Red feels a new restlessness stirring within them. They wonder what it would be like to play the role of an active contributor, rather than a passive observer. They awaken Bongo, who is slumbering among their leaves, to ask how one makes a friendship: “Friends have things in common” (82), is Bongo’s terse and irritated reply. When Red presses the issue, asking what they and Bongo ultimately have in common, Bongo resigns to waking all the way up.

When Bongo offers that she is Red’s tenant, Red’s rejoinder is that that fact alone is not enough to explain their friendship: They’ve had tenants they didn’t particularly enjoy. Red presses the issue further, asking Bongo how to spur a friendship between two people, and Bongo replies, “Maybe [...] get them together, doing something. They yak, share a laugh. Voila. Friendship. Am I right?” (84). Red also asks Bongo why people can be so unkind to one another. Bongo reminds Red that nature is full of unkindness—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a bunny or a lizard or a kid” (85), Bongo muses, before promptly falling asleep and snoring.

Red ruminates on the labels that Bongo has always ascribed to her, including “busybody” and “optimistic buttinski,” concluding that there are worse nicknames, and that “trees are the strong, silent type” (86)—until they decide not to be.