On days I beat my alarm clock and manage enough consciousness to slip on a pair of yoga pants and worn out sneakers, I'll bother to walk a few laps around the spit of land outside my complex that supposedly qualifies as a park. It contains a single playground tower, with a slide, monkey bars, and a couple swings. Around the pen of rubber mulch are a few graffitied benches for bored parents, a bit of grass, and a couple trees. That was my impression of a city park.
I grew up with far grander expanses of grass outside of the city and even, once upon a time, wooden playsets that towered over sand pits. But, having no need to look further than my complex's doorstep for minimal recreational activity, I never ventured out to discover what few true parks Whitmere had.
The bus dropped me off at a corner of Chapel Park that lacked the sports fields and eager young athletes I had hoped to find. So I chose a direction and simply marched down the sidewalk, figuring my destination could not be too far from where I began. However, with each passing step, I found an endless line of trees and quiet murmurs of passersby. I pushed farther and farther, hoping that just past the next thick trunk I'd spot a flying ball or hear the screams of enthusiastic parents. But all I found was just another open expanse of green.
One stretch of grass housed a large marble fountain and an old wooden carousel, which spun lazily beneath the afternoon sun. Families picnicked upon a nearby hillside and along every stretch of sidewalk dogs tugged at their leashes, dragging their owners around the complicated webbing of pathways. Some distance away, upon another slope, I saw a gazebo where a band was setting up their equipment and a group of children trotted along with a nature guide that pointed out various birds in the trees. Wherever I turned, a new wonder lay before me. But not one of them was a lacrosse game.
"Where the heck are the fields?" I grumbled in exasperation. "How big is this place?"
"Nothing like Knox Hill, but I mean Knox has the zoo in it so it's not really a fair match."
The voice came from somewhere behind me. It was a little deeper than yours and had a bit of a sarcastic mock to it. Not that his words were sarcastic, but my long exposure to Michelle made it easy for me to notice the sardonic tones that are used far too regularly and have thus tainted even the most innocent of conversations.
Uncertain what I'd find, I turned to discover a stocky man with broad shoulders, a scruffy chin, and short cropped auburn hair. Something about him looked oddly familiar, but I couldn't figure out where I might have known him. I spent most of my day with overpaid lawyers and none of them would ever be caught dead dressed like him. He wore a fading purple sweatshirt that was decorated with paint smears and several tears. In one hand, his thick fingers, calloused and rough, clutched a thin red binder; in the other, he pulled out a phone, which he glanced down at with a grimace.
"You said you needed to go to the fields, right?" he asked, before thrusting the phone back into his track pants pocket and stepping forward down the sidewalk.
"Yeah, but that was more of a personal question. Not really a cry for help," I muttered. He brushed past me on his way, and a strong smell of lacquer and sawdust followed in his wake.
"Sounded like a cry for help," he laughed. He turned to face me, but continued to walk backwards, nearly toppling over a small boy as he rushed after some buzzing insect. "I'm heading that way, so once you're done consulting with yourself about what to do, feel free to follow me." He gave a slight wave and turned back down the path, keeping his steps long and quick. I did one last look around, spotting several branching sidewalks before stumbling forward to meet my guide.
"That was quick," he said. "You should just lose those flip-flops, you're at the park, go all natural."
"You're kidding," I choked out, trying to catch my breath as I fought to keep up with his strides.
"They'll just end up falling off your feet, anyway. They're not really all terrain shoes." He stopped and stood there, staring at me, waiting for something to happen.
"I can find it on my own."
"Okay, how good is your sense of direction?"
"What, why does that matter?" I grumbled.
"Well, you can go straight from here, but the path kind of meanders, so you need to make sure you keep going the way you need to go. The paths are going to fork and you'll have to know which follows your initial direction best."
"You're making this too complicated," I said, my face growing red in the sun and my foot bouncing against the sidewalk.
"I'm making it complicated," he said with a laugh. "I could just take you there if you'd lose the flat tires on your feet."
"Oh, forget it." An audible groan rolled in my throat as I pushed past him and headed down the path to the right.
"If you stick to those paths, you're going to have a fairly long walk that way, I'd go down this one if I were you."
I stopped, debating if I'd take his suggestion right away or if I'd wait until I made it further down the sidewalk and out of his sight. Frustration, however, beat out pride as my legs prickled with stress.
"Thank you," I said curtly, veering off the path and heading for the one straight ahead of my guide.
"That should lead you fairly well to the first set of fields," he called from behind me.
I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. "First set? What does that even mean?"
"Well, there are a few fields at that point, then another group of fields on the other side of the swimming pools and then across the street there's a whole other chunk of park with a bunch of fields."
I stood for a moment, his ploy sinking in and my dignity crumbling beneath his victorious smile.
I slipped my sandals from my feet and fumbled them into my bag. "There, now will you take me."
"With pleasure," he said with a chuckle. He grabbed my hand and pulled me along the grass, dodging large rubber balls and running straight into a wall of bubbles. Even without my sandals, I stumbled across the ground and only remained standing because of the firm grip he held on my hand.
"Hope you don't mind. I'm just really running late and I felt bad leaving you back there. You looked like a squirrel debating when and how to cross a road." He huffed a bit as he talked, and sweat poured down his forehead. Despite this, a wide smile raised his ruddy cheeks and lit his blue eyes. For a moment I thought of you, and it made me shudder.
"That's," I began, though my breath hindered my words, "that's just... Really?"
"Yeah, I thought if I walked past you, you might leap out in front of me or instead scurry right back out of the park." He gave a deep laugh, though his breathing was shallow. "Sorry, I never was a good runner. But, we're almost there."
We returned to a stretch of sidewalk and sprinted past a large pond. Children lined the water with flimsy fishing poles and ragged nets, while several mooching ducks waddled along the shore, pestering picnickers. Once clear of the water, the hill dropped into a wide spread of fields, including one with lacrosse sticks swinging around in the crisp air.
We skidded to a stop, and I bumped into his side as my feet stumbled to catch up. The smell from before had now mixed in with sweat, and I choked on the stench that curled up into my nostrils. He took no notice. Instead, he simply released my hand and looked down past the fields. "Not sure where you're going," he said, "put this whole side of the park is dedicated to athletics so I'm sure whatever it is, you'll find it if you look hard enough."
"It's just down there," I choked, as my lungs fought for air, "thank you."
"You mean there?" He pointed towards the gaggle of kids running around the lacrosse field.
"Yeah," I said straightening myself out and beginning my search for my flip-flops, "I'm here to see the Squirrels."
"Fantastic!" Without notice, he snatched up my hand and whisked me farther down the hill just as I retrieved one of my shoes. Within a couple of minutes we cleared a few baseball fields and finally stopped as we reached the wall of folding chairs and coolers that surrounded the lacrosse game. "This is my stop too."
"Really?" I asked, glad to be free from anymore bursts of speed.
"Yeah, I'm the coach of the Squirrels," he said, pointing to his tattered binder. "Well, I'm the new coach. I was appointed only a couple days ago." Now his voice dropped, and he busied himself with canvassing the field. I slipped on my shoes, discovering a couple chipped nails and a small gash along my big toe. Still, I turned my focus to the man before me. Never once during our quick flight across the park did I imagine this man might be connected to you. You in your trim suit, which always paired perfectly with your charming smile and ringing voice. You were nothing like this rough, boxy man. And maybe that's because you weren't connected. He might have been someone the association brought in last minute. Someone who has never seen or known you. Yet, the way the shadow fell across his face and the way his voice lowered to a deep but quiet rumble, I knew there was more there.
"Hasn't the game started?" I asked, eager to make sure the conversation didn't veer in your direction. "Shouldn't you be coaching or something?"
"Yeah, Ashlynn is going to kick my ass," he muttered. "She could have warned me that parking here is shit on the weekend." He then turned to me before sticking out his hand. "My name is Quinn, by the way. If you see a really pissed off red head that's probably Ashlynn. Don't tell her you were with me, it will just fuel the fire."
I hesitated to give him my name, but I returned his gesture by giving his hand a weak shake. Thankfully, he didn't wait for a response. Instead, he gave me a nod and then dashed off to the side of the field painted in red shirts.
And so I stood stranded amongst a sea of parents ranging from proud screamers to snoozing layabouts. At a complete loss for what to do next, I debated trotting over to the other side of the field. At least then I would be near Quinn and could have someone to point to, should a suspicious parent ask why I was loafing about.
Deciding that was the best route, I took a wide berth around the field, keeping watch of the game from the corner of my eye while avoiding the parents. I don't know much about lacrosse, but it appeared to be like most games that I have a vague impression of. There's a ball and there's a goal. The ball needs to get in the goal. At least I had the basics down.
I joined up along the Squirrel's side of the field and, though I knew little about the game, it was apparent that something was off. The red shirts upon the field moved up and down in lazy trots instead of the sprints the blue team displayed. The other team snapped their sticks and sent the ball soaring from one goal to the other, yet the Squirrels barely made it from one teammate to another. And then the ones on the bench sat with their heads drooping and their eyes cast to the dirt. Quinn bounced around, doing what he could to raise their spirits. He didn't even know their names, but he tried. He'd check his binder before attempting a cheerful, though stilted, conversation with the downtrodden boys.
Then the redhead appeared. Her hair like fire with eyes to match. She stormed up to Quinn, and I watched the color drain from his face. I stood far enough away to only catch bits of her hushed conversation, but I got enough to know she was displeased with his tardiness. She tossed a few glances at the kids and simply ended the conversation with a stern look before turning in my direction.
Then she stopped, her eyes catching mine and her wisps of hair floating back into my memory. Taking Quinn's lessons to heart, I slipped off my flip-flops once more and ran back off towards the entrance.
I'm sorry I didn't see how your Squirrels did, but that redhead and I had shared tissues and tears only the day before. Ashlynn and Quinn definitely knew you. Unfortunately, I'm not ready to be seen in your world.
Secretly yours,
Bailey Kincaid