doe on the road

Finally, hours after the sun had slipped quietly past the horizon, she opened her window. The sky was ink black and felt reachable, the city’s light pollution clouding the majority of the stars. She huffed at the chilly breeze, clumsily shoving her long limbs out of the small opening and landing hard on the other side.

The night was beating faintly, fluttering around the edges like a baby bluebird’s pulse. She trudged up the uneven path, the fronts of her shins aching with each lengthy step. Growing pains, her mother had explained to her so long ago. She hadn’t wanted to hear it then, hadn’t wanted to believe that she was anything other than young and free and unburdened. The world was moving fast, and she couldn’t catch up; she’d wanted to think that she could still spend every afternoon sprinting to the park, the sun beating down on her back, a melting popsicle in hand, licking the stickiness from her red fingers when darkness set in.

Now look at her, a childhood later, still running from home. Too afraid to stay, scared of her fear. She hated the splints in her legs more than anything.

By the time she was at the old, familiar park, she was short of breath. She leaned against the dull slide as she struggled to breathe correctly, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

“Is that you!” a loud whisper behind her. She started. “I’ve been waiting for ages!”

The familiar voice made her relax slightly. “I almost didn’t come. In the end my pity won over,” she told him seriously. He shoved her, his short, scrawny arms struggling to have any real impact.

“Liar. I’m the one doing charitable work here, I didn’t want to tell you…”

She laughed quietly. They walked to their old swings, the red paint chipped, the chains green and rusted. The wind wrapped around them gently, breaking off in spurts.

“It’s April first tomorrow, you know that?” His nose scrunched up in thought. “No, today.”

She avoided the question. “Hard to believe March is over. I don’t want to.”

“Have you got any pranks planned, then?” He kicked his legs back and forth. The dim glow of the street lamps softened his face, her heart aching as she looked at him and saw a glimpse of when he was younger. Years ago, just them against the world, never wanting to go back home. Never wanting to leave the void outside the park.

Just last week he’d turned to her, his eyes bright, and said, I’d quite like to live in Paris when I’m older, Liz. The whole world, really. Just think, I can hardly wait. 

She shivered.

“No.” A leaf clung to her calf, there in the present, back on the creaking swing set that had flipped him over once.

“Well, why not?”

“I don’t like to trick people.” Trickery sounded like an extraordinarily adult thing to do. They must’ve done it all the time, on the billboards she saw when she left town, whispering together at brunch, talking to customers over the phone in the office. It seemed to her that only children were innocent enough to be truthful. “In fact, I’ll do the opposite. This April Fool’s, I’ll only help people.”

He laughed genuinely, the loud sound echoing across the empty park. She resisted the urge to hush him and waited it out. “You’re the only person I know who’d say that.”

“I’m being serious.” She smiled, and it reached her eyes. She could almost believe they’d be here forever, swinging up and away into the blotted sky. “You’ll see tomorrow, I promise.”

...

She shoved the window open, jumping out clumsily enough to almost twist her ankle. The gravel road she took was familiar as always, her feet knowing it well enough to walk it backwards; she took comfort in such small things.

Now, the growing pains were gone. Somehow, this was worse.

“April Fool’s again, Liz!” He was laughing excitedly, his hands gripping the swings loosely. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“To terrorize children, yeah?” She sat down next to him, the cool metal making her squirm.

“Remember last year, when you tried to tell Marge about the bell outside Callahan’s door and she didn’t believe you?” He doubled over dramatically, wiping away tears of mirth.

She flushed. “See, this is what this day has done to the world, caused nothing but strife—”

“Quite right.” He swung gently, his long legs kicking non-senselessly in the air. He was taller than her now, which made her feel strange to look at him sometimes. The cold rose fleshy goosebumps from her arms, her head leaning against the left handle of the swing as she resisted the urge to shudder.

“Y’know, you never said why you hate April Fool’s so much,” he said suddenly, prodding her arm, his finger thin and bony. She batted it away.

“I told you,” she swallowed, “I don’t like trickery.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, unconvinced.

Beside the park was a long strip of forest, blanketed in tall trees and moss. Bluebirds often flew from their nests there and into town, the sight of dark eyes widening in fear as they flapped away from cars. Sometimes, families of deer trotted across the road cutting through. It was confusing and easy to get lost in, having only been there once. She thought of this as her head leaned toward the ground, her feet stirring up damp wood chips.

“Tommy,” she blurted. “I don’t want to grow up.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her, his eyes reminding her of when she’d driven on that forest road and saw a dead deer in the middle, their tawny gaze unblinking. She’d felt the same then as she felt now, as if she were being torn apart under absolutely nothing.

“Liz,” he said slowly. “Oh, Liz—”

“April Fool’s was probably invented by adults, you know that?” she said quickly, her fingers tightening on the edge where the chain met the swing, digging into her palm, “they like to trick people, they do, and—and I don’t want that. Tom, I don’t.”

His mouth opened and closed, as if he didn’t know what to say. She’d tilted her head upwards now, her face to the sky, the lack of stars fueling something in her.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything and that’s the worst bit,” she told him quietly, nearly panicked.

He went silent at that. Slowly, leaning his swing sideways to meet her, their shoulders pressing together; he’d be gone one day, leaning against some bookshelf in a random university library, the swings forgotten. It didn’t feel like something that’d happen much farther in the future, but rather tomorrow, like she’d wake up and everything would be gone, shipped off to the unfamiliar.

“Marge was a noble cause, Liz,” he said finally. “You don’t have to give that up, you know?” 

She slumped down in the seat, her legs supporting her as the curved metal dug into her spine. Silence fell over them in layers, settling in the old comfortable way, their aching limbs remaining static.

The sun rose so slowly she didn’t notice until it warmed her ankles. By the time she stumbled unsteadily back home, she was young again.