12) Climbing and Neil

Lately, the tree at work has been more difficult to climb. I do not lose my grip, but I am not as confident of it as before. Or am I ? I do not know, because I have never had to think about it. I can get winded now, finding a branch, and it seems cars are always in my ears. There is little peace. I have been coming down sooner, when Neil has not been below.

On warm, sunny days I have seen Neil in the woods. There is a large rock in a small clearing that I can usually see from the tree in which I choose to sit that day. He just sits there, eating his lunch. One day he took off his shirt. I saw his smooth back broaden and shrink several times slowly. His head rolled on his neck then he leaned on his knees and dropped his head. He stayed like that a long time. I could not stay in the tree; for the first time there in the woods, I was uncomfortable. I tried to be quiet, but Neil raised his head and leaned backward over the rock to peer up at me.

"Hello," he said, smiling.

"Hello. I am sorry to disturb you." I climbed the rest of the way down and stood beside the rock so he wouldn't have to lean backward anymore.

"Oh, that's okay. You aren't a naked lady, but at least you'd talk to me. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would. But I do not have much to say."

"Oh, but you do. You've said a lot already, and you will say a lot more." When I just looked at him, wondering, he grinned then looked away and then down. "Believe me," he said toward the ground, "you won't know how to stop."

Looking at the shadows, I said, "I must get back."

"To write."

"Yes."

"About May."

"Yes. I guess everyone knows."

"I don't know about that. Some people are just out of the loop. I'm out of most loops, but this loop is right up my shoelace." He looked at me but seemed amused with himself. "I write every day about May and how impossible she is to understand. But it's just sour grapes. She doesn't care a fig for me."

"She does not give you fruit?" When Neil laughed I knew I had said something naive.

"No--and wouldn't give me the time of day if I had a clock on my forehead." He waved a hand before his face. "That's not true, mainly because I would never ask. I asked once, and nice guys don't ask twice." Hooking two fingers from each hand in the air, he repeated, "Nice guys."

"Are you in love with her, too?"

He huffed. "I don't know. I don't even know what love is."

"Neither do I, but I am sure I am in love."

His slate-gray eyes softened. "I believe you. And, I'm sorry, but that saddens me."