We had climbed for hours to meet the great figure, who was, to our eyes, neither male nor female, neither old nor young, perhaps not even human except for the ways in which it was incontrovertibly human, the awareness in its eyes of the limits of others but perhaps not its own limits. Roots went deep into the earth, presumably, beneath that long taupe robe. Wild white hair shot out in all directions. We caught our breath and then turned toward the great figure. “Listen closely,” said Howard. “Shut up, Howard,” said Sally. “We climbed for hours. I think that we know to listen closely.” Howard said something else that dissipated. They were always fighting, the two of them. They never should have started dating. Joan recalled us to the moment with a handclap. The figure had been waiting but betrayed no impatience. The figure brushed aside a stray strand of hair and spoke. “Only one secret.” We waited, betraying impatience. The figure spoke again. “Read big books in small rooms.” The climb back down was lighter than air. Howard and Sally held hands.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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