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Enough.
Please, no more thinking or psychology. Don’t get me started and don’t question me. I’m done.
No more analyzing.
No more comparing.
The decision stands as is.
Back to the real world.
Sarah is in control.
I must stop wasting time. The baking pan has soaked long enough in the sink. Back to something simple like getting burnt cheese off a stubborn dish. Next time, I’ll remember to spray a heavy dose of Pam on the sides of the pan.
The girls continue to swing back and forth on the swing set, back and forth. Based on the gently swaying leaves of a nearby maple tree, there is a light breeze.
Giggling.
Swinging back and forth.
Laughing.
They seem so carefree.
I study them further as I lift the sink’s plug and let the lukewarm water run out. I’ve noticed both girls in the building’s compound a couple of times. Both Latinas have dark brown hair. The older one looks about eight years old. Darling. The other has shorter, wavy hair and looks related, but a few years younger. Cute kids with matching dimples when they smile. One is wearing a red polka-dot dress that reminds me of when Silvia and I used to watch those old Shirley Temple movies when we stayed home sick from school. I don’t know who the girls’ parents are. The children are enjoying themselves. They look safe, with no one else in view or bothering them.
The older girl is tilting her head back as far as she can, looking upward as she jets her feet outward on the upswing, like she’s flying upside down.
On the windowsill sits Denny’s gift of white tulips for our anniversary last week. In my grandmom’s cherished crystal vase, they look a little droopy. I carefully water them and return the vase to its place of honor. I look back at the girls again, reminiscing how freeing swinging felt as a kid—a time when COVID didn’t exist, and unwatched kids weren’t abducted like sometimes they are nowadays. If I had a child and that happened, the fear would be unimaginable.
I bend down and open the cupboard below the sink. I move the dishwashing detergent to the side to retrieve a pot-scrubbing brush that sits in an old bowl at the back of the cabinet.
***
What was that?
What an odd noise.
Not a yell or a scream, not a siren, not a horn blaring.
Like a shout.
A weird sound, a noise I’ve never heard in my life.
Did you hear it? A strange sound—a booming voice, maybe?
What do you think it could be? Have you ever heard anything like it?
A noise I can’t describe. Like a word, but not. Several sounded syllables, you think? No. Short, noticeably short sounds, as if several are put together at once. Similar to music—a trumpet sound?
Encompassing everything, but not.
An eerie, weird sound. I hear and feel it inside my body.
What a peculiar noise.
Can’t exactly figure it out. Can you?
Like a word, a shout, and a trumpet—all three sounds at once.
Do you know what it is? Can you explain that sound or sounds? Surely you heard it. How would you describe it?
Unique.
Surreal.
I feel a sharp twinge in my gut.
***
I stand back up with the brush in my hand.
My eyes gravitate to the window again.
The two little girls are gone.
Only two swings are swaying.
Empty.
How weird.
Where did the girls go?
Did you see them leave?
Did they jump off the swing and run over to another section of the complex? Run that fast, in the time it took me to duck down and come back up? No way. I peer down the sidewalk to the right. Look to the left. Nothing. No one. Did our security camera by the front door catch something?
No child or adult can move that fast.
I notice a few articles of clothing flittering away near the swings, moving out of my view.
Looks like a dress, maybe some underwear.
Wasn’t one of the girls wearing that red polka-dotted outfit?
My eyes search the lawn for more clothing. There, by the jungle gym, another piece. A shirt.
I scan back to the swings, still moving back and forth, empty. Not as hard as before, tapering down, slower and slower.
After putting the brush down in the sink, I move the vase of flowers farther over to the right. I try to look past the playground to an access street and empty field, but see no movement, no cars, no people.
Haphazardly strewn in the sand are two pairs of shoes. A sock or two here and there, tossed about randomly.
Weird.
Dennis? I want to say his name aloud, but something stops me.
I hear a dog barking in the distance.
Off to the right through the window, I see a lady who’s down the sidewalk, in full view of the playground, running toward it, screaming.
“Carmen! Alesha! Where are you?” she wails in a horror-filled tone as her hands hold her cheeks in shock.
Where are they?
Where did they go?
I’m at a loss for words.
Do you see them anywhere?