Jumping Off Swings (2 page)

“I
THOUGHT HE WAS DIFFERENT,
” Ellie says quietly.

I have to lie down on my bed for this phone conversation. Judging from how it’s going so far, it’ll be hard not to suffocate myself with my pillow. Not to be insensitive, but this is like the fourth time this has happened, and it’s getting old. I should have known it would turn out like this. It always does. Ellie acts like hooking up is no big deal, then a few days later calls me in tears.

“How would you know if he was different?” I ask. “You hooked up with him as soon as he smiled at you.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Then how
did
it happen?”

I want to tell her that from my point of view, it seems like all a guy has to do is give her a compliment and she’ll disappear with him to some back room.

But she’s really crying now.

“El, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help you. You keep getting hurt.”

“He was so sweet to me at the party. He held my hand and acted like we were a couple! I thought maybe he really wanted more than just sex.”

“Then why didn’t you stop him when things started going too far?”

“Because I didn’t realize until after he left me!”

“Ellie! You could have
asked
first. That’s how it works!”

“How would
you
know?”

Right. She has me there. I’m not exactly the authority on sex. Not that she’s been any help in that department. I mean if
I
had sex, I’m sure I’d tell Ellie every detail. And to be honest? I had expected the same from her, which was a huge disappointment. But I’ve heard enough through my sister’s bedroom wall when my parents aren’t home to know that sex
can
involve talking. Ava’s number-one rule: “If you’re gonna be with a guy, you need to make sure right off the bat that
you
are the one calling the shots. You say what you want and what you don’t want. Period.” She’s been with her boyfriend for two years. She must know what she’s talking about because that guy adores her. And like I said, judging from the noises they make, they are
both
having a good time.

But Ellie’s not the type of person to ever put herself first. It’s just not who she is.

I listen to her quiet crying and try to think of something to say that could possibly help. Poor Ellie has this romantic idea in her head that is just so fairy-tale, despite what keeps happening. It makes me want to cry.

“That bastard. I’m sorry, El. Has he called you?”

“No. He won’t.”

“Guys are jerks. You can’t trust any of them.”

“I thought he would be different,” Ellie tells me again. “But then he just left me there. He went back inside and —”

“And what?”

She’s crying again.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing,” she says, all quiet.

I don’t know why she gets into these messes. She’s supposed to be the innocent one. But look at us. I’m Miss Horny Forever Virgin and Ellie’s, well, not.

“Hey,” I say. “Want to meet somewhere? We could go to the mall or something.”

“The park?”

“I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes,” I tell her. “At the swings. And Ellie? Cheer up. It’s his loss. I mean it.”

I hang up and grab a wrinkled sweatshirt from the end of my bed. I put on my baseball hat and pull it down low. When I check myself in the mirror, I notice the strip of black-and-white photos Ellie and I took in a photo booth at the beginning of the summer. I’m sticking out my tongue and crossing my eyes. Ellie’s laughing because she can’t manage to cross her own eyes without putting her finger in front of her nose. We laughed so hard that day. School had just gotten out, and we’d gone to the beach to celebrate our freedom. We hung out at the arcade and ate French fries and bought cheap matching earrings from a vendor on the boardwalk.

I step closer and look again at our happy faces. I’d give anything for us to feel like that again.

“H
AND ME THAT WRENCH, BUD.
”

My dad’s huge callused hand reaches out from under the hood of his van. The lines in his palm are black with grease.

“I wonder if the rings are burned out. Didn’t I just change the oil two weeks ago?”

I shrug, then remember he can’t see me.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and pull out the backseat for me. I told Mikey I’d pick up the speakers for the show tonight.”

I roll my eyes and head for the back of the van. My dad playing at the local Legion Club with a bunch of his old high-school buddies doesn’t actually count as a “show” in my book, but whatever.

I open the back of the van and reach for the locks to unhitch the backseat. When I tip the seat back to pull it out, Rosie’s rumpled blanket slides across my arms.

I swear I smell Ellie’s perfume on it.

I cringe at the memory and try to shake it out of my head. I toss the blanket over my shoulder and finish pulling the seat out. As I carry the seat to the back wall of the garage, the blanket slips to the floor. I trip on it and drop the seat.

“Nice play, Shakespeare,” my dad says, poking his head out from under the hood of the van.

My dad the comedian. I lean the seat against the wall, then pick up the blanket. The memory flashes in front of me again. I throw the blanket back in the van and slam the door, but it’s too late. I’ve seen her. The way she looked at me as I left her, as if she wanted something. I don’t know what. Or maybe I do. But I was so embarrassed by the whole thing, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

All the guys said how great it would be. How into it Ellie was. No strings, just a good time. They never mentioned how she’d look after. Maybe they didn’t notice.

My dad slams the hood of the van. “Come on, I need a beer.”

I follow his hulky body through the garage and into the kitchen. Rosie, our mangy-looking mutt that my dad says is a black Lab, drags her fat body up off the garage floor and follows us.

If my mom was home, no way would Dad be slinging one back yet. Not before five o’clock. That’s Mom’s rule. But she’s at work, as usual. And when there’s no Mom, there’re no rules.

My dad reaches into the fridge and pulls out two cans, handing one to me.

“To Saturdays,” he says, touching his can to mine.

The beer is cold in my hand. I crack it open and take a long swig as my dad tilts his own head back and lets the beer empty down his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows.

When the phone rings, my dad answers in his friendly manner. “Yeah?” He turns his back to me and looks out the window.

“Mikey! How’s it goin’? You ready for the gig tonight? Katie
did
forgive you for getting home so late last time, right?” He pauses and takes another swig while he listens to Mike — that’s his best friend, and Dave’s dad. They’ve known each other since grade school, just like me and Dave. Our moms, too.

This is the usual routine. Our dads call each other the morning of “the show” and reminisce about last week’s performance. Then they talk about their “playlist” like they are a real band and like the list actually changes from week to week. Then they complain about our moms and how they give them such a hard time about staying out too late and drinking too much.

“Well, you’ll just have to put your foot down!” my dad says.

Clearly, Dave’s mom hasn’t quite forgiven his dad yet. I have to laugh at my dad’s advice. Like
he
ever stands up to my mom. Actually, they pretty much just ignore each other.

I take another long drink of my beer while my dad does his usual ramble with Mike. He laughs about something Mike says, then swigs. When he finishes his beer, he tosses the can in the sink and opens the fridge for another. I finish my own and drop it in the sink so it hits his.

“Where you going?” he asks me, cupping the mouthpiece on the phone with his hand.

I shrug and head for the door.

“Be good!” he calls after me. I turn around to fire a comeback, but he waves me away and goes back to talking with Mike.

It’s warm and sunny outside. The leaves are starting to change color. It smells like fall, and for some reason it reminds me of the day I learned to ride my bike. My dad was sleeping one off, and my mom was determined to teach me on her own — Dad’s punishment for getting wasted again.

I was happy to have her to myself, even though he was the one who had promised to teach me.

“You can do it, Joshy, if you just try,” she kept saying. She hung on to the back of the seat and wouldn’t let me fall. It must have been three hours, maybe longer, till I finally went forward without her. I wobbled all the way to the end of the driveway, then slowly turned back toward her outstretched arms. Her face was all sweaty, and her hair was falling out of her ponytail. She had a huge grin on her face. I swear that’s the last time I saw her look genuinely happy.

Now I’m lucky to see her at all. She practically lives at the nursing home, changing old people’s diapers and putting their teeth in. Like that is preferable to being at her real home with us. If she’s not at work, she’s doing some volunteer project with Dave’s mom. She used to make my dad and me go with her to the local soup kitchen every Sunday afternoon, but eventually she got tired of us complaining. Plus I think she was embarrassed to bring my dad, who was usually hungover.

I walk to the end of the driveway and look back at the house. The blue vinyl siding is faded and cracked, and the white gutters are overflowing with muck. A few years ago, my mom would have flipped over that. Now nothing around here seems to matter to her. Including us.

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.

T
HE 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.