Susie: Black Inside and Out continued…
I wanted to get a glimpse of my dad, finally see his eyes. I would run home, compare them to my own in Gabbi’s vanity mirror. Both dark brown, pupils slightly dilated, gray trimming around the irises. But the windows were tinted, and Mom only cracked the passenger door open to slide in, as if to conceal his identity. Or was it me she was trying to hide? She didn’t look back to wave goodbye, didn’t drag me to the car so that we could finally meet, or point a finger toward the girl sitting alone in the sand box, surrounded by screaming children and their watchful parents. “There’s your little girl. She loves your present,” I imagined her saying.
I slammed the fire truck into the sand, using it as a shovel to dig a hole. When the truck wasn’t enough, I used my fingers, sand collecting beneath my nails. I scooped handfuls out, tossed them in all directions, spilling some in the grass. I would bury my truck at the bottom of the sandbox, and with it, all thoughts of my dad.
I was scratching at the wood base when I felt a finger poke the side of my neck.
“You’re under arrest for speeding!”
He looked like a giant standing on the ledge of the sandbox. He pointed a pale finger in my face, the other hand on his hip. His hair was a light brownish-orange and the same length as the bangs that covered his eyebrows and brushed his eyelashes as he blinked. Behind him, a little girl jumped hysterically, laughing and pointing. Her teal dress looked as if she’d been rolling in dirt all day. Mud streaked down her stomach, grass clung to the hem. Her hair was the same color as his. Flat and lifeless, it wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl as she jumped, moving only when she whipped her head to the side.
I slid to the other side of the sandbox and began a new hole. I didn’t like how the boy stared at me, how he stood over me, pointed his finger at the empty space between my eyes as if I were an object her was claiming possession over, and how his sister danced behind him, cheering him on. I turned my back to them. They’d soon walk away once they realized I wasn’t interested in playing.
Around the playground, a little boy kicked his legs back and forth, swinging higher and higher while his mother stood behind and pushed each time he returned. Two older kids raced each other down the monkey bars, each grabbing the other’s hand at the center to slow the other down and make him fall. A little girl wearing a Sesame Street t-shirt sat on a low-hanging branch in a tree, cupped her hands over her eyes and counted to ten while the other children scurried to find hiding places, tripping over one another and raised roots. Any one of them could’ve been arrested for running, speeding.
Instead, his cold hand tapped my shoulder.
“Did you hear me? I said you’re arrested.”
“You’re going to jail! You’re going to jail!” His sister twisted her hips from side to side, sticking her tongue out as she sang.
“No I’m not,” I said.
“Your truck was speeding. You have to go to jail,” he said.
“Lock up! Lock up!”
“Leave me alone.” I curved my shoulder to shield my face, hunched over my fire truck pushed the sand up to the ladder that was slightly curved down. The boy’s shadow loomed over me, fists pressed against hips, posing as if he were a superhero arrived to rid the playground of crime. I looked up at the bench across from me where the woman Mom had asked to watch me still sat. She ducked behind Better Homes and Gardens, pretending to read a recipe for pork medallions. She crossed her bare right leg over the left; it bounced again and again, kicking the air as if a doctor were constantly hitting her knee with the reflex hammer. Behind her left calf, underneath the bench, lay one of the boys playing hide and seek. His eyes darted back and forth from me to the girl bending over the seesaw, looking behind trees in search of the other players. I wanted to switch places with him, be protected behind the woman’s thick legs, unknowingly sheltering one child while she ignored the one she was assigned to watch over. I looked toward the street, hoping to see Gabbi’s van pull to the curb, feel the vibration of my dad’s music prickle my skin. Would he return to become the hero, an embodiment of the fire truck he gave me, more than the absentee father his photograph portrayed who never revealed his eyes and left his only daughter to face her persecutors alone?
I pulled my fire truck from its grave, shaking off sand. Some flew into my eyes, and I pinched them shut, trying to squeeze the sand out of them.
His skin felt like ice against my wrist. I heard the crack of plastic as my fire truck fell from my hand, hit the side of the wood sandbox, and the crooked side mirror finally popped off. With one hand clamped onto my wrist, he curled his slender fingers around my upper arm and yanked me to my feet.
“Come on. You’re going to jail,” he said.
“Move it!” his sister chimed.
“No! Stop!” I tried to break away, tug him down back into the sand with me and wrestle myself out of his grasp, pry his fingers from my arm turning blue under his tight grip, but he was much bigger and stronger than me. He dragged me over the ledge out of the sandbox, scratching my nose against the splinters. I curled my body and turned to the side, planted me feet into the ground, and with all my strength, I pulled back as though we were playing tug of war and my arm was the rope. As I was gaining momentum, pulling him down to the ground with me, his sister knocked her knee in the center of my back. My shoulders curved back with the force and I fell forward.
My face by his feet, the boy let go of my arm, giving me the false security that he had grown tired of harassing me. I lay catching my breath, the blades of grass bending backward as I exhaled. I raised my head, and traced the dark outline of his body in the grass in front of me. It shrank down as his arms curled under my armpits and he picked me up again, his legs straddling my body. I screamed for Gabbi as he waddled me over to a tree on the outskirts of the playground, behind the benches that served as a perimeter. My cries fell on deaf ears. It was as if we were the only three there.
He slammed me into the tree, mushing my face against the bark. My nose bent downward as the bridge collided with the tree trunk; I couldn’t breathe. Against the weight of his palm pressing into my crown, I shifted my head to the side, skidding my cheeks, piercing skin. I took two gulps of air.
“Assume the position!” he said, and while he held me down, his sister’s hands patted from my ankles up my leg, to my hips and waist, and down the other leg. “Check for weapons.”
My eyes burned from the tears and the sand. My temples pounded. My vision blurred. My stomach floated on the tense air. I’d begun to give up hope when I heard a voice so close I could touch it.
“I’m gone for five minutes and all hell breaks loose!”
It was Gabbi.
© Nortina Simmons