THE PLAYGROUND BENCH

The playground is already loud when the bell releases the doors. Shoes strike the gravel in every direction, a ball thumps once against the fence, and somewhere nearby a laugh breaks through the noise sharply before disappearing again.

Evan walks toward the swings and stops.

The chains are moving slightly in the breeze. Not fast enough to swing the seats very far, only enough to keep the metal clicking softly against itself over and over again.

Evan places both hands on one of the rubber seats. It is warm from the afternoon sun. The clicking continues above him.

After a moment, he steps back.

The sound carries farther across the playground than he expects. Evan stands still, listening to it continue without changing. When it does not stop, he turns and walks toward the low bench beside the wall instead.

Paint flakes beneath his fingers as he sits down, leaving small green marks against his skin. A group of children runs past in front of him, their shoes scraping through the gravel while their voices rise together and scatter apart again just as quickly.

The bench rests in the shade.

The seat feels cooler here.

From this distance, the clicking of the swing chains sounds smaller, though it never fully disappears. Evan leans forward and presses his elbows firmly into his knees. The pressure helps hold everything in one place for a while.

At the far end of the playground, a whistle blows in one long steady note before silence settles briefly behind it.

The chains continue moving.

The sound remains small.

After a while, Evan stands and walks back toward the swings again. He stops at the edge of the gravel where the shadow from the wall stretches across the ground. Beneath his shoes, the gravel shifts and settles quietly each time he moves his weight.

The swings are still moving slightly.

The playground continues around him exactly as it was before.