Page 51 of The Way I Used to Be
“I can’t believe it—I completely forgot about this place, Mara,” I tell her, opening my car door before she’s even come to a complete stop.
I once believed this was the most magical place on the planet. I walk closer. It’s smaller now, it seems, than when we were kids, but still wonderful. The giant wooden playground is what we always called it, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a wooden castle the size of a Hollywood mansion, with towers and bridges and turrets and secret passageways. Elaborate swings in the shape of life-size horses with black rubber saddles.
“I knew you would love this.” Mara trudges up behind me with the beer. “Okay, how many rules are we breaking right now?” she asks as we approach the park-rules sign. “It’s past dusk so the park is officially closed—number one. No smoking—number two. We’re bringing in alcohol, number five, while simultaneously breaking rule number seven—no glass containers. That’s not too bad, actually.” Mara laughs.
We take the wooden drawbridge across the sand moat, climbing to the upper level. We sit down on one of the bridges that connect the two highest towers of the castle. We rest our backs against the wooden slats that form the sides of the bridge, and I look up as our eyes adjust to the star-filled sky.
“Remember how we would beg our parents to bring us here when we were little?” Mara asks, opening a beer for each of us.
“Yeah, and they would always, always say it was too far away! I had no idea how close this place was. It took, what, like fifteen minutes to get here? I always imagined it was hours and hours away!”
“Another lie.” Mara snorts, taking a swig of beer. “Just like Santa, the tooth fairy.” Swig. “Marriage,” she adds, staring into space. “Anyway.” She segues. “Yeah. I had no clue this place still existed—my dad brought me here to practice driving in the parking lot.”
“My parents still won’t even talk about letting me get my learner’s permit. So at least you have your license and a car—they get points for that, right?” I try.
“Whatever.” She shrugs, lighting a cigarette.
I want to remind her of the fact that her parents were never happy. That they made each other miserable—and her, too. That it’s been more than three years. And she needs to accept it. But I know these things are off limits, so I light a cigarette too, and look out over our little kingdom.
“You know, when we were kids I would climb up there”—I point with my bottle—“to the highest tower. Pretend I was some kind of princess. Trapped, waiting,” I tell her, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
She turns and smiles. “Waiting for what?”
“I don’t know. Life to begin? For something to happen!” I shout, hearing my voice echo.
“What are you talking about? We’re still waiting for that!” she shouts back, into the night sky.
“Okay, well, maybe we’re still waiting, but now we’re doing it with a car!” I laugh, raising my beer in the air.
“And alcohol!” Mara shouts, as we clink our bottles together. She falls forward with laughter, her beer sloshing out everywhere. And I laugh along with her, for no reason, louder than I think I’ve ever laughed in my life. Until it feels like my lungs might burst. Until it feels like freedom.
“Hey! Who’s up there?” someone yells from down below. Footsteps crunch through the cedar chips that line the ground, getting closer.
“Shhh-shhh-shhh,” Mara whispers, with her finger across her lips. “Cops?” she asks, turning toward me, her eyes wide with fear.
I press my face against the wooden slats and look down at two shadowy figures, one using his phone as a flashlight. Cops wouldn’t do that. “Not cops—two guys,” I whisper to Mara.
Mara slides up next to me and looks down at them. “Watch,” she whispers. She places two fingertips in the corners of her mouth and lets out the loudest, most eardrum-piercing whistle. I remember the summer when her dad first taught her how to do that, she couldn’t stop—for months, it was her response to any and every situation. Though I’m sure her dad didn’t intend for her to get drunk and trespass and whistle like that at strange guys.
The one with the phone aims the light in our direction. “Who is that?” he shouts.
Mara stands up and leans over the railing, waving her beer in the air, “Up here!” she calls.
“Mara!” I shout, trying to pull her back down. She grabs my arm instead, and pulls me up to my feet.
“Hey, ladies!” the other one yells. “Want some company?”
“Come on up!” Mara yells back.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
“Something is finally happening!” she says under her breath. “Let’s just have fun, okay?”
I bring the bottle to my mouth and finish off half the beer in one gulp. “Okay,” I answer, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. We watch as they climb up the tower to meet us, whispering and laughing, just like we are. Something switches inside of me, in my head and my heart and my stomach—a lightness, a weightlessness takes over me—and I feel the corners of my mouth turn up. “Okay,” I repeat.
Mara repositions her hand on her hip and adjusts her stance a few times, brushing her hair back with the other. As they approach I get a better look. They appear to be our age. Their faces seem soft—unthreatening.
“Hey,” the first one says, pushing his too-long hair behind his ears. “I’m Alex. This is Troy,” he tells us, pointing to the other. Troy raises his hand and says, “Hi.”
