This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.
Calvin had once complained that there were not enough playgrounds in the world. Now here he was, helping take one away.
Calvin eased his pickup truck to a stop at the red light. He flicked his cigarette out the window into the gutter. Today was a miserable day. People on the sidewalks either stared with open disgust or averted their eyes, pretending not to see him. Calvin felt like the man who was forced to carry the cross down the street in front of everyone when Jesus couldn’t hack it. What was his name? Calvin closed his eyes and concentrated. Simon the Cyrenian; that was it.
Calvin felt guilty by association behind the wheel, his cargo jutting like a missile toward the sky. I’m not the one who made this happen, Calvin defended himself, mentally addressing the crowds of people all around him.
Tearing down the municipal playground had been a desperation measure. The number of missing children had risen into the double digits and the city was in a panic. No many how many parents patrolled the park, or how early the curfew was, the disappearances continued. Someone was stealing the children.
Finally, at a town meeting, a city councilman suggested tearing down the playground where all of the children had been taken. No playground; no missing kids. That had been the flimsy reasoning behind the idea. It had been enough.
Calvin wasn’t sure it would actually work, but he did what he thought was his civic duty and volunteered to help. Now here he was, stuck in traffic, with one of those giant slides precariously balanced in the bed of his pickup. A rocket slide, the kids called it.
When the light finally turned green, Calvin pressed down on the gas pedal. In his impatience, he pressed the gas too fast, and the pickup jerked forward.
A sharp pinging sound came from the back as one of the chains snapped. A shrieking metallic groan assaulted Calvin’s ears and he shuddered.
“Sonuva-” he began, then grimaced and closed his eyes as he heard the awful crunch of metal on metal. Glass popped and broke. Someone yelled. A dog barked. Calvin heard it all with amazing clarity.
He jumped from the cab of his pickup and hurried to survey the damage.
The rocket slide had been too heavy for its anchoring chains and had tipped over onto the gray sedan that had been waiting directly behind Calvin’s pickup. The cone-shaped tip of the slide had shattered the windshield and the driver of the sedan was pinned to his seat. He was yelling for help. Calvin realized the man would be all right, but for now was stuck fast.
Calvin noticed that the sedan had slid back and collided with the third vehicle at the light, a white minivan. The force of the collision had popped the sedan’s trunk lid open. When the lady driving the minivan began to scream, Calvin ran back to take a look.
There were bodies in the trunk of the sedan. Little bodies. Calvin's heart broke.
Head hanging in sorrow, Calvin walked slowly past the shouting driver and back to his pickup. He climbed into the cab. Never one to shirk what he felt was his civic duty, Calvin decided the best course of action was to put his pickup truck into reverse and let the rocket slide finish the job.
