The Trees

by Percival Everett

“When I write the names they become real, not just statistics. When I write the names they become real again. It’s almost like they get a few more seconds here. Do you know what I mean? I would never be able to make up this many names. The names have to be real. They have to be real. Don’t they?” Mama Z put her hand against the side of Damon face. “Why pencil?” “When I’m done, I’m going to erase every name, set them free.”

“You hear any noises last night?” “Yeah,” Lulabelle said. “I mean strange noises, not just yer brother tootin’ gas.”