I pull my knees up on the seat of the swing and wrap my arms around them. The swing was made for the front porch originally, but Grandpa hung it out here off a massive limb of this big tree for me after we’d moved in.
I love it, but I’m still sad. I spend a lot of time on it alone, lost in my thoughts.
“Shelly Bean, come get your favorite cookies!” Gram yells out the back door.
I smile, knowing she means a fresh-baked batch of chocolate chips made with cocoa so dark it makes my mouth pucker with delight.
Cookies are awesome, sure, but they’re not what I’m pining for today.
Or most days.
Grandpa, Marty, and Weston strut out of the barn, tossing around jargon about some engine thing I can’t follow.
Grandpa waves at me to join them as they’re heading for the house, and so does Marty.
I don’t want to join them, even if I know I should.
Grandpa and Marty keep walking to the house, but Weston doesn’t. He bows out and walks toward me, angling to the swing.
Oh my gosh. I’m too young to get why my heart starts leaping like a scared grasshopper every time he’s around—or why I forget all my words every time he’s around.
“How can you turn down Thelma’s chocolate chips?” he asks, concern twinkling in his one-of-a-kind sky-blue eyes. “Are you sick?”
I shake my head.
“Scared of something?”
I shake my head again.
“Having a sad day?” he asks, softening his voice.
I shrug, twisting my lips.
“It’s okay to be sad sometimes.” He sits down beside me. “But it’s better to have days when you’re happy.”
There’s something comforting about having his weight balance the long swing as it bobs gently.
I nod because I don’t know what to say.
“Wanna know what I do when I’m feeling crappy?” he asks.
Slowly, I venture a shy look at him and nod again.
“I think of something fun. Something crazy that happened to me, or maybe a day that was just really fun. Like you know the Reeds’ horse, Edison? Well, one time he got out and showed up in Mom’s carrot patch. He was stooped down under a blanket drying on the clothesline and when she looked out the kitchen window, when he popped up real sudden...you should’ve seen her. Must’ve jumped ten feet high with a scream right out of a slasher flick.”
He laughs. It’s a nice laugh, throaty and a little rough the way teenage laughs can sound, but it gets a soft giggle out of me.
“Or, hey, how ’bout a silly joke? Bet I can make you laugh more than that horse story,” he says, puffing out his chest.
“I don’t know any jokes,” I say quietly.
“You don’t?”
I shake my head.
“What has ears but can’t hear?”
I pause, thinking about it for a second.