All for the Plot

o n e

Maine,
Harrington Square Park

Specks of red decorate the wooden picnic bench like blood splatters. I tilt my head to notice that, at an angle, it kind of looks like a mini crime scene. I continue to pick at the cherry polish until the beige of my natural nail shows.

Cherry reminds me of my mother.

I rub the excess residue from my thumb and stare into the crooked ridges of my natural nail. No matter how much I try to scrape my mother away, she burns into my head, just as her cherry bomb polish burns into my nails. I hear the giggles of smaller kids over my music as I zone out at a group of them playing freeze tag. Loud, innocent laughter, free of stress and responsibility. A hint of a frown plays at the corners of my lips as I watch them bask in colorful happiness. They take youth for granted.

On the concrete trail, a couple rides by on a tandem bike, smiling and looking into each other's eyes. Oh please, they're probably cheating on each other. Squirrels run up and down trees, carrying their small loads of food. Tree rats. Flowers of yellow and purple bloom, and beautiful weeds grow in patches. They'll be dead in a day or two. Clouds float lightly in the sky while a breeze sweeps my hair along with it. Smells like rain.

I look down to see that my nails are no longer red. A sigh of relief escaped from my lips. That polish was hell to get off. Now my fingers are clean, open for opportunity and possibility. New nails, new beginnings. I flex my fingers and brush the excess polish off the bench.

Today was a perfect day to sit in the park and watch the world happen. I may look misplaced with my black and grey clothes contrasting the natural, colorful, neon, but I don't care.

Any thought I might've had was interrupted by a shrill cry. I grab my stuff from the bench and look around the park. What the hell? What was that? Speed walking to the playground, I see a group of kids huddled around in a hushed circle. What kind of baby cult?

Closer, I see a little blond girl lying in the grass, wincing, while holding her ankle. I break the circle, toss my tote bag to the ground, and hang my headphones over my neck. I fall to my knees to check to see if she's actually hurt or being a dramatic brat like Ella used to be.

"Are you okay?" I ask. The children around her stretch their necks to get better views.

"Hey, let's give her some space," I say while holding my palms out to make room. After a couple of seconds pass, the kids didn't make room. They stood in the same spot watching with unblinking bug eyes.

"Get back, you little brats!" I yelled. They scrambled.

I really hope they don't go get their moms, I don't have time for Karens.

I bring my attention back to the squirming child.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, so I can check it out!" Her movements slow and her cries turn into sniffles. Her ankle is purple and swollen, so I use my thumb to press the area as she lets out multiple "Ows."

"It's definitely sprained. Are you here with anybody?"

She points to the top of the playground structure to another little girl identical to her. Exact copies. I was about to call it cute until I saw the look on her face.

If looks could slam you, smack you, stab you, reincarnate you, find you again, and repeat the whole process- it would be the look coming from this girl.

I stand up because honestly.. I'm quite scared. By the way she's positioned, it kind of looks like she.. pushed her sister. "Did she push you from there?" I say under my breath. The twin with the sprained ankle's eyes started to well again. Fuck me.