Free The Leaves 03 (Nico) by JB Hartnett Page A

the best; my sleeved arms, both done like totem poles, were more artistic than meaningful, but I loved them. It was a bit of my heritage I wore with pride, even if I had no idea where my ancestors were from. It didn’t matter.
    I’d left blank rings, four on each side. My arms were a carbon copy of each other. One ring would be for my pop, one would be for my
    mom,
    and
    one—if
    I
    ever
    got

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    married—would be for my wife. The fourth would be if I ever had a kid. I wanted one kid… maybe. I didn’t fuckin’ know. But on my back was a place my pop had taken me as a kid, and it was exactly the place I wanted to take my own son if I had one. When I was nine, he had taken me on a father/son fish-ing trip up in the mountains.
    “Can you hear that?” he’d asked me once.
    “What? I don’t hear anything.” I answered, confused.
    “You’re not listening. Shut your face and shut your mind and just… listen.” A few minutes of heavy concentration, I relaxed and heard it. Nature had so much to say. The ground was alive, the trees were alive, and I had never taken the time to sit back and listen. That’s what I wanted to give my child. The top of my shoulders and back were a star-filled sky, with the silhouettes of pine tree tops and a crescent moon, jutting 128/510
    peaks of a mountain ridge, detailed branches of Jeffrey, Lodge pole pines, and white firs.
    From the bottom were shiny branches of Manzanita that grew from the ground separately, but entwined to form the shape of a man and a woman embracing. The foreground was a campfire, and a hawk in front of that, its wings, outstretched, covered the width of my torso, and in the center of each wing was a bear paw to symbolize the last things that had brought me peace in my life; a bear named Georgie and little girl with dishwater-blonde hair.
    The water grew cold while I contemplated my sorry ass, so I hopped carefully into the bedroom and got dressed. I’d never fucked a chick in my bed, not once. Floor, couch, shower, kitchen counter, dining table, bedroom floor, but not my bed. And not my chair. My chair was for me and me only. I drank there, I lived in my head there, and escaped there with music, and my hand.

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    I missed smoking.
    Then next morning, I put on sweats, no boxers, and a sweatshirt, grabbed my wallet and keys, which the cops were nice enough to grab from the beach for me, and slowly climbed the stairs to my garage. I hadn’t rented a movie in ages. I’d avoided going to the shop because Gina would probably be there and I didn’t want to face her. Then something clicked in me; I remembered what it was like to close my eyes and get lost in her, how, for the first time, I felt something more than pure carnal pleasure. Being with her had touched something deep inside me.
    Maybe, and I was toying with the idea, maybe I could have feelings for Gina if I allowed myself.
    By the time I got to the shop, I had made up my mind to ask her out. I was still trying to figure out how I was going to help my women, the broken birds, without breaking their confidence, but that was the least of my 130/510
    worries right now. I would figure it out, but I knew I needed someone to talk to, and maybe Gina could be that person.
    Sure enough, she was standing behind the counter. Her hair was just at her shoulders now, which made her look more feminine, and she was even prettier than I remembered. I tried to think about what movie I might ask her for as an opening for conversation as I limped up to her.
    “Nico!” she exclaimed.
    “Hey, Gina. How are you?”
    “I think a better question is, how are you?” she asked, eyeing my leg. The bandage made one look much thicker than the other through my sweats.
    “I had a little swimming… mishap.” I chuckled.
    “No way!” She moved around the counter next to me. “Are you the Naked Shark Attack Guy?” Her eyes were huge waiting for my answer.

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    “I didn’t start out naked. Fucker took my