something about a rainforest

It was almost December when he told me about the rainforest. There’s this plant, he said, It only grows in the rainforests of Queensland, in Australia. That night I stayed up listening to him talk about everything from Marxist philosophy to distortion pedals to the construction of clocks. I didn’t care. I liked his words.

It has these huge leaves, he continued, That are covered in tiny microscopic silicone tubes that help the tree get water. The thing is, if you touch the leaves, they come off on you. They’re like needles and they’re so small but they hurt like shit. They stay under your skin for months until you regenerate every place it touched. And anytime you get water on them, it goes through the tubes and you have all this water below the surface. Supposed to be one of the most painful things possible.

He stopped and looked at me and for a second I tried to imagine filling up with water right beneath my skin. He was right, it hurt.

I said Yes some people can do that too. You touch them even for a second and they don’t come out of you no matter what. And it’s like everything else you touch after that hurts more than you ever thought it could. All because of some invisible thing they got under your skin when you weren’t looking.

He turned to the window and stared out at midnight snow falling silently past streetlights. As we watched it start to fall faster, the combination of tiny crystals and electric yellow-orange glow made dim halos below every source of light. I focused on the reflection of his face in the glass and he said There are no rainforests here.