He was only eight at the time, but he remembered the day his father had hired Richard and Ellen to work on the farm. It was the early 70's, in Western Massachusetts, and they lived in a humid valley in the Berkshire mountains, where for a brief time in July and August the hills held onto the humidity just long enough for peaches the size of softballs to grow. "Take a bite of that 'leaner,' Poppas would say to the tourists station-wagoning down the Mohawk trail. He called them 'leaners' on account that you'd have to lean forward before biting into one, or else the syrupy juice would ruin whatever you were wearing.

The couple had come up the road on foot, which wasn't all that unusual back then. Hitchhiking, especially on the trail, was actually fairly common. But there was nothing ordinary looking about the pair. He was a tree of a man, so tall and thick, with a nest of wavy hair and sunburned muscular arms for branches. He wore a white tee shirt beneath denim overalls, with a box of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, cradled above his right bicep.

She was so thin you could lose her by squinting. Sarah came out of the peach house and joined Roy by his side. "That lady's dress is sparkling." Ellen's poncho was covered in tiny little mirrors that refracted the bright midday light, what seemed like a thousand twinkles with every step. Her black hair galloped down her back and completely covered her ass with a jet-black curtain. Her eyes were hidden behind the largest pair of mirrored sunglasses he had ever seen.

"Hello there critters," boomed the tree. "Your folks around."

Before Roy could answer his sister offered, "They're out pickin'." It felt like a secret she shouldn't have shared.

The shimmering woman bent down and put her face in front of Roy's, his reflection distorted and tiny in her mirrored lenses. "Can you tell them they got company?" -- JV