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I’m not sure why we picked a Tuesday, but that was the day we moved to the city. The unpacked boxes took more space than things inside them and made our new apartment seem more furnished than it was. I was hesitant to unpack so I left. “I’ll be back,” I said. I don’t know what she said.
I walked down a sidewalk that was crowded, but not with people; we were all trees, dressed in our Tuesday clothes – Tuesday coats and Tuesday hats. I wondered where the people were. I felt alone, the only boy in the city, except I wasn’t a boy; I was a tree and everyone looked the same. I went to a store to buy gum. The clerk said what I owed and I looked at the register to be sure; I was right and handed over two bucks and put the change in my pocket.
It had become dark and traffic jammed the streets. Headlights shot the cars in front and I imagined the beams were a single beam, like long light-skewers piercing through a car-kebob. I chewed a piece of gum and popped it. A bothersome habit, but I did it anyway and wondered how it felt to be annoyed by sound. One time I stood in line for a ride at the fair and fired my mouth machine-gun until a man asked me to stop. I didn’t know he asked me to stop so I didn’t and he tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned and saw his face, I didn’t need to hear to know he was mad.
At an intersection I crossed with the others when the light changed, each of us a separate part of the bunch. I felt like a grape and I felt happy to be with other grapes. Grapes were much better than trees. Trees stood alone and made me feel lonesome. I didn’t feel that way when I was a grape.
I stopped to watch a Santa. He rang a bell and I wondered if the sound helped him make more money. I thought it would be annoying, like my gum. Still, I donated the coins from my pocket. Steps later, I passed a homeless man holding a cup and wished I’d waited.
A sign advertised the best Chinese in the city so I walked in to taste for myself. I pointed to my choice, paid, and pocketed my change. I ate and decided the sign had lied. I left and went back to the homeless man. I dropped the coins in the cup and hoped they clanged with others already there. He said something but his beard wouldn’t let me see what it was. I imagined he felt like a tree and never a grape.
Back at my building, I climbed the stairs. Someone had posted a complaint that they creaked but I couldn’t know. She greeted me at the door and asked what the city was like. “Loud,” I replied. She laughed at my sarcasm. She had unpacked and our apartment looked empty.
“Does the bell really matter?” I watched her mouth and waited for the answer. Reading people’s lips was easy. I used to wish I could read their minds, too.
“Bell?”
“Santa, ringing the bell. Does the sound make a difference?”
“You give him any money?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess it doesn’t make a difference.”
I asked if she wanted some tea. “Sounds good,” she said. I asked if she was trying to be funny and we both laughed. When I handed over her mug, we blew ripples into the surface.
“I felt like a grape,” I said.
“When?”
“When I crossed the street.”
She smiled because she knew that was good. The tea was still hot and we blew more ripples.
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FEATURE STORY 
