The Men in the Trees

There were thirteen men that lived in the knotted tree that grew beside my grandmother’s house. They were ogreish men with red eyes and dirty fingernails. They would call to me from the branches whenever I passed the tree; begging for food or hoarsely demanding that I give them my shoes. I never really spoke to these men, but I liked to watch them. Sometimes I would throw them notes with positive affirmations but I knew they couldn't read. You see, they were afraid to come out of the tree, so any fear I’d had of them disappeared with this discovery. In winter when the tree had lost its leaves these obese, misshapen men would huddle together and plead for warm soup. A few years ago the tree was struck by lightning and the men, charred and bewildered, hid in the garden. They are lawyers now. Sometimes I pass them in the street. They smile nervously and sometimes their lips move as if they are going to speak, but they never do.