story [the swing set]
author: ruffwriter (ruffwriter)
email: ringhappy [ at ] comcast.net
The rusty swing creaked as Tom's hands slapped against Alex's back, pushing as hard as he could. "Want to go higher?"
"This is high enough," Alex said. As light as he was, he'd gained enough momentum to make the legs of the swing set lift off the ground. And besides, they'd picked up an audience: a group of first graders huddled in the sandbox and watched them, wide-eyed. "They're staring."
"Yeah," Tom said, "because they're jealous, obviously. That you have a swing-pusher of this magnitude, I mean."
"Sure," Alex said. "It's what I've always wanted."
Tom shoved him harder than was strictly necessary. "Maybe they're staring at you. Alex Harper, on a playground! Having fun! Or appearing to have fun, anyway. Let's not get too carried away."
"It's not like I wanted to come." Alex made a vain attempt not to pout. He was painfully aware that it made him look like a frog. "You made me."
"Oh, yeah. I'm such a terrible person, forcing you to go to the playground. You're the most depressing nine-year-old I've ever met." There was laughter in Tom's voice. "Sorry, kiddo. It's here or nothing. You know that. You could always hire someone else?"
"I can't," Alex said. "I don't have the money to pay a babysitter."
"Hey, hey, hey," Tom said. "I must have some good points other than that?" Alex pressed his lips together, pushing back a reply. He heard Tom sigh. "Okay. Your silence is enough of an answer."
"Does it matter?" Alex said. "I thought you were just bored."
"You don't know that. Maybe I really, really want to be a great babysitter," Tom said. Alex couldn't tell if his tone was truly mock-indignant, or if he just wanted Alex to think it was. "Matter of fact, I was thinking about majoring in it in college."
"Babysitting?" Alex said.
"No, early education," Tom said, as if it were obvious. "Teaching and shit. Stuff. Sorry. I used to be all right at science. I could have taught kids to dissect frogs or something." Another hard push. "I would have been good with kids, you know? I've got all this sage advice and no one to share it with."
"Like what?" Alex said.
"Let's see…" Tom could convey every gesture with just his voice. Alex could almost see him stroking his chin like a cartoon villain. "How about 'don't get drunk and climb on playground equipment?' That's an important one."
Alex couldn't help but smile at that one - even though he knew it wasn't funny, not really. "If you were my teacher, my parents would probably get you fired." They probably wouldn't like him as a babysitter, either.
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're calling the shots," Tom said, as if reading his mind.
The first graders, whispering amongst themselves, had drawn back, their wide eyes still fixed on the violently rocking swing set. They exchanged a look, drew a collective breath, and one of them shrieked, "Run!"
Alex watched as they tore off in opposite directions, disappearing down the street and leaving them alone in the park. Tom let out a single bark of a laugh. "What's their problem?"
Like he didn't know. Alex played along anyway. "Maybe they're scared of me."
"Right. Because I know you have that nasty habit of beating kids with your inhaler and stealing their lunch money," Tom said.
"You know what I mean," Alex said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Tom sucked in a long breath between his teeth. "You know, I think I know a quick fix for that." Alex didn't respond. Tom took it as an invitation to go on. "I mean, maybe if you'd talk to 'em once in a while, they'd realize you're about as threatening as a kitten. A tiny, asthmatic kitten."
"You didn't need that last part." Alex couldn't help but pout this time. "And if you want to say something, say it."
"Say what? I say everything I'm thinking." Tom's pushes had grown halfhearted. "But maybe next time your parents tell you to go to your friend's house, you should actually go."
"He's not a friend," Alex said. "He's Nick Jenkins. And he hates me."
"Have you ever talked to him?" Tom said.
"I don't have to," Alex said. "He hangs out with Jill Frost, and she-"
"Okay, not Nick Jenkins, then," Tom said. "So find someone else. Or hire another babysitter. But maybe you shouldn't come here anymore."
Alex wished he wouldn't try to be nice about it. Tom was telling him to get lost. There was no 'maybe.'
"So you're quitting," he said.
"Well, do you blame me? I'm not getting paid," Tom laughed. "I'm just saying, you should do what your parents say. They have the right idea."
"You didn't listen to your parents," Alex said.
"No, I didn't," Tom said. "Probably should have. But the point is, you and Nick Jenkins - hell, even you and Jill Frost - have something in common that we don't have. Not anymore."
"Nothing important," Alex said.
"Of course. Nothing important at all." Tom caught him as he swung back, and lifted him up high. "Just the most important thing."
"I don't care about that," Alex said. "I keep coming here, don't I?"
"Yeah, I know." Tom let him go. "Thanks for that, by the way."
Alex heard a high throat-clearing from the street, and looked up to see Mrs. Hart standing on the sidewalk, surveying the swing set with a wary eye. "Alex? What are you doing over there? Are your parents still at the parent-teacher conference?"
"Yeah," Alex called. "Until eight."
"Well, come wait with me until it's done," Mrs. Hart said. "I don't like the idea of you out here alone."
The swing rocked backwards, and Alex sailed through empty air.
Alex dismounted awkwardly, stumbling as he hit the ground, and turned to glance behind him. There was no one there. As far as everyone else was concerned, there never had been.
He clambered up the embankment to the sidewalk. The sun had started to sink; the quiet street was bathed in orange light and long shadows. The edges of the shadows seemed to flicker, as if something moved within their confines, just out of sight. Alex could never quite see them. They followed him anyway.
"Sorry to spoil your fun, honey." Mrs. Hart managed a shaky smile. "But every time I look at that creaky thing, I get the shivers. Andie Michum's son broke his neck climbing on that thing." She shook her head. "Then again, he was always a bit of an idiot."
Alex glanced back towards the swing set and bit his lip. Tom was the only one who was actually nice to him. But he couldn't exactly tell Mrs. Hart about that.
"Yeah." He watched the swing shudder a few times before it came to a halt. "He probably was."
the end.
email: ringhappy [ at ] comcast.net
The rusty swing creaked as Tom's hands slapped against Alex's back, pushing as hard as he could. "Want to go higher?"
"This is high enough," Alex said. As light as he was, he'd gained enough momentum to make the legs of the swing set lift off the ground. And besides, they'd picked up an audience: a group of first graders huddled in the sandbox and watched them, wide-eyed. "They're staring."
"Yeah," Tom said, "because they're jealous, obviously. That you have a swing-pusher of this magnitude, I mean."
"Sure," Alex said. "It's what I've always wanted."
Tom shoved him harder than was strictly necessary. "Maybe they're staring at you. Alex Harper, on a playground! Having fun! Or appearing to have fun, anyway. Let's not get too carried away."
"It's not like I wanted to come." Alex made a vain attempt not to pout. He was painfully aware that it made him look like a frog. "You made me."
"Oh, yeah. I'm such a terrible person, forcing you to go to the playground. You're the most depressing nine-year-old I've ever met." There was laughter in Tom's voice. "Sorry, kiddo. It's here or nothing. You know that. You could always hire someone else?"
"I can't," Alex said. "I don't have the money to pay a babysitter."
"Hey, hey, hey," Tom said. "I must have some good points other than that?" Alex pressed his lips together, pushing back a reply. He heard Tom sigh. "Okay. Your silence is enough of an answer."
"Does it matter?" Alex said. "I thought you were just bored."
"You don't know that. Maybe I really, really want to be a great babysitter," Tom said. Alex couldn't tell if his tone was truly mock-indignant, or if he just wanted Alex to think it was. "Matter of fact, I was thinking about majoring in it in college."
"Babysitting?" Alex said.
"No, early education," Tom said, as if it were obvious. "Teaching and shit. Stuff. Sorry. I used to be all right at science. I could have taught kids to dissect frogs or something." Another hard push. "I would have been good with kids, you know? I've got all this sage advice and no one to share it with."
"Like what?" Alex said.
"Let's see…" Tom could convey every gesture with just his voice. Alex could almost see him stroking his chin like a cartoon villain. "How about 'don't get drunk and climb on playground equipment?' That's an important one."
Alex couldn't help but smile at that one - even though he knew it wasn't funny, not really. "If you were my teacher, my parents would probably get you fired." They probably wouldn't like him as a babysitter, either.
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're calling the shots," Tom said, as if reading his mind.
The first graders, whispering amongst themselves, had drawn back, their wide eyes still fixed on the violently rocking swing set. They exchanged a look, drew a collective breath, and one of them shrieked, "Run!"
Alex watched as they tore off in opposite directions, disappearing down the street and leaving them alone in the park. Tom let out a single bark of a laugh. "What's their problem?"
Like he didn't know. Alex played along anyway. "Maybe they're scared of me."
"Right. Because I know you have that nasty habit of beating kids with your inhaler and stealing their lunch money," Tom said.
"You know what I mean," Alex said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Tom sucked in a long breath between his teeth. "You know, I think I know a quick fix for that." Alex didn't respond. Tom took it as an invitation to go on. "I mean, maybe if you'd talk to 'em once in a while, they'd realize you're about as threatening as a kitten. A tiny, asthmatic kitten."
"You didn't need that last part." Alex couldn't help but pout this time. "And if you want to say something, say it."
"Say what? I say everything I'm thinking." Tom's pushes had grown halfhearted. "But maybe next time your parents tell you to go to your friend's house, you should actually go."
"He's not a friend," Alex said. "He's Nick Jenkins. And he hates me."
"Have you ever talked to him?" Tom said.
"I don't have to," Alex said. "He hangs out with Jill Frost, and she-"
"Okay, not Nick Jenkins, then," Tom said. "So find someone else. Or hire another babysitter. But maybe you shouldn't come here anymore."
Alex wished he wouldn't try to be nice about it. Tom was telling him to get lost. There was no 'maybe.'
"So you're quitting," he said.
"Well, do you blame me? I'm not getting paid," Tom laughed. "I'm just saying, you should do what your parents say. They have the right idea."
"You didn't listen to your parents," Alex said.
"No, I didn't," Tom said. "Probably should have. But the point is, you and Nick Jenkins - hell, even you and Jill Frost - have something in common that we don't have. Not anymore."
"Nothing important," Alex said.
"Of course. Nothing important at all." Tom caught him as he swung back, and lifted him up high. "Just the most important thing."
"I don't care about that," Alex said. "I keep coming here, don't I?"
"Yeah, I know." Tom let him go. "Thanks for that, by the way."
Alex heard a high throat-clearing from the street, and looked up to see Mrs. Hart standing on the sidewalk, surveying the swing set with a wary eye. "Alex? What are you doing over there? Are your parents still at the parent-teacher conference?"
"Yeah," Alex called. "Until eight."
"Well, come wait with me until it's done," Mrs. Hart said. "I don't like the idea of you out here alone."
The swing rocked backwards, and Alex sailed through empty air.
Alex dismounted awkwardly, stumbling as he hit the ground, and turned to glance behind him. There was no one there. As far as everyone else was concerned, there never had been.
He clambered up the embankment to the sidewalk. The sun had started to sink; the quiet street was bathed in orange light and long shadows. The edges of the shadows seemed to flicker, as if something moved within their confines, just out of sight. Alex could never quite see them. They followed him anyway.
"Sorry to spoil your fun, honey." Mrs. Hart managed a shaky smile. "But every time I look at that creaky thing, I get the shivers. Andie Michum's son broke his neck climbing on that thing." She shook her head. "Then again, he was always a bit of an idiot."
Alex glanced back towards the swing set and bit his lip. Tom was the only one who was actually nice to him. But he couldn't exactly tell Mrs. Hart about that.
"Yeah." He watched the swing shudder a few times before it came to a halt. "He probably was."
the end.