We All Hurt

“What in the heck happened?” I said in a state of panic. “Where’s the roof to the hoop-house and better yet, why are you up there in the rafters?”

“What?” Ga Nomē said. “I thought the roof was retractable. Hmm.”

“No, it’s not retractable.”

The entire roof is torn off in one forty-foot by twenty-foot piece of plastic, flapping angerly in the late afternoon wind. Yes, there had been a spring storm earlier in the day with winds strong enough to bend the trees in the front yard. Yet, here was Ga Nomē in the rafters.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” I asked.

“What?” He looked surprised. “Do you really think I had anything to do with this?” He spreads his arms out and gestures.

“Um, I don’t know. You’re in the rafters and there is a piece of plastic in your basket. What are the odds?”

“This is the second time you have hurt my feelings. Do you know what happens when you hurt my feelings? Do you want another garden mishap?” His body started to shake.

“So, you admit it, you were responsible.”

“Perhaps.”

“But why?”

“You hurt my feelings.” He looked down at his oversized boots as they dangled in the air from the rafter he sat on.

“I did? When?”

“Your comment about my accent and my manstache yesterday.”

I blurted out with a laugh, “You’re manstache?”

“That’s three.” He growled.

“I’m sorry, but another thing, your accent is weird. Not even close to being French.”

He growled and kicked his boot hard against the metal pole. The sharp ringing echoed in the open air.

I apologized again and told him I could have been nicer. I also explained that if I had a friend who had sounded like that, I would have told them. Real friends have to say things sometimes that are hard, something that only a good friend would say. Someone who didn’t say it, perhaps, was not such a great friend after all….a mere acquaintance.

“Does this mean you care about me?” He looked up from his boots. “Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

I turned and started to walk back up to the house.

“Chris, did you really get my manstache out of your junk drawer?”

“No, Ga Nomē, I didn’t. Under the last full moon, I sprinkled some magic on you so it would grow.”