Mommy promised that when all the snow melted and we could see the woodchips, we could play in the park. By ourselves. After all, I was eight years old now. Certainly old enough to watch Kimberly.
Our eager noses pressed against the window.
Any sign of woodchips? No. Maybe tomorrow.
Any sign of woodchips? No. Maybe tomorrow.
Any sign of woodchips? Yes. Maybe—today!
Velcro Barbie shoes took us out the door and down two flights of stairs, farewells and “I’ll be watching from the window” trailing behind us.
Yellow monkey bars and calloused hands.
Tire swing and queasy stomach.
Plastic blocks and a game of Tic-Tac-Toe.
Curvy slide and—
Who’s that?
And…her four friends.
Ignore them, Kimmy.
Curvy slide and feet—
Here she comes.
Standing on the opposite side of the bridge: “Wanna play tag?”
Um… no thank you.
“C’mon. I’ll be It first.”
The rubber bridge jumped with each step.
“Run!” and a push down the slide.
From the sidelines: “Come on! Chase ‘em! Show ‘em what’chu got!”
Laughter and jeers.
She came faster, and faster, and faster.
I turned around for a moment, and a look in her eyes scared me. Woodchips flew up around our shoes.
“Go home, go home!” I turned back to my sister.
I grabbed the metal chain link gate. Rusty to the touch.
We ran up the sidewalk. I could hear the steady rhythm of sneakers hitting the pavement. A Barbie blur and safety flashed ahead.
Jeers and laugher echoed in my head.