LITTLE TREES
Cyril rushed along a crowded boulevard the afternoon of the dinner party. He passed mom-and-pop stores with goods spilling from stands and impromptu family reunions on the narrow sidewalks. He was a head taller than most and a Black man of good size who could not avoid being noticed and was careful not to jostle. Though his stride was urgent there was also some joy in his step. A giddy updraft, lifting him over his doubts and into the air like he was one of those little blackbirds flying over cornfields of his childhood summers. He reached down and patted a boy on his head of red hair saying excuse me, as he swooped past. He dipped between the plentiful cherry blossom trees showing early spring buds but this time he didn’t lollygag.
She watched him from the fifth-floor apartment window as he emerged from the trees that lined the street’s median. The sun was dropping behind the apartments across the street in a coda of soft orange. In this light, she saw he swung his shopping bag with abandon as if he was seven and on the verge of skipping. That boyishness held Zenia in place for a few seconds then she grabbed up her belongings, yanked her jacket from the closet. She was still clutching the envelope that had just dropped out of the bookcase and landed at her feet.