Wayne Literary Review 2013

Fairwood, pretending to be Robin Hood, tossing pinecone arrows with a phantom bow. When Cecile began coming to the park to tease the older boys I felt a change coming over me, a realization that my games were no longer as fun, had become more routine. They grew old in me as I watched Cecile shift her weight from leg to leg as she walked across the fields.

The park was bathed in light and spotted by clouds. I traced my usual path across the storage hangar, around the gravel mound and rusty fence. The train tracks were silent.

And it was then I saw her, periodically lifting a paper bag to her lips and staring down the tracks to Ferndale, to Detroit and the river.

I approached her cautiously. She was wearing the work shirt of some local mechanic shop – I made out “Minser’s” on a tag over her left breast.

“Hey, you.” She beckoned to me with the bottle.

“Come have a seat.”

The metal tracks were hot, and my damp trunks steamed as I sat next to her.

“You run off on me at the first sign of trouble, huh?”

“No. I couldn’t find you.”

“Uh-huh. Someone warned me about guys like you.” I saw her throat clench, as if she forced a cough back into her stomach. She took a long draught from the bottle.

“You want some?”

I took a sip and spat it out. It tasted worse than turned cider.

She laughed.

“Takes a while to get used to.”

The sour taste lingered on my tongue. The factories on the other side of the tracks lay quiet and a robin sang from a tall pine behind us.

“I love this park,” I said.

“It’s nice.”

“I come here a lot, by myself.”

“You don’t want company?”

I was surprised at myself, opening up to her.

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