Just One Voice

•Drawing On Sidewalks•

~9~

Thursday,  September 11th, seven years ago,

I watched a handful of kids dancing around the playground during recess, without a care in the world. I saw some pumping their legs and reaching for the sky with the aid of their rocket ship sort of swing. A pair rode the slide like it was the newest and biggest rollercoaster, ready for the bone-aching thrill of the drop before them. I watched the kids on the monkey bars too, challenging themselves and achieving what was once upon a time completely impossible for them.

I watched the kids laugh, I watched them live.

Two weeks ago, I would have been one of those kids. But lately, I've sat here like lump against the shadowed side of the elementary school's brick wall. I knew that our teacher lady was worried about me, but she was just going to have to wait for me to be okay again. Everyone can only take their own portions of hell on earth, and my limit was so close, I could probably reach out and touch it.

If I could only let go of my reserved position, that is. I kept my arms securely folded against my chest, protecting who knows what. I just felt safer that way.

I didn't know the whole story, Mom wouldn't tell me. I'm a big boy, practically a grown-up by this point, and I thought she would trust me enough by now. Though maybe it was never a matter of trust to begin with. All I really understood is that it had been two weeks since the police showed up at home. Everyone was looking for him—except for me. Where was I? In the living room, being a naive little kid. Under soft blankets and giggling at my favorite cartoons. I had no idea what was going on. I had no idea of what the world was really like. I didn't know people could do these things or that your heart could feel so icky inside.

"What are you doing?" Said a perky blonde girl as she approached me, her familiar curls bobbing with every step. Coming out of my depressing thoughts, I recognized her instantly, but couldn't quite remember her name. She was new in my class this year, but she dressed nicely, and lot's of the boys thought she was kind of pretty.

"Nothing," I replied bluntly, not really sure why she was talking to me. I didn't need people right now. I didn't want anyone.

"Are you sad?" She questioned further.

What's her sudden interest in me anyway? At the beginning of the school year, I would have been happy to make a new friend. But I wasn't sure I was even the same person anymore.

"I guess."

"Did you scrape your knee or something?"

"No." I practically growled, growing annoyed. But she continued to look at me with her grey blue eyes, pleading for a better answer. She stood there for a billion seconds, not bothered by my rudeness. My heart softened for her, though I wasn't sure why.

I couldn't believe what I was about to tell her, but apparently my mind had made itself up before thinking anything through—besides, it's not like she was about to give up and leave me anyway.

"My dad— he's, gone." I finally admitted to the blonde girl, tightening the grip I had on my arms. I wanted the ground to swallow me up as I said the words.

"My mommy is gone too," She said, sitting herself right up against me, "she leaves for work all the time. I barely see her."