We're at the park for the first time since our freshman year started back in September. Sarabeth is trying out Jose's skateboard, commenting on how hard it is to control. Tommy is watching her from the low cement wall separating the playground from the hill that descends to the football field. Sarabeth and Tommy started dating in seventh grade. They complement each other in that Sarabeth is outspoken and will tell anyone what she thinks about them while Tommy smoothes things over with charming, sincere smiles.
It is surprisingly warm today. Just two days ago, it was two degrees when I woke up to shower and head for school. It's always shocking how drastic the weather changes. Most people here are soft-spoken mothers out with their young children, half of them barely toddlers. I watch a twig-thin, beautiful woman roll a yellow ball across the grass at a chubby, blond boy of about two years. I smile and wonder if she was a bitch in high school, wonder if children changed people to give them a reason to be better. I look at Sarabeth and wonder if she'll be different once she has a child. I wonder if they'd fight a lot in front of their kids or if they would keep it all behind closed doors with the television blasting.
Staring toward my house, I kick a rock. I can hear my parents in my mind. I wish they'd just get a divorce already and say the words to my face, ‘we don't love each other anymore.’
I remember kissing Sarabeth's cheek in fifth grade at our first middle school dance. That night, I memorized the warm vanilla scent of her hair, the red polka dots in her dress, the velvet smooth whiteness of her cheek. She didn't say anything afterward. I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth.
A few months into high school, I noticed Sarabeth holding her head a little higher, thrusting her chest out a little more. I never thought she was vulnerable to change but I guess that was naive. From a tomboy, she transformed into one of those girls everyone could tell was growing up too fast. Tommy joins the football team and whispers hello in the hallways. It's just a matter of time before they stop completely.
Turning away from my friends, I see the little boy again being pulled along by a different woman. She is shorter and fleshier. Her hair is long and frizzy. She is wearing a brown sweater and black overalls. The boy meekly follows, guided by her hand. I look around for the beautiful woman, wondering which one's the mother. Perhaps this older woman is his nanny.
Sarabeth shouts something and I look up into the clear sky. A plane is coming toward us, not a usual dot only noticeable because of the muffled roaring, but close enough that it's the width of the monkey bar. Close by, a bird is heading for the direction of the plane. The distracted bird is flapping his wings awkwardly. Maybe my glasses are fooling me. Maybe they aren't as close to each other as I think. They surely can't collide. Probably they're a few hundred feet apart. The sky is tricky that way.
I look back for the boy but see the beautiful woman instead. The sunlight accentuates every feature on her porcelain face. A car door slams in the distance. I hear a scream. From what, I don't know.
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