A Flashing of Eyes
Daybreak
The sand in the park is gray and littered with trigs and broken bottles. I gingerly slip my shoes off, realizing that she was never wearing shoes to begin with. She floats over the sharp sand like a leaf on the water in the wintertime. I clumsily pick my way after her. As she turns around, I notice a small, licorice gap in her teeth. She smiles, swishing to the swing set. She sits down on the rusty plastic seat. The whole structure seems to sink into the ground. I hear the crunch of glass as a bottle is broken down into glassy powder beneath the metal poles.
“Did you ever learn to swing?” she asks, flicking her hair around her long arm. I feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily. “Yeah… yeah I did.” My voice sounds strange to my ears, hollow and broken. “I’ll bet you didn’t,” she smiles that bent-up smile and chews off the tip of her fingernail, pushing off the ground with her bare feet. I shake my head; the glint of her eyes is still bright as she arcs upwards. On the way back down, her eyes flutter closed, her eyelids smooth and brown. “Sit!” she commands. I dare not disobey. As if in a trance, I find my way to the other plastic seat. The chains feel thin in my hands. I haven’t done this since I was five.
I feel my feet leave the ground. I rise, the wind brushing color into my cheeks, the ground falling away, then plunging back into view. My bare toes scrape the yellow trees. I laugh. It’s a strange sound, like the tarnished bell in the church in town. She laughs too. Our feet shake the trees, our backs sweeping soft lines into the sky. I feel the black elastic fall out of my hair. It flies up over my face in spider-like strands. I claw playfully at the wind. She begins to hum; her voice is low and curved, like a green hill in the spring. I hum to her song. A familiar song. One I hear late at night outside my window in that trance between sleep and awareness. I let the notes roll over my throat and tickle my tongue, confined by my lips. We soar towards the stars, as dusk sets in with its smoky hands.
“I think that’s enough for you for one day,” she smiles, mocking, friendly. “Yeah,” I choke on the word, broken hollow. My legs protest as I lift off the sticky rubber seat and step my way through the sharp sticks and glass shards embedded in the sand. “My name’s Skye,” she says, still sitting on her swing, “you’re welcome.”
“W-what,” I manage.
“I taught you to swing.”
“Yeah… thanks.”
“Yeah thanks what?”
“Thanks for teaching me how to swing.”
“That’s better,” Her face shines every color in the waning light. So alive. I look at her, cocking my head to one side, my mouth framing a confused O. I take the plunge: “See you around… Skye?”
“Yeah, see you around. Ellie.” A flash of blue and a bent up smile.
She knows my name.
I walk home in bare feet.
“Did you ever learn to swing?” she asks, flicking her hair around her long arm. I feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily. “Yeah… yeah I did.” My voice sounds strange to my ears, hollow and broken. “I’ll bet you didn’t,” she smiles that bent-up smile and chews off the tip of her fingernail, pushing off the ground with her bare feet. I shake my head; the glint of her eyes is still bright as she arcs upwards. On the way back down, her eyes flutter closed, her eyelids smooth and brown. “Sit!” she commands. I dare not disobey. As if in a trance, I find my way to the other plastic seat. The chains feel thin in my hands. I haven’t done this since I was five.
I feel my feet leave the ground. I rise, the wind brushing color into my cheeks, the ground falling away, then plunging back into view. My bare toes scrape the yellow trees. I laugh. It’s a strange sound, like the tarnished bell in the church in town. She laughs too. Our feet shake the trees, our backs sweeping soft lines into the sky. I feel the black elastic fall out of my hair. It flies up over my face in spider-like strands. I claw playfully at the wind. She begins to hum; her voice is low and curved, like a green hill in the spring. I hum to her song. A familiar song. One I hear late at night outside my window in that trance between sleep and awareness. I let the notes roll over my throat and tickle my tongue, confined by my lips. We soar towards the stars, as dusk sets in with its smoky hands.
“I think that’s enough for you for one day,” she smiles, mocking, friendly. “Yeah,” I choke on the word, broken hollow. My legs protest as I lift off the sticky rubber seat and step my way through the sharp sticks and glass shards embedded in the sand. “My name’s Skye,” she says, still sitting on her swing, “you’re welcome.”
“W-what,” I manage.
“I taught you to swing.”
“Yeah… thanks.”
“Yeah thanks what?”
“Thanks for teaching me how to swing.”
“That’s better,” Her face shines every color in the waning light. So alive. I look at her, cocking my head to one side, my mouth framing a confused O. I take the plunge: “See you around… Skye?”
“Yeah, see you around. Ellie.” A flash of blue and a bent up smile.
She knows my name.
I walk home in bare feet.