Same Place, Darker Times

It’s time. Night has fallen on this Tuesday. These streets are asleep except for the insomniacs, the new parents, the procrastinators, and the mosquitoes. I do not fit into any of these categories, although each is more favourable than the one keeping me awake. In the complete darkness of my house, I descend the stairs, making as little noise as possible, and exit out the back door, praying this isn’t the last time I see that door.

J’s car is waiting for me at the end of the street. He never wants to come any closer than that, for “Safety reasons,” he says. I agree with him, but sometimes I wish I didn’t have to walk to it. There is nothing quieter than the distance from my house to the car. It feels as if I am alone in the world, with nothing but the dragging of my feet on the pavement, and the road ahead of me left. 

Upon my arrival, I hop in the passenger seat and J greets me by patting me on the back, and saying, “You ready?” I nod, and answer, “Tired, but uhh, yeah, you know.” I try to stay cool, but you can never be fully ready. As he starts driving in silence, I immediately turn the radio on, leaving it on whatever channel is playing, to fill my brain with something other than my thoughts. Either way, J seems to approve by the way he is nodding his head to the beat. I never really talk to J - not during these drives at least. After a song’s length, we arrived at the destination: Baker Park. 

I remember as a kid, I loved this park, especially the walk to it. I used to always beg my mom to bring me here despite having another park just across from our house. She would always attempt to change my mind, saying something like, “But son, there’s a park, just the same, right there.” I feel bad, because the poor woman would work all day, but I was a very insistent, and stubborn child, which usually ended in her giving in. Mom didn’t have a licence, and dad usually wasn’t home ‘till late, so hand in hand, she would bring me the entire twenty minutes by foot, while I was wide eyed like a deer, in awe at all of the huge, beautiful houses on the way. My favourite was one with a pink front door, and a huge treehouse on the lawn, which I was a little jealous of. I don’t think I had ever actually seen anyone inside that treehouse. I used to love that walk. I dread this drive.   

Once we arrived, and I got out of the car, we gave each other a quick nod, while he stayed to wait in the parked car. I began my walk up to the playground, passing the sign where someone changed the name to ‘Baked Park.’ Pistol on my left hip, staying alert for any movement, I marched the perimeter of the sand pit, looking around every slide, platform, and pole, before I concluded that I arrived first. I pull my phone out of my back pocket to text J about the situation, and I sit down on some of the stairs of the play structure to wait. It’s ironic considering I was highly against using the stairs as a kid, but instead strictly using the slide to climb up. 

The streetlight which should be covering this area of the playground is broken. I can’t believe they still haven’t fixed it. Sometimes, when my mom would bring me here, my neighbour of the same age as me would tag along. During the spring, when the sun would set early, we would stay while the streetlights came on. One of the bulbs was always flickering, so we would joke that there’s a ghost haunting the park. We ran around telling this story to younger kids making them cry to their parents in fear. We felt like we were the kings of this playground. We were just kids though. Now the flicker is gone, and my neighbour moved away, yet this park feels far more haunting than back then. 

Fifteen minutes pass, and there’s still no man in sight. I walk over to the swings to pass time, and notice a small plastic shovel sticking out of the sand. Some poor kid forgot something. I grab the handle of the shovel, and spread the sand with the edge a couple of times, before placing it back. I remember I used to hate all the playgrounds with wood chips on the ground. I never brought a shovel, but I would spend what felt like hours of my time digging a pit with my hands or tools people left behind, trying to uncover the deeper, sticky layers, which could be shaped into any figure my heart desired. I would make castles, and spheres, and what I imagined as hamburgers, with no other care in the world, then leave it behind for the next kid to destroy it. I hope the kid comes back and finds their shovel. 

I sit on the swing, and lightly kick my legs forward and backward. I start swinging higher and higher, soon enough forgetting who I am. At that moment, all I felt was the breeze on my face. As I was trying to reach new heights, I was being swallowed by the infinite skies, like a hug from my former self. But, the sound of a siren brought me back to Earth. I look over to the street, alert, seeing an ambulance passing right by. I catch a breath and decide to return to the structure. As I, once again, place myself under the broken light, I notice a figure emerging from the soccer field. I check all of my pockets, and notify J before making eye contact with the man. 

When I got slightly older, maybe around ten years old, my mom started letting me go to Baker Park alone, but she had a very firm rule: I had to be back before dark. She would tell me, “It’s dangerous out there,” and that, “There’s a lot of bad people in this world.” I didn’t always listen because I wanted to keep playing with my friends, so she would come running after me to drag me home. If my mom saw me, I wonder if she would hate me now. Would she hate me for becoming the person she was warning her kids about? 

 The man is still walking towards me, past the swings and the plastic shovel, past the slide, through the sand pit, and now right in front of me at the steps, like a seeker finding a hider. I pull the baggy out of my pocket before he can speak a word, and hand it to him. Content, he turns around and leaves the way he came. I breath out audibly after subconsciously holding my breath, and head back to the car.

When I was a kid, and it was time to leave the park, I was always begging my mom for five more minutes, but right now, all I told J was, “Bring me home.”  I don't look back out the window as we drive down the roads I know by heart. He leaves me at the end of my street, and says, “See ya.” Who knew that one day I would leave the playground as a kid, and come back to it as if it’s a whole new place? I walk back to my house in the silent night, go through the backdoor once more, and try to get a few hours of sleep before I have to wake up for school the next day.