A leather leash extended from Caroline Clarke’s hand to her little boy. Her narrowed eyes rested on her son Donnie, who sat a short distance in front of her, sluggishly swaying on a swing. His smooth, pale face was flat, absent of any discernable emotion.
Caroline cupped her free hand, protecting her cigarette from the raindrops. The warmth rising to her fingers was welcome on the uncharacteristically chilly evening. She snuck a quick but deep drag and did her best to keep the tobacco dry.
Rock Stanley watched them from the entrance of the park. The thick wrinkles stretching over his gigantic head added a puzzled glare to his grizzled appearance. The droplets fell at a rate that would’ve sent any sensible parent heading for their car. Yet, there, with her tiny boy, Caroline remained.
In a way, Rock felt a measure of relief at the sight. While he was looking for a parent with at least two children, securing another participant would be better than none. He was glad he’d decided to check the playgrounds on such a dreary afternoon. Surprisingly, the improbable gamble had the potential to payoff.
Rock clenched a brochure in his big hand that read: ‘HELPING HEARTS.’ It displayed various information about the charity that helped underprivileged children gain access to modern playground equipment. It also had an area with cut lines that surrounded a single ticket for family entry embedded on the final page.
Not wanting it to get soaked, he slipped the informational material back into his pocket. He’d always hated approaching people. His towering height and bulky frame always seemed to intimidate them. Additionally, his social ineptitude was a hurdle. Rock had a lack of experience that no amount of practice could make up for. Despite his many faults, the motivation that awaited him back home turned him into a miracle-maker at times. Hopefully, he could come through again as he had before. But there was something else that was still on his mind besides securing a reservation.
He’s not a fucking dog, Rock thought.
Rock squinted his eyes. The more he focused on the toddler tether attached to the child’s back, the more it bothered him. In his mind, it was the physical manifestation of restriction itself. Just the sight of such a domineering tool filled him with ire. As the rain pattered down on Rock’s faded flat cap, he clenched his teeth.
The boy looked just old enough to attend school. He didn’t require the weight of such an oppressive invention dragging him down, siphoning the urge to explore and roam freely from his soul. Rock expected such a crass contraption might mutate the child’s spirit into something more predictive and robotic.
He knew it all too well.
As Rock watched the boy sit on the swing, he already appeared halfway there. Most children in his position would be rocking back and forth, testing the limits and heights they could push themselves to, exploring acceleration with a youthful vigor to borderline dangerous speeds.
Donnie looked dead.
It was as if his mother was pushing a tiny corpse along for a ride in the downpour.
It sickened Rock. He didn’t know if he could watch it anymore. But just as he considered taking a step toward them, Donnie’s pace changed.
Caroline took one last mighty pull of her Parliament before she gave Donnie a hard push in the spine. The force sent him upward and left him rocking.
“You’ve gotta do some of the work too!” Caroline scolded. “I can’t do everything for you! Kick your feet forward!”
Doing as he was told, the young Donnie picked up speed. Caroline stepped to the side, ensuring he could rock backward and gain momentum. She continued to push him, and with each completed motion, the leash stretched further and further.
Rock watched with discomfort and anger infecting his chest. The scene was difficult to take in.
Then, suddenly, when Donnie reached the pinnacle of his forward motion, Caroline violently tugged the leash backward.
The power of the purposely ill-timed jerk caused the unsuspecting boy to flip backward. The yank was just strong enough to turn his body half a revolution. After the four-foot drop, Donnie landed headfirst in the muddy sand. The sickening thud of his body hitting the gunky beach grains was highly unsettling. Rock could hear it from where he stood. He cringed.
His eyes flared. It was all too familiar.
“Get up!” Caroline screamed. “You have to hold on! Didn’t I tell you to fucking hold on?!”
As the dizzied boy rolled off his back and sat up, Rock saw the mass of wet sand that matted his hair and clung to his face. It was beginning to make sense why she took her child to the playground in the pouring rain.
A flurry of vicious imagery invaded Rock’s head. He’d never felt such a strong urge to hurt someone. Inflicting violence wasn’t a deed that typically crossed his mind, but he had no control over the psychological jolts.
The terrible things he might do under the right set of circumstances seemed unending. But as attractive as the horrible ideas were, Rock understood they weren’t possible. That dreary day wasn’t about him.
No day was.
Life, and the dynamic between Rock and the pair of strangers he studied, were far more complex than an idea so simple.
“Clean yourself off, now!” Caroline yelled.
She slapped the back of Donnie’s head. The force behind the strike was so hard that sand flew from the boy’s hair. Rock looked away. He couldn’t watch it any longer. Instead, he focused on interrupting it.
Walking toward the swings, he extracted the brochure from his pocket.
