Three Days in Paradise

Day 1

I sit on this swing and hear the rusty chain squeak as I push back and forth. There is no wind, no rain, no snow, yet the cold air makes the hair rise off my skin. My throat is sore from screaming at the young children. These days, they’re so undisciplined, so rude, so mouthy. I had no choice but to scare them. I had no choice but to tell them I would eat their souls, as if they had one. I can see my breath swirl around me, like a lullaby in a child’s head. Next to me is my friend. Brooke. My sister at heart. She waits with me. For what, I am not sure. He will not come. He will not come. My lips and toes go numb. My ears begin to sting. An old man walks down the street. In my mind, I wonder who he is. What is his story? I think to myself, of how many forget every wanderer, every drifter, every man, every woman, every child has a story, regardless whether we have heard it or not. I am shaken from my daydream by the voice of Brooke.

“Is that him?” she asks.

I sigh and shake my head. I hide my blue fingers from the cold in the sleeves of my jacket. They do not thaw at all. Geese fly overhead. He is usually here by now. He will not come. He will not come. The sun begins to fall. God paints me a picture in the sky of blue, of pink, of yellow. The masterpiece is lovely, but does not help a bit. I do not see him on the horizon, though, by now, I should. I do not feel my fingers, my toes, my lips, my nose. I do not hear the singing of birds as they cower from this frigid weather. As the sun fades to darkness, I hear Brooke’s teeth chatter. I look at the time. Twenty-seven minutes passed. Twenty-seven minutes of waiting. He will not come. He will not come. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brooke stand.

“I think that’s him,” she says, “Yep. It has to be.”

As I stand, I think to myself, it is not him. It is not him. He will not come. He will not come. Into the streetlight steps a boy I’ve grown to know. He smiles and apologizes for being late. I smile, satisfied he even showed up.

Day 2


It’s like a celebration. Twenty, thirty of us piled into this small corner park. There’s laughter all around. I smell smoke. I look to my left to find people crowded around a small fire on the ground. They do what they would call ‘fire dances’ around the flame. Someone trips, catches themselves, and steps on the flame accidentally. They are banned from the circle. That is, of course, till the group forgets about it and lets them back. I sit on the bench with a notepad in my hand and Liz by my side. In the corner of my eye, I see her make faces at me, trying to get me to laugh. Another group, quite different from us, walks down the street. They scream. The call us weirdoes and emos and laugh. We laugh back, mocking them. They laugh back, mocking us, mocking them. I laugh to myself, realizing the irony. Someone plays music from their phone. Some dance. Some sing. I sit, and watch. I look back though the months, the years. Some of us hated each other. Some of us loved each other. Some of us never knew each other. I look around this park today and see unity. I see people that get along with each other. I see people that fight sometimes. I see people that are in love with each other. I see a family. I see a family that will last through thick and thin. I see my family. I see the place where I belong.

Day 3

I listen to my headphones as I sit in this little metal tower. It begins to rain, but I don’t move. I have all that I need. A roof, music, Mountain Dew, and my friends. A small group of five, including myself, sit in this place where I am forbidden to go. We laugh at the fact I’m not allowed here. My parents find it dangerous. A park. Dangerous. I find it the best place I’ve set foot. This is my sanctuary. No one can forbid me from coming here. This place is my everything. I think back to my memories here. The turf wars. The bon fires. The jokes. The laughter. The hilarious fights that always end out fine. I hear someone whisper to another. They laugh. I curiously ask what they said. I wish I never did. We all laugh together at my reaction. The usual disgusted face I make at their jokes. Liz looks at me, confused. She doesn’t get it, as always. After ten minutes of explaining, she gets the joke, for the most part. I catch myself singing along to the music and blush. I’m not much of a singer. I’m not much of a talker. They look at me in surprise.

“Were you just singing?” asks Brooke, obviously knowing the answer.

“Nope,” I lie. “You must be hearing things.”

I laugh a nervous laugh. I feel my cheeks turn several different shades of red. They all laugh at my attempt to cover it up. I begin to listen into Liz and Brooke’s conversation. The first thing I hear is Brooke’s voice.

“…Twenty dollars later, we were both in the closet….”

I laugh. Mountain Dew comes out of my nose. Tears fall from my eyes.

“What?!” I laugh.