by Matt Fazio
Mayor Garcia announced that a construction company would coordinate the majority of the work, but volunteers would be needed because of the town’s limited budget. When Drew’s dad offered to help, he was given the revered duty of constructing the new swing set. The afternoon he accepted the job, he called Drew to see if he wanted to help. An enthusiastic Drew agreed.
The construction company and the volunteers worked on the park throughout the summer. For Drew and his dad, that meant painting the picnic tables and building the swing set. They decided to paint everything orange, white, and black, the official colors of Emerson. They spent hours working at the park on weekends and even some weekday evenings. Several times Drew turned down offers to hang out with his friends. He knew he was missing out on a lot of fun, but nothing seemed as important as that swing set.
It held three swings, and on each side of the structure two six-by-six wooden beams formed a triangle. Between those beams (which looked like giant, orange A’s) was a wooden panel. On one panel, just last week, Drew carefully painted “Emerson Park” in black letters outlined in white. Because he was so mesmerized by the drawing in his science book, he decided to try something more artistic himself. So, with the help of a sketch by his dad, he also painted a silhouette of the park on the other panel, outlining the pavilion, basketball hoops, trees, and the swing set itself.
Knowing the swing set would stand in the center of the park for all of Emerson to see, he was attentive to every detail. Even the tiniest mistakes resulted in him wiping off the paint and beginning again.
But now, all that hard work was in danger of being washed away for good, and Drew and his mom were sitting helplessly in the basement as an onslaught of rain pounded down on Emerson.
“Isn’t it funny how when you were little, you were scared to death to be in the basement at night, but now you’re down here to feel safe?” said Penny, smiling and lifting her head from the book she was reading.
Drew rolled his eyes, both at the accusation that he used to be scared of the basement (this was something he didn’t like to admit) and at the fact that his mom seemed to think he was scared of this storm. He had been afraid of the dark when he was younger. And, like most little kids, loud thunder and bright lightning strikes had been frightening to him. But now, as the storm worsened, it wasn’t the darkness or the loud noises that scared him. This was a new, different fear. This fear was based on the realization that everything he had worked for could be ruined – and there was nothing he could do about it.
He walked to the back door and peered out its circular window. It was too dark to see much, but he could hear the rain surging and the wind whistling like a tea kettle.
“Drew, sit back down,” said Penny. “Standing there isn’t going to solve anything. Besides, we’re in the basement to stay safe, yet you’re standing in the one area that could possibly be unsafe.”
Too frustrated to respond, Drew slumped back down on the basement couch. He wasn’t worried about his own safety – he was worried about the park. There was no basement for the swing set to hide in during the storm.
ZAP!
The TV and lights snapped off. Drew and Penny were surrounded by blackness. Penny turned on the two flashlights she had next to her and handed one to Drew.
“I figured,” she said. “Well, it’s getting late anyway, so we might as well call it bedtime. Sleep down here on the couch, where it’s safe and a little quieter.”
Normally Drew would remind his mom how much he hated when she used the word “bedtime,” but on this night he simply said, “Whatever.”
He lay on the couch in the basement, unable to fall asleep. He was kept awake not only by the noises of the storm outside but also by the whirlwind of worries inside his head. What if the wind lifts the tarp off the swing set, and then the rain washes away the paint? What if the whole thing gets ripped from the ground? Will all that fresh sod be okay? Could the pavilion collapse? His thoughts were interrupted by a fierce boom of thunder. Then the basement was lit up for a brief moment by a lightning flash. What if something gets struck by lightning?
He closed his eyes and gripped the couch pillow, trying to think of anything besides the storm or the park. The first thing to pop into his head was the drawing in his science book, but that was no comfort. The drawing was the reason he had painted on the swing set to begin with, and he needed to think of something different. Also, the idea of finding the Mystery Artist was losing its appeal. He still cherished the picture just as much as the first time he saw it, but his lack of detective skills made him want to give up on the case. Out of the five previous owners of the book, he still only knew who two of the people were: Jason Porter and Skylar Jansen. He was still uneasy about talking to Tommy’s older brother, so he hadn’t gotten around to it. And even though Skylar liked the picture, she wasn’t the Mystery Artist. As for the other three people on the list (Stacey Janofsky, Alexus Ballentine, and Mike Hudock), Drew had no clue who any of them were. Maybe it’s easier to give up on my search and just be happy I found the picture at all.
He continued to search for something, anything, to take his mind off the storm. How about baseball? He thought about the home run derby he and his friends had discussed having next week, but that just reminded him that the field would likely be too muddy. Video games? No, he quickly realized that wasn’t an option with the electricity out. What about Dad? But this only worried him even further. Why hasn’t he called back? He always calls back. Is there a problem? Did he get caught in the storm?
Drew literally shook his head to chase away the bad thoughts, and the drawing once again settled into his mind. Though it reminded him of the swing set, it did seem to have a calming effect on him. It could still help, even if he had given up on his mission. He closed his eyes and tried to immerse himself in the image, but for the very first time, he couldn’t do it. Instead, he could only envision rough waves crashing violently onto the shore, uprooting beach umbrellas and leveling sandcastles.
There was a loud crash. Drew shot up from the couch. The crash had sounded like glass shattering. He turned on his flashlight and waved it around the basement. Everything looked intact.
He went to the back door and looked out the window. The rain was still pouring, and it was too dark to see what could have caused the noise. He tried to use the flashlight to see outside, but it only illuminated his own reflection in the glass. Another thunderclap barreled through the darkness, but the noise he had heard couldn’t have been thunder. The sky began to flicker, and a staggering bolt of lightning struck down and split the sky in half. For a moment, everything seemed quiet and motionless, as if the lightning had the power to briefly make time stand still. Drew gazed in awe at the electric sky. Each time it flickered it seemed to reveal the world in a different hue: shades of purple and white and blue that Drew had never seen before.
Finally he snapped out of it and remembered why he had gotten up in the first place. Guided by his flashlight, he went upstairs and inspected the first floor of the house. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he could’ve sworn he heard glass breaking. Maybe it was just a dream.
But a moment later Penny came down the stairs and dispelled that theory. She too had heard the crash but said there was no damage anywhere on the second floor.
“How about we both go back down to the basement?” she said. “I think we’ll feel a little safer.”
With Drew on the couch and Penny on the old, chocolate-brown leather recliner, the two of them tried to fall asleep, still wondering what the loud crash could have been.
****
Drew’s eyes opened slowly. Hazy gray light floated in the quiet basement. He could sense that it was morning, though he wasn’t sure what time it was.
He sat up, tossed his blanket aside, and headed straight to the back door. Looking through the window, he saw that the downpour had eased to a lighter but steady shower. His old shoes were on the floor by the door, but he didn’t bother to put them on. He opened the door and stepped outside b
arefoot (he had gone to sleep with socks on, but they must have come off during the night). The sky was steel-gray. The air had that earthy, after-storm smell. It was as if the storm had washed away the old world and replaced it with a slightly different one. Drew took a few steps into the backyard but stopped due to a sharp pain in the bottom of his foot.
“Ouch!” He looked down and saw that he had stepped on a branch. As a matter of fact, branches were scattered throughout the yard. He limped back into the house and went upstairs to find his mom. She was standing on the front porch, surveying the damage from the storm.
“Good morning,” she said. “Power’s still out.”
“I know,” said Drew. “I have to go to the park and check out the swing set. And my foot hurts. Look, I stepped on a stupid branch in the backyard.” He showed his mom the bottom of his foot. It was scratched and red but not bleeding.
“Are you okay?”
“Well, I guess. I mean, it kinda hurts.”
The truth was that it didn’t hurt much at all, but he was so frustrated that he felt like everything should hurt. He found himself trying to urge pain into the foot, as if it would in some strange way make him feel better.
Penny knelt down to examine her son’s foot. “It doesn’t look too bad. I’m sure you’ll be okay. Why weren’t you wearing shoes, though?”
“I dunno. It doesn’t matter. Can we please go to the park now? What time is it? The unveiling’s at noon …”
Penny frowned. “It’s still raining, honey. I don’t think there will be any unveiling today.”
“It’s barely drizzling,” said Drew.
Penny paused. The determined look on her son’s face told her that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“All right, I’ll take you down. But don’t you want some breakfast first?”
“I’m not hungry. Let’s just go.”
“Okay, get some shoes and socks on. And a jacket. We’ll walk down. I’d actually feel safer that way, with all the water and everything else all over the road. I wouldn’t be surprised if some areas flooded. I think we were actually the lucky ones. Well, except for the Zim –”
But Drew was already halfway up the stairs. He threw on a hoodie and some socks, mashed his feet into his shoes, grabbed his Pirates hat, and ran back downstairs.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The park was just three blocks from their house, in the opposite direction of the school. Penny grabbed an umbrella for each of them, and they headed down the street.
Mrs. Goyle was standing on her front porch as they passed her house. Mrs. Goyle was like the neighborhood information center. She was the person who always knew what was going on with everyone in Emerson. She knew all the gossip and loved spreading it around. Drew doubted Mr. Barker would approve.
“Hey, Penny, can you believe this?” said Mrs. Goyle, sounding more excited than concerned. “I heard some streets are flooded pretty badly. Main Street, Coelho Drive, a couple others. The Bucci house always has flooding problems in the basement, but I bet they’re really in for it now. Their basement flooded in 2004, you know, and they had just put all new flooring in. At least then their son Michael was around to help. I haven’t seen him in years. They’re saying the power should be back on today, but we’ll see. Oh, and I heard what happened at the Zimmers’ …”
The old woman’s words seemed to spout out of her mouth automatically, regardless if anyone wanted to hear them or not. As she spoke, Penny’s footsteps slowed, perhaps reluctantly, and she proceeded to do one of Drew’s least favorite things: she stopped to talk. Drew rarely went on walks with her anymore because of the inevitable pit stops. He hated standing around waiting while she talked forever with someone about grown-up topics. It seemed like adults would stand around discussing the weather just to have something to talk about.
Drew heard a few words from their conversation, like “flood” and “electricity,” but he wasn’t paying much attention. He noticed that the rain had lightened and the sky looked a bit friendlier than it did mere minutes ago. He almost smiled but caught himself. Now scowling, he remembered that this was the same destructive sky from just a few hours ago. He heard his mom say something else about the Zimmers, who were their next door neighbors, and then, “Right, Drew?”
“Huh?” he said.
His mom and Mrs. Goyle looked at him strangely.
“Can we please go to the park now?” he asked impatiently.
“Hang on, Drew. We can go in a minute,” said his mom. “Did you hear anything about the unveiling at the park?” she asked Mrs. Goyle. “Drew has been worried sick about it since the sky turned gray yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, good old Mayor Garcia,” began Mrs. Goyle, as if she were an authority on the subject. “First the park was to be done for the Fourth of July, then Labor Day, and then she pushes it back to a random Sunday in early November when weather here gets dicey and calls it ‘Fall Festival.’ For someone always bragging about being a lifelong Pittsburgher, you’d think she’d understand the weather here a little better. But I tell you, it would be nice if she would ever stick to her word. Just once! That’s all I ask.”
Her rant was lost upon Drew, who waited for her to actually answer his mom’s question.
“But yes, the unveiling was postponed indefinitely. They made the decision before the rain started falling. It’ll be too muddy, too messy, although it does appear to be clearing up. We just might have a nice day after all. But as for the park itself, I haven’t talked to anyone who has seen it. On your way back, stop here and let me know if things are okay there.”
****
When they reached the park, Drew sprinted across the marshy grass, through the cool, misty air, to the swing set. He passed the pavilion, which appeared unscathed. But when he got to the swing set, he let out a gasp. The giant tarp that had been covering the swing set was nowhere in sight. The wind had been so powerful that it must have lifted the tarp and carried it away like it was as light as a tissue. The exposed swing set was snapped in half, collapsed under the weight of a big, thick, buckeye tree. Two of the swings were wrapped around the post, while the third was on the ground about 20 feet away.
“No … no!” Drew looked at the side panel where he had painted “Emerson Park.” There was a wide scratch across it. It looked as though a tree branch had been thrown against it by the violent wind. Drew ran his fingers across the blemish. He had spent hours painting those letters, trying to make each one perfect. Now something had come along and mercilessly scratched them out. He looked all around, and, suddenly, the park seemed a lonelier and sadder place than when it was empty. It had been useless before, but at least it hadn’t been disappointing.
His mom walked over and put her arm around him. “I’m so sorry, honey. It looks like you guys did a great job. You painted this yourself, right? You’re turning into a real artist.”
“It’s all ruined,” said Drew, ignoring her compliment and wiping tears from his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “And no one even gets to see it. Everything was perfect, and now it’s ruined.”
“Drew, nothing is ever ruined,” said his mom. Drew still did not react to her words. “Let’s just go home now,” she said a few moments later.
“No,” said Drew, pulling away from his mother’s embrace. He ran to the other side of the swing set to see the real artistry, hoping that it had somehow escaped the storm’s terror. Instead he saw that the silhouette had a crack down the middle of it. The meticulous outlines he had worked so hard on were now blurred from snapped wood. He looked up at the sky and saw that it had lightened up a bit, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore. He turned to his mom, his watery eyes strawberry-red, and they left the park.
****
When they got home, Drew went around the house to the backyard. He didn’t feel like going inside yet – the dreariness outside was more in agreement with his mood. As he tugged his hat down over his eyes, bristles of his sandy-blonde hair peeked out all ar
ound, especially between the arch and the adjustable strap in the back. The once-oversized hat was fitting more snugly than ever. Drew ignored it, but he knew he was beginning to outgrow his favorite hat. He grabbed one of his tennis balls hiding in the grass and repeatedly threw it against the back of the garage, similar to when he was trying to figure out his social studies presentation.
The weather changed with each passing minute. Soon the rain had reduced to an almost invisible dribble, and the sun shone faintly through the clouds. What’s the point of clearing up now? Drew thought as he whipped the ball against the garage. The damage is already done. It might as well stay dark forever. But the sky was soon emitting shades of bright orange and soft blue, and Drew again caught himself admiring the scene. No, he said to himself as he felt his mood improving. He wasn’t ready to move on yet.
After pulling his hat down even lower, he reared back and threw the ball as hard as he could – so wildly that he missed the garage completely and the ball soared over the fence and into the Zimmers’ yard. The fence was just a couple of inches taller than Drew. He got on his toes and peered over it, and he couldn’t believe what he saw. How didn’t I see this before? A huge pine tree was leaning on his neighbors’ house. The tree had snapped and splintered halfway down the trunk, and the top of the tree had crashed through a second floor window and was inside their home.
“Wow,” Drew mouthed slowly. A nameless jogger certainly couldn’t fix something like this.
Mr. Zimmer was standing in his backyard and saw Drew peeking over the fence. Drew hadn’t noticed him until that moment. He wanted to hide. His eyes were still watery, and he was pretty sure they were red. He didn’t want his neighbor to see him crying.
“Hey, Drew,” said Mr. Zimmer somberly.
“Hi,” said Drew, shifting his teary eyes back and forth between his neighbor and the fallen tree. Mr. Zimmer looked so sad, so disgusted. Drew still couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
“What a day,” said Mr. Zimmer, switching his gaze from the fallen tree to Drew. Drew felt strange, though. Mr. Zimmer was looking right at him, just a couple feet away, but his expression did not indicate in any way that he realized Drew was crying.
