He appeared one day as she worked in the backyard. Yanking the crowbar from between two pieces of wood, she glanced down toward the growing pile of scraps and there he was, perched on the tree stump at the edge of the pile. She stopped, more curious than afraid. A boy, maybe, though it was hard to tell. He perched upright and alert with his feet firmly planted, toes gripping the uneven edge, and his knees folded up to meet his chin. His thin lips turned up at the edges in a gentle smile. Sensing no threat in his emerald green eyes, she went back to work.
He perched while she pried the wood apart. She worked the crowbar back and forth against the rotted, termite-ridden board while keeping the boy in her sights. When the board finally gave way, she set it gently on the edge of the platform and slowly climbed down the wooden ladder.
The boy moved not a muscle.
At his level now, she reached up, lifted the board from the platform, and took it to the wood pile. Near the stump, she could see his features better. Sharp, angled nose above a smaller, softer chin. Short, curly brown hair. Green eyes. Pale skin that looked almost invisible. She found him gentle, though she could not say why. She felt peace radiating from his lithe body. He might have been a boy, but the knowing eyes and radiant, wise presence made him seem a hundred years old or perhaps only a few days young. Ageless, she decided. And perhaps not a boy at all.
A being. Of that she was sure. But undefinable. A calm, watchful presence. A witness. To her and her life.
She began to cry, big supple tears that drenched her face and soaked the collar of her shirt. She might have tried to hide her messy burbling face except that she felt relief at his presence. The ageless boybeing’s face had not changed. She felt waves of compassion and deep listening emanating from his body. She felt seen.
And then he was gone.
He hadn’t disappeared or unfolded himself to walk away, he’d simply gone. There one moment and then not there the next. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt no need to look for him or wish him back to the stump. Instead, she let the last of the tears fall and returned to the platform. Then, with her face still damp and a body that felt a hundred times lighter, she picked up the crowbar and, ever so gently, began to pry the next board out of the grip of the rusty, old nails.