Between the Maple Trees

There is a house on the corner of Broadway that is the same color as the sky on a sunny day. In front of that house there are two old Maple trees. In the summer, especially on foggy days, but when the trees are brilliant green, you can stand opposite this house and imagine you are looking out through a forest at a blue sky over an open field.

There had been such a field behind her parents house, and so now, as she lived so far away, on her walks to and from the grocery store or from work, she would periodically stop and gaze at this house on Broadway. She sometimes wondered if anyone in the house ever noticed her looking. If they did, she hoped they would come and introduce themselves. Who painted their house the color of the sky?

She had skied around that field. Spotted fawns in the spring. Ran through the corn maize in the summer and gathered colored leaves for waxing in the fall. It had been that sort of field. One August, when the field lay fallow, and wild grass grew thick, she had walked around the field with a lover.

It had been around six o' clock, and so the heat didn't slow them down. They walked up and down the soft hills at the perimeter. The sky had been blue when they left the house, but warm winds brought clouds and a thunderstorm.

The raindrops were cold, but the air was warm, and they kept walking. They didn't duck under the dark green leaves of the trees in the woods, but stayed in the field. At intervals they broke into a run for no sensible reason. They laughed and held hands. They hugged and their wet clothes clung together. It was the sort of evening she didn't yet know was rare.

When the rain stopped, the air was cooler and the sun had almost disappeared and so they walked back to the house. Her mother was entertaining and several serious ladies sat around the big bowls of salad and summer peaches and nectarines resting on their spacious kitchen table. When the couple entered the room, full of giggling urgency, the ladies stared. Her mother had been upstairs, perhaps still getting dressed for the evening.

She caught sight of their reflection in the window: two bedraggled long-haired urchins dripping water before these proud stately women. Even though it was her house, she felt unwelcome, and she grabbed his hand and led him to her room where they took off the wet clothes and tried to warm themselves.

This was what she thought about when she stood in front of the blue house with the maple trees in front. Weeks later that boy had left her, and, at the time, it hadn't mattered.