Of all the people I've known throughout my life, Harvey was my greatest friend. He was older, bigger, and wiser. The first time I saw him he greeted me with open arms raised up like a praise to God. I could tell he was waiting for a hug so shyly I stepped in to hug him. His embrace was a soft wind against my back while my face brushed against his rough, dry skin that was covered in hairy moss. He seemed overjoyed to meet a perfect stranger; always praising God. I concluded that he was a lonely man. His name was etched poorly on his coverings. I watched him reach towards his neighbors, children and grandchildren, but they kept their distance. They even sheltered the young from him, always at arm's length away. Mingling only with each other, some even reaching out towards me, but never Harvey.
I began to visit every day. He would set out little things for me to eat; leafy greens mostly with occasional meat that I'm sure were insects. He meant well so I excepted. He even spent the morning collecting fresh dew for me to drink. As the months passed autumn cooled the air I noticed his hair was beginning to frost over and fall gently to the ground in flakes. When I came to greet him in the mornings his arms were still outstretched, though I could feel his skin swell with water.
Weeks passed and soon all his hair was gone. His grandchildren didn't have hair either. I wondered if they were supporting him, in their own silent way, but they still kept their distance. I asked if everything were okay, but he never said a word. I suddenly realized that since the day I met him, I had never heard him speak.
Harvey hadn't said a word our entire relationship. I must have imagined his deep voice and rich laughter that disturbed the birds in neighboring trees so much they took flight. I had told him so much about my self; I was mad at him. I had told him about my family moving around and not understanding the pain they caused me. The beds I'd slept in and never made. The lip piercing from a Saturday night I didn't remember. All I knew about him were assumptions I made from the clues I had. The small children that resembled him I assumed were his grandchildren, but they could belong to his neighbors. His tattoo of a heart with initials that didn't belong to him always puzzled me, but I never asked because it seemed to cause him pain.
The anger got to me and I didn't visit for a long time. From October to the beginning of December I didn't visit. It was the wind against my window that made me decide to visit again. I wondered if he was okay. I threw on my black coat and ran outside. I arrived at his home as the wind picked up. He turned his arms towards me in the wind when a brutal airstream knocked him off his feet. Harvey lied still. I rushed over but he didn't move. I tried to drag him, to get him on his feet again, but I wasn't strong enough. Tears streamed down my face and burned my cold cheeks as snow started to fall. I ran around frantically yelling for his neighbors to help, but they just looked on, swollen and cold. I wiped off the piling snow until my hands were numb, then a thin lace of snow covered his body like a blanket.
I left him there with his neighbors staring. I ran home and locked myself in. I tried to black it all from my mind. I tried to go on with my life, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. I didn't return until the spring. I didn't know what to expect. Had some one moved the corpse or was he still there, ravaged by animals? I had not told anyone anyone from my town about it only his neighbors knew. Thought they hadn't seemed to care.
I brought him flowers, purple irises, the ones we used to gaze at in the summer months. The closer I got the more a lump grew in my throat. I recognized some of the kids; their hair had grown back in full like the first time I saw them. They all kept their distance but looked on with something I interpreted as joy. I turned to where their outstretched arms pointed, and there, where Harvey once stood grew a new tree from his broken truck.
End
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