a lot, not all of it good, and yet I still followed him. I still followed him wherever he might lead me. I suppose I thought that the worst was behind us.

We came to a landing and metal door marked, “Roof Access”.

“You’re sure this is ok?” I asked looking down the staircase behind me. I was not really sure what would happen if we were caught in and employees only area. He opened the door ignoring my concern, classic Freddie.

The roof overlooked Manhattan, the roaring rushing pulsing life of New York. Neon lights and vagabonds lined the streets below. I gasped at the sight.

Sitting up on the rooftop looking at him under a million stars, hearing thousands of sounds around us I realized while billions of stories were beginning and ending all around us, somehow we had managed to stay in each other’s stories. We could have been worlds away but we were not. We were together and had somehow remained constant, and I still loved him. I loved him very much.

He smiled, “ I have to thank you.”

“For?” I asked.

“For loving Myra.” That was not what I had expected him to say.

“You love her too-” I began.

“I'm very bad at loving people.” He said and looked out over New York. “But you -- you make falling in love look so simple. I know you’ve been hurt by love before but you still let yourself love. It’s good. I can’t do that.”

“I didn’t hurt you; did I?”

“I think we both hurt each other.” He took my hand and continued to stare out at the smoggy city night, “and yet we survived.”

And that we had.

At some point in the evening, I stood, feeling the New York winter chill. I reached out my hand, helping Freddie up as well.

“We better get some sleep, if we don’t want to look like zombies tomorrow,” I said.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had a choice.” He smiled, taking my hand and standing up.

“Man, ‘zombie’ must be a synonym for ‘supermodel’.” I said pretending to flip my hair over my shoulder. He burst into laughter at my ridiculous statement. I rolled my eyes.

We both went back to our rooms and I thought about the city outside the large glass panels of our hotel room’s windows. People outside were doing things, and laughing at things, and hurting about things I would never be a part of or even know about at all.

My mind shifted back into the present as I pulled up outside the pizza joint where we had spent most Fridays after the football games. There was Freddie, in his flannel and his hat, and his boots. I looked down at my feet. My heals were at least three inches.

What I would give, I thought, to be barefoot in our tree again.