Field 2

A story about two people in a field with some equipment.

In the middle of the field there is a small playground. A swing set with three swings and two broken chains hanging where a fourth used to be. A small merry-go-round, unpainted. A metal slide, also unpainted, the kind that can cook burns on the skin when allowed the heat of a summer sun, which this slide never has been. It’s still early morning, and the light is thin and gray. Away at its edges, slabs of fog press up against high chain link fences, and do not pass them. Barr, who is naked, sits at the top of the slide, knees drawn up towards his chest. Remm, wearing a beige smock, stands a little away and watches him.

“…that was a bad time in my life,” Barr is saying. “I was doing the stuff almost every day, just totally fucking up my brain. I don’t even know what I was doing most of the time. I mean, I remember it, mostly, but that whole year just didn’t feel real, like it was happening to someone else. And every week they would come back and ask me more questions. And I just didn’t know what to say to them. I didn’t even know what to say to myself.”

Remm listens, impassive. Barr unlocks his knees and pushes off. The metal is slick with morning condensation, and he slides easily. It takes no real time to reach the bottom. It barely even happens. On the way, he keeps his testicles gathered in one hand, to ensure they don’t catch and get dragged under him. Most likely, an unnecessary precaution.

“Hey,” says Remm. “I told you not to do that.”