Jumping Off Swings

by Jo Knowles

  I head down the street toward Dave’s house. Judging from my dad’s side of the phone conversation, Dave’ll be wanting to get as far away from his parents as possible. When they fight, it’s not pretty. But at least they still acknowledge each other’s existence.

  I take a left onto Dave’s street and look down toward the end, where his house is. Figures. He’s already walking toward me.

  THE METAL CHAINS above me creak as I swing.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  I pump my legs like I did in first grade. My stomach does a familiar hop each time I swing backward.

  When I see Corinne coming toward me, I stop pumping. When she reaches me, she stands so close I almost kick her with my feet. She doesn’t say anything, just nods hello. She gets on the swing next to me and swings sideways so we almost collide. We used to call it bumper cars when we were little. Only then we used to smash into each other. This time she seems careful not to touch me.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Josh.” She sees me notice the pity in her eyes and turns away. She starts to swing the right way. She smiles at the breeze and then at me.

  I start to pump again, until we are in perfect rhythm. Higher and higher. Our feet point toward the sky.

  “Remember how we used to think we could swing right up over the bar?” Corinne asks. “I always thought I could do it if I just pumped hard enough.”

  We both laugh a little, remembering. We stop pumping at the same time, letting ourselves glide back and forth together. The wind blows my hair forward, then back. Forward, then back.

  Corinne used to jump off the swings when we were kids. Just let go of the chains and take flight without a trace of fear. I’d watch her jump, wishing I could be that brave. But I’d always hang on, waiting to slow down first, always mindful of my mother’s warning: You’ll break a leg if you’re not careful! But now I don’t care.

  I send myself jetting into the air. Corinne shrieks in surprise. I’m flying. Just for a second. But I’m flying.

  When I land hard on my feet, the sting goes all the way up to my teeth.

  Corinne lands heavily beside me and falls to the ground. I fall down next to her. We laugh out loud and roll around, pretending to be injured. It feels so good. My stomach muscles ache from not being used to laughing.

  But then Corinne stops. And I think, Don’t stop now. Don’t stop. Keep laughing. I don’t want this to end.

  But she’s looking behind me, into the distance. She stops smiling. And I know by the look on her face. I know before I turn around. He’s here.

  “PASS ME THAT PAINTBRUSH next to the blue bottle, would you, hon? I need a rougher bristle.”

  I find the brush and hand it to my mom.

  “Tell me what you learned this week.”

  I shrug. It’s the same thing she’s said to me since I was in first grade. It’s our Saturday-morning-in-the-studio thing. Shrugging or answering “nothing” is not allowed. She’ll wait.

  “Josh is an asshole,” I finally tell her.

  “Hmm.” She studies a neat row of three cobalt-blue bottles sitting on a paint-spattered step stool. On her canvas are three sort-of ovals of various shades of blue. They look more like giant lava-lamp blobs than bottles, but my mom isn’t the type of artist who paints by numbers.

  Finally she looks up at me. “Are you going to tell me why?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She raises her eyebrows, then turns back to her paints. She knows I’ll tell her eventually.

  She squeezes some more dark-blue paint out of the tube onto an old, chipped plate. It makes a familiar squirty sound, which she used to say “Pardon me” after, to make me laugh. She winks at me, but I’m not in the mood.

  I pick up another paintbrush and stroke the dry bristles across my hand.

  She stops mashing her brush into the paint. “Are you going to tell me what’s up, or what?”

  I sigh. “Josh lost his virginity.”

  She puts her hands on her knees. “And?”

  It’s true. Technically, this would not actually qualify Josh as an asshole.

  “It was with someone I know,” I say.

  She goes back to mixing her blues. “You mean someone you care about. Or — someone you wanted to have sex with?”

  “No! I mean — maybe. I mean — no!”

  She waits.

  “It was Ellie.”

  “Oh.” My mom knows I’ve had a crush on Ellie since I knew what one was. “Did Josh know about your feelings for her?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Did you ever tell him?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “And he’s still an asshole?”

  “If you heard him talk about her, yeah! They were talking about Ellie like she’ll hook up with anyone. I thought Ellie was different. I really thought she was special.”

  My mom adds more dark blue to a bottle. “So tell me.” She dabs at the canvas with hard strokes that make the easel shake. “Since when does having sex make someone less special?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just — I never thought Josh would be the type to brag about who he’s been with. And I never thought Ellie would be the type to — you know — hook up with so many people.”

  She adds black to the bottle, turning its insides midnight blue. “Maybe there’s a reason for what she’s doing.”

  “You’d have to have a pretty messed-up reason to hook up with those losers, if you ask me.”

  She shrugs. “What about Josh?”

  “What about him?”

  “What do you think his reason was?”

  “To get laid so the guys will get off his back?”

  “You really believe that?”

  “I don’t know anymore. Maybe? Josh used to tell me he wouldn’t do it with just anyone. But he’d never say that in front of the guys. It’s like, when the two of us hang out alone, he’s different. He’s not all, ‘Look at me. I’m such a stud.’ He’s cool. Same with Dave, mostly. But at school they both totally change.”

  She steps back from her work and studies my face. “Think about what you just said.”

  “What?”

  “When they’re with you, they’re different.”

  “And?”

  “It’s you. You help them be themselves when the three of you are together. Not everyone can do that.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I am right. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  I sink back into my chair and watch her paint. She pushes the brush against the blue, making it darker and darker.

  I would like to believe that Josh wouldn’t have hooked up with Ellie if he knew about my thing for her, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s my fault for not trusting him enough to tell him in the first place. Maybe I don’t give him enough credit, either.

  “OH, SHIT. LET’S GET OUTTA HERE,” I say. But Dave is already charging ahead.

  Ellie’s sitting on the ground next to Corinne. For some reason, they’re covered in dry grass. Corinne gives me the evil eye while Ellie turns away. I try to grab Dave’s arm and steer him in the other direction, but he takes a step forward out of my reach.

  “Going for a roll in the hay?” Dave asks them, like he’s suddenly the wittiest bastard around.

  “Ha, ha,” Corinne says, brushing the brown grass off of her. “Would that turn you on?”

  Dave smirks and gives Ellie this “I know what you did” look, but she doesn’t see because she’s still looking away from us.

  “Would you like it if it turned me on?” Dave asks.

  Corinne rolls her eyes. “Uh — no?” She stands up and brushes the grass off her jeans, then nudges Ellie with her knee to get up, too.

  Ellie pushes herself up but doesn’t bother to brush herself off. She fixes her eyes on the ground, her feet, anywhere but on us.

  Dave elbows me and gestures for me to say something to her.

  “Um, great party the other night,�
� I say.

  Dave gives an amused grunt. Corinne glares at me. She looks like she wants to kill me as badly as I want to kill Dave.

  “Um, I mean —” I start to say.

  Ellie finally looks up and meets my eyes for a split second. I recognize something there, but I’m not sure what. All I know is that look makes me feel like crap.

  Corinne takes hold of Ellie’s arm, and they head for the parking lot without saying a word. As they leave, Corinne shakes her head at us, as if to say, “See ya, assholes.”

  “Those two need to lighten up,” Dave says.

  I’m sure they can hear him, but they don’t turn around.

  Dave. God, he’s so clueless that you can’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “Women,” I say, like I’m joking. But I see Ellie’s face in the light of the van. And I see me, just leaving her there.

  Dave elbows me under the ribs. “Look at you, Mr. Heartbreaker.” He cracks up.

  I fight the urge to beat the shit out of him.

  “Let’s just get out of here.” I start walking back the way we came. Fast. Dave practically has to jog to keep up.

  “What’s your problem?” he asks, finally getting that this isn’t a joke. “You gonna let them own the park? They don’t own the fucking park! This is our place.”

  “Shut up,” I say. It’s like I’m talking to a five-year-old.

  “What the hell?”

  “Just shut up. Seriously.”

  Dave follows me out of the park. We walk for a while down the streets of our neighborhood. But there’s nowhere to go, so we end up back at my house.

  As soon as I open the door, Rosie runs over to us, her nails clicking on the wood floor. I call out to my dad but he doesn’t answer, and when we walk by the couch in the living room, we see him sacked out on the sofa. His shirt is all grimy from working on the van. It stretches out around his gut, making it look like a big, smooth stone. A Budweiser sits on his guitar case next to the couch. He doesn’t like to practice when I’m home. He used to play in front of me when I was little, even sang to me, but not anymore.

  Dave snickers as we sneak past him and into the kitchen. I want to punch him because I don’t think it’s funny and probably his dad is doing the same thing at their house. Instead, I take two beers out of a Bud Suitcase and toss one to Dave. He catches the can and smiles like he’s a freakin’ dog getting a treat. I pat him on the head as a joke, but he just looks confused. We head to my room.

  “What’s Ellie’s problem, anyway?” Dave asks me after we’ve had a few swigs. “I thought you two hooked up? Something go wrong?” He’s sitting on my bed with his legs stretched out, crossed at his feet. I want to tell him to get his smelly shoes off my bed, but I don’t have the energy.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It wasn’t exactly, you know, like the guys said it would be.”

  “What do you mean?” He actually looks concerned, which is kind of surprising for Dave.

  “It was — just forget it. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Who cares?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll drink to that,” he says, and downs the rest of his beer.

  So much for his concern.

  I chug the rest of my beer, too.

  I sit on the floor and lean back against the wall. When I close my eyes, I feel her all over again. Her skin was warm, like a flannel shirt. Her hair smelled clean and sweet. Her arms around me, holding me, made me feel real. I had no idea what I was doing, but it felt so good.

  Then it was over — way too fast. Like, embarrassingly fast. I knew I shouldn’t have taken off right after, but I felt like such an idiot.

  I open my eyes and catch Dave squeezing a zit. “Stubborn fucker,” he says.

  I shake my head to let him know I think he’s a pig and close my eyes again. But as soon as I do, I see her face. The way she looked at me when I left her. Like she knew I wasn’t just going back to the party. Like I was deserting her.

  And that’s when I realize why that look is familiar. I’ve seen it before. On my mom’s face. It’s the look she used to carry around every Sunday morning when my dad started coming home later and later from his “shows” with Mikey. She’d say how she’d been waiting up for him, worried, and he’d get all mad at her. Like how dare she be mad at him for having a little fun after working his ass off all week? How the shows were paid gigs and why shouldn’t he be able to relax with a few drinks afterward? He really knew how to turn things around.

  My mom would look at him with this questioning expression like, What happened to you? And that would piss him off more. Then she’d tell me to go outside. I’d sit on the concrete step by the front door and listen.

  Why are you doing this to yourself?

  I’m not doing anything. Just having a little fun after a long week.

  What kind of message do you think you’re giving Josh?

  What the hell are you talking about?

  You have a problem.

  Yeah, a nagging wife who doesn’t appreciate me or my music.

  It was always the same. My mom would end up crying, and my dad would go into their bedroom and slam the door.

  I’d take off and meet up with Dave, whose own parents no doubt had sent him out of the house, too. We’d wander around, like today, always ending up at the park. We thought of it as our park.

  Sometimes we’d catch Caleb there, too. The first time we saw him, we must have been about eight, and definitely the only kids our age at the park without some adoring parent telling us some bullshit about how good we were at throwing a ball or running or whatever. Whenever the three of us needed someplace to go, we went to the park.

  But not now. Not if I might run into Ellie.

  The guys were full of shit. There were plenty of strings attached; they just didn’t stick around to see them. And, asshole that I am, I saw them and didn’t stick around, either.

  AFTER I WALK ELLIE TO HER HOUSE, we go to her room and hang out. Every time I try to get her to talk about Josh, she shakes her head and changes the music on her stereo. After a while, her mom calls us downstairs for an early dinner. We sit at the kitchen table while her mom heats up macaroni and cheese — the real kind with cracker crumbs on the top and everything.

  “Thanks. This looks delicious!” I say when she puts a heaping plate in front of me.

  She smiles and puts a matching plate next to Ellie. Ellie’s mom isn’t a big talker. She’s more like a server. It’s kind of weird. Also, I’ve always had the impression that she doesn’t like me very much. Probably because of my sister’s “reputation.” News of the abortion she had last year spread around town, and I guess people think that kind of thing runs in families. Jeez, I can only imagine how much she’d freak if Ellie’s mom knew the real deal about her own daughter. The woman prides herself on perfection, and not just her own.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says.

  Ellie nods. “Thanks, Mom.”

  We wait for her to leave before we start eating. The noodles are surprisingly tasteless. I think she must have used fat-free cheese and definitely no salt. I search the table for a saltshaker but don’t see one. Ellie moves her food around but doesn’t even bother to take a taste. I force down a few more bites and then give up.

  “OK,” I finally say. “I’m not leaving until we talk this out.”

  “Shhh,” Ellie says, actually putting her finger to her lips.

  I look around in an exaggerated way to remind her we’re alone.

  “Ellie, I’m serious,” I whisper. “Why do you keep doing this? Every time you hook up with someone, you get totally depressed after. It makes no sense.”

  She’s quiet a minute, then puts down her fork.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well — you need to stop. I mean, God, Ellie. I don’t want to make you feel bad or anything, but how many guys have you been with now?”

  She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. A sob escapes through her fingers.

 
Crap.

  “I’m sorry, El. Seriously. It’s not your fault. I don’t know why these guys use you, OK? Maybe it’s because they know you’re too nice to stop them. But Ellie, just because a guy is nice to you doesn’t mean you owe him anything.”

  She drags her fingers down her cheeks as if she’d like to scratch them.

  “You don’t understand what it’s like. How it feels.”

  “Try me.”

  She studies her plate as if she’s looking for an answer, but she doesn’t say anything. We sit there for what seems like forever.

  Finally, she takes a deep breath and says very quietly, “I can’t. I can’t explain. I just . . . when I’m with them, I feel . . . like they care about me. I feel special. I feel like they want me. Not just my body but me. Like they could love me. But . . . I’m always wrong. No one wants me. No one will ever love me.”

  I sigh. “Then why do you keep having sex with them?”

  “SHHH!!” She clamps her hand over my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “But . . . don’t you think you should think about that?”

  She looks down at her tasteless noodles. “Yeah.”

  Shoes click in the hallway. Ellie automatically sits up straighter.

  “You girls all finished?” Ellie’s mom asks, coming back into the room.

  I stand up to clear my plate, but she quickly takes it from me, as if she doesn’t trust me to carry it to the sink.

  “Thank you,” I say. But she already has her back to me as she heads to the dishwasher.

  I follow Ellie to the front door.

  “Are you going to be OK?” I ask. She looks so tired and sad. I know I should say something to make her feel better, but I can’t think what.

  She nods halfheartedly. “Thanks for being with me today,” she says.

  “That’s what friends are for.” I give her a hug and whisper in her ear. “Forget him. Forget all of them.”

  She nods again, but when I leave, I can almost feel her crumple behind me.

  I take the long way home so I can walk by the park again. I get on my swing and pump my legs as hard as I can. It’s getting dark, and the wind on my face is much colder than it was this morning. I keep pumping, going higher and higher. I whiz past the swing next to me, Ellie’s swing, making it sway a little. I wish she were back here, swinging and laughing like nothing else mattered.