Phil’s insensitive advances. There is nothing wrong with me. That I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed sex with my cold husband isn’t proof of any fault of mine. I sleep out here because I should have told him to “make love” to himself a long time ago.
Jade on Her Reunion with Forrest and Massaging Businessmen
(June 11)
Aretha and I approach Forrest’s tree. Barefoot, I carry a canvas bag filled with a bag of carrot-raisin muffins, a couple nectarines, and the flip-flops I always bring to wear in the store so I don’t get kicked out. I only have one skirt long enough to hide my feet. When I wear anything else, I have to comply and wear shoes. Forrest lowers his “elevator,” a rope and harness, so that he can spot me while I climb. I unclip the harness and clip the canvas bag handles to the carabiner, then give the rope two tugs. Forrest pulls the rope through the pulley above him and raises the bag to his tree house. I put the harness on. Forrest lowers the rope again, and I clip myself in and begin to climb. My aversion to shoes makes me a great climber. Aretha waits at the bottom of the tree, watching me climb, concerned, but when I reach the tree house, she turns three circles in the fir needles and beds down for a short nap.
“Forrest!” I greet him, as I lift myself up onto the platform.
“Hey!” Forrest puts a hand on my shoulder, and we hug. He stinks. “Nice climbing.”
“Thanks!” I take a moment to study him. He looks older and lonely.
“How’s life?” he asks. “What’s new?”
“Olive and Matt broke up. She discovered she’s pregnant after they broke up. She’s not going to tell Matt.”
“What does Grace have to say about that?” he asks. He’s the only person I can talk to about Grace. Since Grace helped me find him when he first ran away, he acknowledges her and respects what she has to say.
“Grace says it’s going to be okay.”
“Anything else?”
“Nah, she says it’s not mine to know. She says you’re starting to move in a different direction, though.”
“I wonder what that means,” he says.
“I suppose it could mean anything. What do you want it to mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answers.
“Hm. Maybe it means it’s time for you to leave your tree house.”
“I haven’t received a sign yet.”
“Forrest, I keep telling you, it wasn’t premeditated murder. Technically, it was manslaughter. Average sentence for that is four years.”
“Hey, what’s the sentence for arson?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“I bet it’s longer than manslaughter.”
“That I don’t know,” I answer.
“I really hate that word ‘manslaughter.’ It’s a gross word. Makes it sound like I chopped somebody up.”
“Yeah. . . .” What do I say to that? “Hey, Dad’s learning to play bagpipes.”
“Bagpipes?”
“Bagpipes, my friend.” I pause for a moment and study the view. “How about you, Forrest? What’s new in your neck of the woods?”
“I’ve been eating lots of grouse. Saw a couple rattlers on my trip in. Sheep are making their way back up. Bad wind-storm last week. I thought I was going to get bucked off my tree.” Forrest sort of laughs.
“God, Forrest, doesn’t that freak you?”
“Better than living on a boat.”
“What if the top of your tree just snapped off?” I ask him.
He shrugs.
“My old best friend, Nisa, moved in next door. She’s a very hunky guy this time. I think she came back to marry me.”
“Interested?” Forrest asks.
“Oh, you know. On one hand, I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life, and on the other hand, it’s still hard to get past the part where I still think of him as a woman,” I answer, like this is a problem everyone has.
Forrest imitates Billy Joel singing a couple bars of “She’s Always a Woman to Me.”
“You’ve got to stop it with that honky music,” I tell him. “You know how I hate that crap.”
“Poor you,” he teases.
“Do you think it’s
Jade on Her Reunion with Forrest and Massaging Businessmen
(June 11)
Aretha and I approach Forrest’s tree. Barefoot, I carry a canvas bag filled with a bag of carrot-raisin muffins, a couple nectarines, and the flip-flops I always bring to wear in the store so I don’t get kicked out. I only have one skirt long enough to hide my feet. When I wear anything else, I have to comply and wear shoes. Forrest lowers his “elevator,” a rope and harness, so that he can spot me while I climb. I unclip the harness and clip the canvas bag handles to the carabiner, then give the rope two tugs. Forrest pulls the rope through the pulley above him and raises the bag to his tree house. I put the harness on. Forrest lowers the rope again, and I clip myself in and begin to climb. My aversion to shoes makes me a great climber. Aretha waits at the bottom of the tree, watching me climb, concerned, but when I reach the tree house, she turns three circles in the fir needles and beds down for a short nap.
“Forrest!” I greet him, as I lift myself up onto the platform.
“Hey!” Forrest puts a hand on my shoulder, and we hug. He stinks. “Nice climbing.”
“Thanks!” I take a moment to study him. He looks older and lonely.
“How’s life?” he asks. “What’s new?”
“Olive and Matt broke up. She discovered she’s pregnant after they broke up. She’s not going to tell Matt.”
“What does Grace have to say about that?” he asks. He’s the only person I can talk to about Grace. Since Grace helped me find him when he first ran away, he acknowledges her and respects what she has to say.
“Grace says it’s going to be okay.”
“Anything else?”
“Nah, she says it’s not mine to know. She says you’re starting to move in a different direction, though.”
“I wonder what that means,” he says.
“I suppose it could mean anything. What do you want it to mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answers.
“Hm. Maybe it means it’s time for you to leave your tree house.”
“I haven’t received a sign yet.”
“Forrest, I keep telling you, it wasn’t premeditated murder. Technically, it was manslaughter. Average sentence for that is four years.”
“Hey, what’s the sentence for arson?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“I bet it’s longer than manslaughter.”
“That I don’t know,” I answer.
“I really hate that word ‘manslaughter.’ It’s a gross word. Makes it sound like I chopped somebody up.”
“Yeah. . . .” What do I say to that? “Hey, Dad’s learning to play bagpipes.”
“Bagpipes?”
“Bagpipes, my friend.” I pause for a moment and study the view. “How about you, Forrest? What’s new in your neck of the woods?”
“I’ve been eating lots of grouse. Saw a couple rattlers on my trip in. Sheep are making their way back up. Bad wind-storm last week. I thought I was going to get bucked off my tree.” Forrest sort of laughs.
“God, Forrest, doesn’t that freak you?”
“Better than living on a boat.”
“What if the top of your tree just snapped off?” I ask him.
He shrugs.
“My old best friend, Nisa, moved in next door. She’s a very hunky guy this time. I think she came back to marry me.”
“Interested?” Forrest asks.
“Oh, you know. On one hand, I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life, and on the other hand, it’s still hard to get past the part where I still think of him as a woman,” I answer, like this is a problem everyone has.
Forrest imitates Billy Joel singing a couple bars of “She’s Always a Woman to Me.”
“You’ve got to stop it with that honky music,” I tell him. “You know how I hate that crap.”
“Poor you,” he teases.
“Do you think it’s
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