Again, this is a deep, yet subtle, story.
“Sandbox”
My pants are wet. There is warm pee on my legs and in my socks. I didn’t know I needed to make. Maybe I had too much water? I’m in Patrick’s backyard. Before, we were playing alone on his swing set. Now, Patrick is inside using the bathroom, but Max just came outside. He is watching me.
A squishy puddle of pee is under my butt. My cheeks are hot. I hold the chains and look at my feet. The touch of the soggy pants reminds me of what happened yesterday. It rained yesterday. I was inside. I was standing near the heater, the one in front of the window. I was trying to get warm. I was watching the rain and wearing a dry pair of Patrick’s socks. I love being outside and making sand castles. But when it rains the sand doesn’t stay together. The mot goes into the towers.
I was still by the window when someone came near me. They stopped behind me. They put their large hand on my shoulder. I looked down their jeans were folded up. They had dry Nike sneakers with white laces. I looked at them, and turned to the window. They came close to me. Then, they went on their knees. They were breathing fast, my neck got sweaty.
I should be grateful. I should enjoy it.
The sliding door is opening. Patrick is back outside. I stop thinking about yesterday.
“Wanna play in the sandbox now?” Patrick is yelling while running toward it. My seat is still wet. The puddle has drooled onto the dirt. I slide off of the swing and eat my sleeve. I walk slowly to the sandbox. Patrick is pouring sand into his bucket.
“We’ll make a castle in that corner,” he shouts, not looking at me. I walk to the outdoor tap and fill up a bucket. I bring it back to Patrick. I drip half of it. I sit down and try to help.
“No, not there,” he screams. “We’re making it over there,” he points to the corner. He looks at me. He notices. I feel naked.
“You’re pants are wet.”
“I spilt water,” I mutter. I stare at my dark pants.
He looks away and finishes filling his bucket. He pats down the sand. He flips it upside down and shows me a perfect tower. I start filling my bucket. It takes a while. My sand jumps over the top and falls onto my crossed legs. I don’t brush it way.
I was sitting the same way last Thursday. I was reading and I wasn’t building a sandcastle. My teacher was sick, but they couldn’t find a substitute. My Mom and Dad had to go to work. Patrick’s Mom works at home. His kindergarten teacher wasn’t sick, only mine was.
I was reading on the grass when they sat down across from me. I think they were home for lunch.
“What are you reading?” they asked. I was reading the pictures of fox in socks.
“Fox in socks,” I closed the book and faced the cover towards them. They leaned closer, resting their hands on my ankles.
“What page are you on?” they tilted their head and smiled. They slid their hands up to my knees and drummed their fingers on my kneecaps. I fumbled with the book, looking for my lost page.
“Page 33,” I closed the book again. I looked at the ground, as goose bumps rose up my back.
“Aren’t you bored of reading?” they forced, leaning closer. Their breathe smelt like mint, with a touch of cinnamon. I felt their hand creep up my right leg. I started to shiver. I should be happy, and grateful. I am lucky.
Someone is touching my knee. I jolt my head up.
“Are you ok?”
It is Patrick. His eyebrows are wrinkled around his nose, and his bottom lip is curved down. He has made three sand towers, all perfect, side by side.
“Yah,” I stretch my cheeks toward my eyes and reveal my teeth.
Patrick’s Mom calls us in for lunch. Patrick and I have made a grand fortress. There is even a mot with water in it, though we don’t have a crocodile. We get up and run inside, Max comes in as well. She notices my wet pants and tells Patrick to give me one of his. Once I’m dry we head back to the kitchen. We are having Portobello mushroom wraps and fruit smoothies. I’m not hungry, but I eat.
I go to Patrick’s every Sunday. Mom and Dad need to work. We live two doors down. Patrick is the middle child. His older brother, Max, is cool and goes to college. His younger sister, Anna, doesn’t know how to talk yet, but she’s points and screams.
After lunch Patrick has karate and Anna takes a nap. Patrick’s Mom goes shopping for three hours, alone. I’m not allowed outside. I miss the sandbox. All you need is water and sand, which is dirt, to make anything. Instead I’m kept inside, so I stay under the crawl space. Max stays home too. He used to do homework during this time, but now he stays with me.
He is looking for me. He opens the small door to the crawl space. How does he always find me? He closes the door, and sits down facing me.
“You’re very lucky” he whispers and moves closer. “Say it.”
“I’m very lucky.”
My legs are shaking. I hold them down with my elbow and concentrate on the floor boards. I don’t want to pee again, he might get mad. I am grateful. I am very lucky.