"Mama! Look! Look what I did!" he called, jubilant, leaves in his hair. Another boy watched him, wondering if he should attempt the same stunt. He didn't look convinced.
"That's great, Honey!" Was that her voice? Was that the way it sounded to other people?
Two women walked by, pushing strollers, chatting. "...he didn't seem to get it, but you know how that is." "Oh my gosh, you don't need to tell me..." Their babies slept while they sipped their six-dollar coffees.
"Mama! Watch!" He climbed the picnic table again, poised to jump into the pile of leaves. The other boy's mother had come on the scene and shot her a look while she steered her son away to another part of the playground. The boy looked back, craned his neck to watch the leap.
"Be careful!" Did her voice just crack?
His teacher said he pushed another boy to the ground. Said he seemed distracted all the time, was uninterested in class. Taped red construction-paper horns to his forehead and refused to stop talking in what he called his "devil voice." She hoped the teacher hadn't noticed the nano-second grin that crossed her face. She wished she had seen the horns.
She watched him as he started throwing the leaves over his head, letting them catch on the light wind. He tossed them over and over until he had to pile them up again in order to throw them some more. She was glad he had stopped jumping off the picnic table.
He didn't believe her and although he had stopped asking, she knew he thought his Dad would be home any day. She didn't know how to convince him that it just wasn't true. She wasn't sure she wanted to try. Why couldn't she live in the same world, where leaves on the wind were wondrous and construction-paper horns transformed you into an entirely different creature? Where death couldn't touch you because it wasn't invited; wasn't a member of your secret club.
The bench was starting to tilt and she shifted herself and let go of the purse strap to brace herself. She wondered why it seemed to to take forever to open her hand and why it hurt to splay her fingers as she pressed her palm face-down on the bench. Her boy called, she looked up, the sky heaved. He was laughing and she smiled what she hoped looked like a smile, but what felt like a gash, a wound where her smile used to be.
I woke up with the image in my head of a woman clutching her purse as a boy jumped off a picnic table. The look on her face told me it wasn't just his safety that worried her. The only words in my head were "the sky heaved". I caught a glimpse of her story when I sat down to write.
She watched him as he started throwing the leaves over his head, letting them catch on the light wind. He tossed them over and over until he had to pile them up again in order to throw them some more. She was glad he had stopped jumping off the picnic table.
He didn't believe her and although he had stopped asking, she knew he thought his Dad would be home any day. She didn't know how to convince him that it just wasn't true. She wasn't sure she wanted to try. Why couldn't she live in the same world, where leaves on the wind were wondrous and construction-paper horns transformed you into an entirely different creature? Where death couldn't touch you because it wasn't invited; wasn't a member of your secret club.
The bench was starting to tilt and she shifted herself and let go of the purse strap to brace herself. She wondered why it seemed to to take forever to open her hand and why it hurt to splay her fingers as she pressed her palm face-down on the bench. Her boy called, she looked up, the sky heaved. He was laughing and she smiled what she hoped looked like a smile, but what felt like a gash, a wound where her smile used to be.
I woke up with the image in my head of a woman clutching her purse as a boy jumped off a picnic table. The look on her face told me it wasn't just his safety that worried her. The only words in my head were "the sky heaved". I caught a glimpse of her story when I sat down to write.
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