Content warning: This chapter includes themes of death and parental loss, which may be distressing for some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

Taylor

The empty playground is doused in the shadows of the looming night. Noah is walking ahead, carrying a blanket and our food towards a group of tables. I pull my blanket tighter around me to ward off the cold wind. 

I’m not quite sure what to make of this detour. Or what to make of anything that has happened since Noah cleaned my face off ink. My insides are a jumbled mess, and I’m still trying to convince myself that the wave of exploding butterflies in my stomach is the aftermath of the Mexican food we’d eaten and not because of Noah’s gentle chuckle as he told me about a childhood I remember so differently. His voice was so full of fondness that I almost wanted to ask if he was really talking about us.

Noah places the blanket across a bench, and I follow his gesture to sit down at the table while he spreads out the food on the weathered wood. He doesn’t comment on the half-eaten portion of fries, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and I hastily concentrate on my burger to avoid his gaze. His huff makes me suppress a smile.

Noah finishes his food before I do and takes in the view around us. “When you mentioned the park, I had the sudden urge to come here.”

Noah’s solemn voice draws my eyes to him. He is looking over the playground that hasn’t changed much since we played there. His mind is far away, his eyes glassy, seeing a time long passed. 

“I used to come here a lot,” he adds.

I frown. “Really?”

“Always in the evening when everyone had already returned home.”

“What?” I set down my burger. “So I went to your house all the time, inviting you to play in the park, and you specifically waited until I was gone?”

Noah laughs, probably at my scandalized voice. “No. Not until you were gone. Until everyone was. I came here when I wanted to be alone, so …” His laughter dies on his lips. “It started after my dad died.”

My shoulders sag, and suddenly the burger in front of me doesn’t look so appetizing anymore. He doesn’t notice my mood and keeps speaking. “I used to come here when life was just … too much.”

“Why here?”

“Hm?” Noah blinks back into reality, and I repeat my question. For some reason, it makes Noah smile and get up. He stretches out a hand toward me. “If you don’t remember, I’ll show you.”

I eye the food. Noah shakes his head. “No one’s gonna eat your cold burger, Tay. We are not going far.”

I relent, and he clasps my hand and pulls me towards the playground, specifically the wooden play tower. 

“Are you serious?” I pause my steps when Noah begins to climb up the ladder. 

He looks over his shoulder. His solemn, sad expression has been replaced by eyes full of mischief. “Come on. I can’t believe you don’t remember this.”

“Remember what?”

He doesn’t answer, and curiosity gets the best of me, so I follow him. Once at the top, I brush sand and splinters off my hands. 

“Was this tower always this small?” I peek over the guardrail. “This isn’t even 6 feet. I’m pretty sure I once jumped down from here, and it felt like a good 15 feet.”

“Oh, you brave, brave boy,” Noah replies drily. I turn around only to find him sitting down at the entrance of the tube slide. 

“Did you … want to slide? Should I go down and catch you?”

He throws me the middle finger while fiddling with his phone. 

“Come and sit, I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere here.”

I crouch down next to him while he activates the flashlight on his phone, pointing it inside the tube. 

“There.” I follow the light beam to a few faded scribbles on the slide’s plastic walls. I frown at the vaguely familiar marks. There is a big sun, a few stars, and two overlapping circles.

I meet Noah’s expectant eyes, but apparently, I’m not reacting as he wants me to. He huffs. “One would think you would remember your crimes.”

“Crimes? What crimes?”

He gestures at the drawings. “Vandalism.”

“You mean I drew that?!”

I scoot over and take a closer look. “A sun, stars, and what? Is that supposed to be the moon? Why did I draw that?”

Noah relaxes against a wooden post. “It’s a planet. I’m surprised you don’t remember this at all.”

“Well, how old was I? 6?”

“No. You had just turned 8.”

“You sure?”

“You mentioned it several times and I had to wish you a happy birthday as often.”

I bury my face in my hands. How embarrassing.

Noah’s low chuckle rumbles in my ear. My whole face feels hot.

“When Dad died, I felt disconnected to everything,” Noah starts abruptly, and I lift my head. His face is hidden in shadows. I shiver and draw my blanket closer around me, but stay quiet.

It takes a few moments until Noah says, “I couldn’t quite come to terms with a reality that existed without him. There was also my mom. She wasn’t …” Noah takes a shaky breath. “She wasn’t there. Physically yes. Not with her mind and heart, though. And then there was Olly. She depended a lot on me during that time because Mom just couldn’t function. I’m still so grateful to your parents, because they stepped in to take care of us. They cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and kept everything running.”

I sling my arms around my knees, leaning against the wooden guardrail across from Noah. 

I have some memories of the time, but it’s a vague feeling that there was a big change going on around me, with my parents behaving differently and following new daily routines, rather than really understanding what was going on. 

From the day itself, the day Noah’s father died in a car accident, there are only memory fragments: A doorbell late at night. Me, going down the stairs in my favorite rubber duck pajamas. Aunt Susu collapsing into my mother’s arms. Olly, only 5 at the time, confused and frightened, clinging to her older brother. And the memory fragment that stands out most clearly: Noah’s empty gaze that met mine.