Autumn Swing

The November air was making her pull her sweater tight, and hide her hands in her sleeves to escape the chill that was running up her spine. The sky was completely black save for the few stars that was peaking out from behind the clouds. There was that breeze again, shivering; autumn had finally set in. The trees were nearly bare now; the orange and red leaves were blanketing the ground signaling the change in the weather, and a change in her life. Closing her eyes, sitting down and swinging back and forth, back and forth on the old porch swing. Swinging, she listens. It is quiet, but she was listening to the sounds of fall. Her little sister is inside reading a story to dolls, to dark and cold to be outside playing. The grey and brown squirrels crushing and crunching the leaves as they scurry across the leaves and up the tree looking for nuts trying to prepare for the looming winter. The world is slowing down; she listened. The metal chain dangling hits the frame making a steady rhythm. Dragging her foot on the ground causing the fragile leaves to crunch and crackle under her tennis shoe, kicking them in the air on the down swing and she watches them swirl in a flurry of golden colors to the ground. Tapping fingers to the beat of the chain on the weathered wooden arm of the swing. It all becomes a song and dance, swing, clang, tap, crunch, and kick, swing, clang, tap, crunch, and kick. She stops swinging and looks around, taking a deep breath, smelling her neighbor's fireplace – the smell of autumn signaling winter. Almost tasting the first snowflakes, it won't be long now. Swinging some more, back and forth, back and forth, swing, clang, tap, crunch, and kick, just trying to waste time.

Finally, facing the inevitable standing up, and walking across the yard leaves crunching beneath her old grey tennis shoes. Walking methodically across the street, heart pounding in her chest. Carefully brushing wild hair behind her left ear, walking across his yard. Carefully tugging at her thin grey sweater, assuring herself that she looks just right.

She sighs, here goes nothing, and she knocks on the door. "We need to talk," she blurts out as soon as she sees him through the now opened door. Urgently pulling him onto the front porch, and walking to the old wooden bench, she flinches when she hears the screen door slam shut. She pulls him down next to her on the bench. Again she starts, "we need to talk..."

Looking up at his broken green eyes, and having no reason to say anything more. Leaning over and hugging him tighter than ever before then kissing him goodbye. Leaving the familiar taste of peppermint lip-gloss on his lips, and walking away - defeated. Walking back across the street. The sound of the leaves crunching beneath her old tennis shoes now seemed to echo down the whole street. Sitting back down on the swing, and looking over at his house. He was still sitting there on that bench looking at the ground. Not swinging this time, pulling knees to chest and wrapping her sweater tight, a sweater that now smelled of his cologne, she cried. Her body shook, salted tears running endless from her eyes she was a mess. She hurt. The air felt like shards of glass with every measured breath. Every muscle tense-it was impossible to relax. Her head ached from crying, from thinking if she made the right decision, from remembering every detail of the past three years. Crying until there were no more tears, until there was just silence. Begining to rock back and forth on the swing, letting the lullaby of the chain soothe her. Then she heard it, the leaves began to crunch, and the swing began to move, and then there was an arm around her shoulder...


***From the middle of a short fiction piece that I am currently seeking to publish.