Big Man

I look up, surprised to find the fence has ended. I’ve circled all the way around to the front of the house without realizing, and now my feet, almost by habit, have led me away from the fence line. Toward the big tree out front, the one I first noticed when I pulled up. The one some part of me remembered, even when my conscious mind didn’t want to.

The tire swing is still hanging from its thick lower branch. Up close, I can see that the rope doesn’t look damaged at all. It’s grimy, dirty from all these years out in the weather. But it’s thick and steady as ever, and the tire dangling from it looks exactly the same way it did years ago when I took my last spin on it.

I can see it now. Me and Grant. He still scrawny, but starting to get taller, leaner. Starting to have that athletic build that would eventually turn into every muscle a guy can possibly have.

Back then, we’d play tag across this front field, barefoot. Chasing a couple of the neighbor kids, having them turn around and chase me in return whenever I managed to catch one of them.

Grant would always grin when he caught me, apologize through that gap in his front teeth, a gap that’s long since vanished now.

I remember the way I used to catch him stealing peeks at me whenever we’d sit down around the dining room table in the kitchen for lunch. Mama would be out back eating with the grown-ups, his parents, and other kids’ parents. They’d leave us to our own devices, and we’d shoot eyes at one another, elbow each other for taking the last slice of bread, eating the last helping of stew.

I remember later on. When we were older, maybe at the start of high school. Just before he made friends with the jocks. Before that group of kids all drifted apart, before we made other friends, forgot about each other. I remember him pushing me on the tire swing out front, the way I’d scream higher, then shriek with fear, delight, some mix of it all.

I remember the two of us standing opposite one another on that same tire swing. Pushing it around and around until the rope was wound up tight. Then standing up at the same time, letting go, so it spun as fast as it could. We’d hang onto that rope, our hands touching, both of us shrieking. But our eyes were locked the whole time, like we couldn’t get enough of that feeling. That adrenaline rush, and… each other.

I used to wonder if he wanted to kiss me. I used to think about it. I even almost kissed him, once. But Mama came out, called me home, and I let the moment pass.

I let Grant Werther go.

My feet lead me across the yard, until I find myself standing below the tree. I circle the tire swing, taking it in. I tug on it once to test its weight, and I’m surprised to find that Grant’s right. It is sturdy. Maybe even as sturdy now as the day my father first strung it up.

That’s why I never think about this. About any of it. It hurts too much to think about anything right after Dad’s leaving. But it’s been here all along, at the back of my mind, tugging at my subconscious.

My memories of Grant are all tangled up with Dad leaving, with heartache and pain. But still, I never forgot him. Still, I knew him again the moment I saw him. I’m still the girl I used to be—and he’s still the boy he was too. My brain was trying to remind me, trying to show me what I so desperately wanted to forget.

I walk past the tire swing, letting it drift back and forth on its rope as I approach the tree trunk instead.

Sure enough, I find it on the first try. The set of initials carved one on top of the other. Almost like the initials kids would carve later, in high school, with their sweethearts. We hadn’t dared to put a heart around it back then. Neither of us wanted to admit we liked each other. That would be putting ourselves at risk, going too far out on a limb. We just circled it, flirted, made eyes at one another the way kids do, without ever taking it farther.

But I remember. I remember lying on the grass out here with him late one night, before sophomore year of high school started, before he made it onto varsity track and drifted away, started hanging out with the athletes, the hot girls, the cool kids. Before I lost him—before I pushed him away so far that he couldn’t help but let himself get lost.