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Broken Swings

JP Lor

    The wooden swing hadn’t been touched in over two years. From his bedroom window, Jace gazed at the frayed rope jerking the board against the blowing snow. Lost memories had burrowed in the boy’s mind: his sister’s laugh as they launched snowballs under the giant sycamore, the snow melting on his tongue as they built lopsided snowmen, the peeling bark between his fingers as they climbed the white branches.
    “Whatcha doin’, Jace?” Sylvie whispered, poking her head out from underneath his Batman blanket, peeking down at him. She had climbed into his upper bunk, a cloud high above the castle, far away from the horns and thorns of the prickly monster.
    “V, you should be asleep. The sun’s not out yet. Remember the kitchen?” The sound of her snoring on the dining table, spoonful of peanut butter in her mouth, made him smile.
    “I know, I know. I’m seven now, ‘member? I can do everything you do,” she reminded him for the fifth time since her birthday. They were three years apart. Two days ago, they had celebrated, just the two of them, in their locked room, sharing a dry bowl of Fruity Pebbles.
    He grabbed her Supergirl blanket from her bunk and patted both sides, making sure it was dry. Then he climbed up and covered her with another layer of warmth.
    “I know you’re getting older, but we have to be ready. I think they’re coming.”
    “I’m hungry,” she said.
    “We’re gonna eat soon, I promise.”
    “Can you sing until I fall asleep?” she asked.
    “Mama said only when we have bad dreams.”
    She didn’t protest any further, so he squeezed her, tucked both blankets underneath her chin, and waited until her grip softened.
    He heard his mother’s bedroom door open, one that creaked no matter how much WD-40 he sprayed on the hinges, or how tight he tightened the screws. He pressed his ear against the door. Even though it was still dark, he wanted to hear her croaky coughs, her dry morning voice calling out to him.
    Two years ago, his father was taken away, shackled and dragged across the pavement by three police officers, one of whom limped back to his car with a swollen jaw. A year prior, his father had been fired from a job that functioned as a straitjacket. As such, it didn’t take long for their home to flip into an asylum in which Jace, V and his mother turned into test subjects.
    It took weeks, after his father’s arrest, for his mother’s torn cheek and bubbly eye to heal, and for him to cough, sneeze, and slide his arm through his shirt without hurting his ribs. What he couldn’t have expected or imagined was what followed: more capricious beatings –wooden spatula, broom handle, metal hanger, cold showers – and neglect, which at times made him wish for the others, for the pain never lasted for more than a few days, as his mother would sometimes rub Vaseline on his wounds. There was no ointment for neglect, nothing to rub away the days, sometimes weeks in which they were confined to their room, not knowing when to come out, when to drink, when to pee. Once, he prayed for his father’s return.
    As he peeked out the door, in the hallway, he saw a dark figure crashing into the walls, over the black and white tiles, as if they had magnets, yanking the body back and forth, finally letting it vanish into the bathroom. He followed it, through the maze of trash, through the smell of burning rubber. His hand grazed over the light switch. Droplets of water echoed.
    Though there was hardly any light between them, he could see her frizzy hair tangled in knots, baggy sweat pants and hoodie. Her bloodshot sunken eyes peered into the mirror and saw a jigsaw of his face and wavy hair.
    “It’s early,” she said, slumping down again.
    “I know. Do you need help with anything?”
    She turned around and saw him standing motionless in a white t-shirt and thermal pants. “You’re not cold? Where’s your sweater at?
    “It’s not that cold,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and putting his hands behind his back, hiding his goosebumps. “I gave it to V. You want me to make breakfast?”
    “There’s food?”
    “Yep. Two slices of bologna and four pieces of bread.”
    In the kitchen, he kept the light off as he stood alongside the sink cluttered with burnt pipes and tin foil, his chest slightly above the countertop. Stomach grumbling, he made her a sandwich and then placed it on the unsteady table along with a piece of toilet paper.
    “Here, Mama.”
    “Aren’t you gonna eat?” She took the paper and patted her bloody nose.
    “I’m not that hungry.”
    “Are you all packed?”
    “Aunt Bernice said we don’t have to bring much. She sounds nice. Uncle Bryan too.”
    “They should be here soon,” his mother said, scratching her arms and thighs.
    “I know.”
    He had spoken with his aunt and uncle, whom he had never met before, over the phone for the past week.
    “Mama, how come they never came over?”
    Her knees began juddering, then her entire body, as if the question had broken the last screws she had left inside. “You’re too little to understand,” she said.
    After several minutes of silence, he filled a mug with cold water from the sink and tore another piece of toilet paper. He thought about the different things he could ask or say to make sure she was no longer mad at him — nothing came out.
    It was seven a.m.
    A gentle knock.
    His mother opened the door, and the cold early wind breezed in, brushing his bony body. But he didn’t shiver, chatter his teeth, or put his hands in his pocket. He just watched his aunt, a tall woman with glasses and wavy hair like his, pat flakes of snow off her black coat. Unlike his mother’s dry, wrinkly skin, hers glowed, the way untouched, fresh morning snow shimmered in the sun. His uncle stomped dirt and snow off his dress shoes before stepping in, unlike his father who would track mud with his steel toe boots all over the tiles after coming home from work and then command his mother to wipe it clean.
    No kisses on the cheeks or hugs or handshakes, just frivolous words.
    When his aunt saw him, her eyes glistened. “Jace!” She immediately took two big steps toward him, and without hesitation, locked her arms around his waist. Her glasses fell. A sweet, cinnamony scent, nothing like he’d ever smelled before, engulfed him. He hugged her back and saw his uncle in a suit standing above them, smiling. She squeezed harder, her chin buried in his shoulders, her face pressed against his neck, like V did every night before he tucked her in.
    When she let go, his mother staggered to her knees in front of him.
    “You know what I said earlier, kiddo?”
    He shook his head.
    “I’m sorry. Not just about that, about everything.” She rubbed her middle finger under each eye. “You know I love you so much.”
    He nodded.
    “They’ll take good care of you and Sylvie.... I know you hate me –”
    “I don’t hate you, Mama. I just want you to get better.”
    “I know, kiddo, me too. I will. I promise, for both of you guys. Your sister is so damn lucky, you know that, right?”
    Before he could say anything, she got up and kissed his hair and walked out. There was a yellow taxi.
    Expecting her to wave goodbye, he lifted his right arm but didn’t see her hand.
    The cab drove away.
    He stared at the wide-open door, the sycamore, the wooden board resting in melted snow. The rope, above a patch of green grass, floundered in the wind. For a moment, he saw himself back on the swing, spinning in circles under the branch, unwinding, Sylvie giggling on his lap.
    Snapping out of his stupor, he looked up at his aunt and uncle and said, “I’m gonna wake V up.” Then he sprinted across the hall, into the bedroom, on top of several books and drawings, and up the ladder.
    “V, wake up,” he whispered, catching his breath. He tried waking her again but couldn’t. Something inside shook him, in his chest, in his throat. He didn’t know what it was, only that he couldn’t say another word. When it finally let go, he gasped and rubbed his face on the blanket. “V. Wake up. We’re leaving.”
    After a few gentle shakes, she sat up. “I’m hungry,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
    “I know, come on. They’re waiting.”
    He guided her as she came down the ladder, both feet touching each step.
    They were still standing in the entryway when Jace ambled out of the room, his sister tugging behind.
    Aunt Bernice knelt. “Hi, it’s so good to finally meet you, both of you.”
    Sylvie clutched onto her brother’s shirt.
    “It’s okay, V. Come on, they’re nice.”
    “Oh,” Aunt Bernice said, pulling a purple stuffed unicorn from her quilted bag, “we got this for you from my favorite toy store on the way here when I was about your age.” She took out a sharpie and removed the cap with her teeth. “V, right?” she asked.
    Jace nodded.
    Under its hoof, she inscribed a letter V, dark and thick. “Here, it’s yours forever, but I’ll let you name her.”
    Sylvie peeked from behind Jace’s arm at the stuffed animal, its glittered hooves, purple fur, white tail and mane — twisted horn.
    A loud shriek suddenly pierced the entryway, shrieks piercing the kitchen the bathroom the hallway the bedroom.
    Aunt Bernice gasped, casting the unicorn behind her. She tried taking a step toward them but Uncle Bryan held her back. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, both hands cupping her mouth. “What did I do?”
    “It’s the horn. It’s not your fault,” Jace said.
    They stood like statues as he sank to the floor, holding her, rubbing her back until her shrieks turned into cries, softened into sobs, and lulled, “Go away, scary monster, go away. Go away. Go away scary —”
    “What did you do!” his mother shouted, plunging her way through her sister and her husband, nearly knocking them down.
    “Emily? What the heck are you doing?” Aunt Bernice glanced at the cab back on the curb and back at her. “Seriously, why are you still here? Is this some kind of joke?”
    She snatched Sylvie from Jace’s arms and cradled her. “It’s okay baby. I’m here. Mama’s here.”
    Her sobs ascended back into cries, arms and legs now wrapped around her mother’s back.
    “I forgot my phone, and thank god I did.”
    “You forgot your phone? Really? What do you mean, “thank god?” You know what forget it. I’m sorry. We didn’t do anything. We didn’t know V was scared of horns. I’m sorry. We’re going to throw it away. Jace was just –”
    “I’m staying.”
    “What. No. We didn’t know. It won’t happen again. It was just a mistake.”
    “You should’ve asked when you spoke to them over the phone.”
    “Are you being serious right now?”
    “A good parent knows!”
    “This is insane. Can you please stop yelling?”
    “Did you ask? Huh? All those times you talked to Jace on the phone last week? Or did you just talk about me, how I’m a shitty mom?”
    “Emily, stop, this is ridiculous! Oh my god” – she smacked her forehead with both palms and scrunched her hair – “I’m in The Twilight Zone. What’s happening?” She turned to her husband.
    “Emily, do you think you’re making a rational decision here – for the kids?” Uncle Bryan asked, his voice barely audible through the cries. “Or is it because —”
    “Oh, stop Mr. Perfect. Mr. Fancy Job and fancy clothes. Mr. Fancy Childhood.” She bounced on her tippy toes like a clown with Sylvie’s tiny legs flailing around.
    “Stop, Emily,” She stepped in front of him. “You always do this. You can’t keep blaming others, our childhood. Just think for a second, for a second, what you are doing. You need to get better. I mean look at you. This place.”
    “You don’t need to –”
    “Wait, let me finish.” She took a breath, lowered her voice, and parted her tousled hair from her eyes. “You’re a good mom. I know. Deep down you care about your kids. You want what’s best for them, which is why you reached out. I know that must’ve been hard for you.
    “You don’t know shit about how hard —”
    “Can you let me finish? Like I said, you did. Most people wouldn’t have. Because I know you care, because you’re a good person. But none of that is going to matter.” Parts of her dropped – her voice, shoulders, her eyebrows. “Em, if you stay, you’re going to do to them what they did to us. Please, you have a choice. You’re in control.”
    His mother managed to clap with both arms. “Bravo, doctor, bravo. Are you finished now?”
    “Okay, I’m calling the cops.” Aunt Bernice pulled out her phone.
    Jace’s chest stiffened. Strobing red and blue lights flashed his mind. The sound of the mirror cracking against his mother’s cheek. V crying in the closet. “Wait,” Jace said. “Mama can do it.” He looked up as his mother still rocking Sylvie. “She’s done it before. I can help her. I’m older now.”
    “Jace, you don’t have to do this,” his aunt pleaded.
    “Aunt Bernice, please, I don’t want her to go. I don’t want her to leave.” His chest quickly puffed up and down.
    “But it’s not safe here.”
    “What! It’s safe. Kiddo, do I still hit you? Go on, tell her the truth.”
    He shook his head. “She doesn’t hit me anymore,” he said, inching his palm across his thigh as though they could see the purple and black through his thermals.
    “Em, you know it’s not just about that.”
    “I haven’t been using as much. Not anymore. I’ve gotten better. Jace has been helping a lot, with Sylvie, around the house. Even bought some food the other day.”
    “That’s what I’m talking about. He shouldn’t have to do all of those things.”
    “Not every family is the same!” With Sylvie’s wet face in her neck, she turned to Jace. “They need me. We’re gonna get through this, as a family.”
    “So am I, Em. Let us help you.”
    “Really? Where were you when I —”
    “Don’t start with that again. It’s not fair and you know it.”
    “You know what, it’s not, because you left! You left me!” The words ripped apart as they ruptured from her throat.
    “Em, I’m sorry,” Aunt Bernice tried taking a step.
    “No get back! You’re right. I’m in control now, and I want you to get the hell out of my house! I don’t need you!
    “Em —”
    “Get out!”
    Sylvie screamed.
    Uncle Bryan touched her arm.
    “Please, Aunt Bernice. It’s okay.” He got close to her even though the floor had faded beneath his toes. “I’m sorry you had to fly all the way over here. Maybe I’ll get to go on an airplane with you next time.”
    “Oh sweetie.” She touched different parts of his body as if checking to make sure he hadn’t been injured and then cupped his face in between her palms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
    “It’s okay. We can still talk on the phone. We’ll be okay. Mama’s gonna be okay. My sister too. I promise.”
    He hugged them both, not letting either hold for too long. Then he shut the door, and the house, within moments, collapsed into a muted silence. He attached the chain on the track. Slid the latch. Twisted the lock. On the porch, he imagined his aunt facing him, phone in her hand.

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