the tree in the park

We were in the tree, and our bikes were beneath us, tires spinning because it was windy. The tree was a noisy place to be, when it was windy. The leaves gathered up their strength and did what they could to tear themselves free, but the big tree groaned and hung on valiantly, and only a few leaves blew away. And three dozen figs, which the squirrels collected. Your legs were longer than I remembered, or your shorts were shorter. It could have been both. "You ride a bike now," I said. "Yes, in fact, I hardly drive anywhere," you said. "Your knee is bleeding," I said. At one time, I would have licked it clean, and you would have laughed. But neither of those things happened, and I watched the blood dry in the afternoon sun. The scab was shaped like a state, but I can't remember which one. A state with a peninsula. The people walking by were mad at us, and they pretended that it was because we had left our bicycles on the lawn, and that we hadn't been wearing any helmets. But it was really because we had nothing to do, and we looked like we might be lovers. Which we used to be. Lovers, but like the knee licking, that was something of the past. "Do you still have the orange tabby?" I asked. The orange tabby that slept on top of my legs, and was constantly looking for her kittens, kittens which no longer existed. "No. We had to sleep her," you said. I liked the way you said it, just sad enough but remembering that she had been a good cat, and would have been a great mother. I pulled a leaf off of the tree, and placed it on your nose. You crinkled your face, and the leaf blew away. It was a nice day. Enough time passed. "Well, I think we should go," I said. "Ok," you said, and you climbed down a branch. "It was good to see you again," I said. And then, just before we touched the ground, "Wait. Do you want to pull off my scab?" you asked. "No," I said. "Are you sure?" you asked. "Yes," I said. Even though I wasn't sure at all.