Chapter Two
The ground is soft beneath my feet, like it’s made from Play-Doh instead of dirt. Rainwater pools beneath the seat of the swing, where years of feet have dug a hollow. Droplets cling to the steel bars, shaking from some unseen force.
Usually I’m on that swing, rain or shine. I kick my legs as hard as I can, until I’m flying. My hair covers my face. Tears sting my eyes. The playground becomes a blur.
When I get to the highest point, I think about letting go. Every time, back and forth. I imagine letting go of the squeaky chains that leave the smell of rust on my hands. In my head I don’t crash to the ground. I keep going up and up, into the clouds.
Not today.
I was almost afraid to look at the money once I made it to my trailer, my heart pounding against my ribs. Like it co
