The Girl on the Swing

The man took his chosen position behind the ivory curtains every day at 3:15 pm. His binoculars found his favorite. The little girl with gold curls that surely smelled of daisies and felt like sunshine. She pumped her legs so she could reach up to the sky, such determination on her sweet face. Joyful giggles captured his heart the most. She threw back her head and let the swing glide back and forth until it slowed. Today she jumped off to play in the sand with a little boy, but the man paid him no attention.

On occasion he would allow himself a closer view and sit on the park bench with his dog, Muffy. Once the girl came to pet his dog. Her voice was like music and magic. It made him ache, so he limited his trips to the park. Often it was difficult for him to contain his anxiety. On those days he would leave the window, sit at the laminate kitchen table with a can of beer, a shot of whiskey and cry. It saddened him to watch everyday and not be able to hug her like he knew he would if she’d let him.

On Monday’s his sister called. “How are you doing, Ray?”

“It’s been so long, but I can’t stop myself.”

“I know. Do you want me to come over?”

“No. I can do this myself.”

“Are you still watching the girl on the swing?” She couldn’t see him nod, but she added, “You have to stop this.”

“I’m not a monster, Caroline.”

“I’ll call Dr. Wallace.”

“I’ll stop…I promise.”

But Ray didn’t stop. He wept and wept. He missed his little girl, Emily, with golden hair that smelled of daisies. She slept in the cemetery without a swing.

Word Count: 297