22) The Face

Neil sat on his rock, I sat in my tree. His shirt was off but not hanging from a sapling. He had thrown it over his drooping head, whence it hung and clung to his knees, pushed toward him by the same breeze that brushed the hair on my cheeks. There was no sound but that in my head--my conscience, I suppose--the same sound Neil must be hearing in his own head. But I can not be sure; we have not spoken since Hunter broke his nose. If not thoughts, I can be sure we share the same shame, if in different degrees and shades.

Neil changed the gear on my bicycle. It is much easier to ride, but I have probably gotten stronger, too. My head is small. We went to the toy store but could not find a helmet to fit me, so I only ride my bicycle within the complex, and only with Neil so the stares from neighbors are deflected. Gail will not let me ride outside the complex before I get a helmet. She is probably glad I can not find one that fits. Still, I feel a freedom she seems afraid of my having.

Gail called me at home in the middle of the week. It was the first phone call I had gotten from someone I knew. I was sure I had lost my job, but it was not about anything, really. As when she picks me up from work, she asked about my day. It was not the day Hunter was hurt, and I guess she had not read about it, so I could tell her that there was nothing new. She said she was glad, but it seemed she was ready to say that before I answered her. All she did was talk about herself, and all I did was listen. There is nothing about me she does not already know, and I was not interested enough about what she was telling me to ask questions, so I was silent. The phone on my ear for so long was uncomfortable, and her voice unreal. She asked a few times if I was "still there." I still do not know why she called.

May's face followed me up the tree as it has everywhere else: The wide, wild, burning dark eyes that accused Neil and me of the injury she was attending to. She glared harder at Neil, who stared back with a vacuous fear. Her next look at me was querulous and pitying. She did not even know what happened, but her eyes told me she suspected my involvement. That she could think that shamed me as much as its truth. That face follows me from the tree; I'm sure Neil does not leave it on the rock when he gets up.