The Space Between Trees Read Free

Jonah’s sled. When Jonah stops to take a look at something or tie his boot or pull out a smoke or whatever he does, I wait on my side until the sled sound starts up again. Then I keep walking with him.

    On this morning, I deliver papers for about half an hour, walking along with the sound of Jonah’s sled. But then, after coming back from one of the houses, I can’t hear the sled runners anymore. I jog up a block to see if Jonah has gotten ahead of me, and then I walk back slowly, listening. Nothing. I decide that Jonah must’ve walked deeper into the trees where I can’t hear his sled anymore, so I turn away from the woods and go deeper into the neighborhood, because I still have half the houses in the middle left to do.

    It takes me about an hour to finish in there, and by the time I’m done, the sun has made it over the horizon and is cutting right through the houses, lighting up their rooms, waking up their people. I pass some smug joggers, a boy pulling on a jowly dog, and a lady in her bathrobe standing barefoot in the middle of her front lawn. Each of these people waves at me, which is a funny thing that’s true about delivering newspapers: Everyone waves as if they like you. I still have all the rest of the border houses to finish, and I’m thinking and hoping that I might run into Jonah again. In fact, I’m walking along, listening so hard for the sound of Jonah’s sled that I almost miss Jonah himself standing right there on the front porch of my next house.
    Jonah has told me before that he isn’t allowed to talk to the residents of Hokepe Woods. In fact, his boss, Mr. Jefferson, has very particular rules about this. That Jonah is not allowed to speak to residents is the first and most important rule. If a resident speaks to Jonah, however, Jonah must wave back, not nod or say good morning—he’s got to wave. This second rule hasn’t been tested out yet, though, because none of the people who live in Hokepe Woods have ever even said “Hi” to Jonah. “They don’t want to think about me,” he told me, one of his longest sentences to date.
    So, anyway, there I am on the sidewalk, and there’s Jonah up on the porch, where he’s definitely not supposed to be, pink-eared, sledless, with his hand raised to knock. Jonah doesn’t knock, though; instead he kind of pauses with his fist in the air like he hears someone coming to answer. Without even thinking about it, I back into the yard of the house next door and crouch down in its front garden. It’s a small plot, covered in cedar chips and planted with shrubs. The shrubs offer some kind of place to hide, even though I’m pretty surethat my forehead is sticking out over their fuzzy tops. The cedar chips poke at my hands, and a little ant crawls across my knuckles. None of it is too comfortable, really, and I don’t know how much longer I can squat there, so thank God when the door of that house swings open. The only problem is that where I’m crouching, I can’t see who’s answered it. Jonah starts talking, but he’s too far away for me to hear what he’s saying. Then, he disappears inside, which I’m sure is against all of Mr. Jefferson’s rules.
    Well, I sit around in that garden for nearly fifteen more minutes, which I count off on my watch one after the next, like papers delivered to porches. The house Jonah has gone into is the only modern one on the block—a stack of a house—and the windows are all tinted dark, so I couldn’t peek in even if I had the courage to. Sure, it crosses my mind that Jonah is having sex with the woman in that house. On my paper route, I see dozens of Hokepe Woods’ divorcees trussed up in shiny jogging suits and skinny headbands, speedwalking themselves into successful and fulfilling futures. They’re the only ones who don’t wave at me, because they’ve got their eyes set in the distance, like they’re looking for the next thing. Jonah could be their next thing.
    I think about how I’m going to