distance, behind a giant green dinosaur slide, a little figure wrapped in
purple swings too high on a swing set. Seized and crippled with hope,
I move on shaky legs in her direction. My hands feel weak, and I’m too
far away to see her, but I hope that she’s smiling. As I get closer, I see her
little white face flash toward me. Undoubtedly, it is splotched with pinks
and purples up close, but from this distance and from the ground it is
perfect. Jamie pumps her legs harder and swings higher the closer I get,
and as my clogs meet the clumpy tanbark that blankets the ground under
the swing set, she lets go of the chains and leaps from the highest arc. She
lands on her feet in the little white sneakers before she crumples and I can
hear my heart beating in my ears. But Jamie, my sweet Jamie, looks up at
me, her big, slow eyes framed by puffed out bags, purple bruises. Stinging
pink lines like fingers snake up her cheek.
“My baby,” I say to her, breathless. And in this moment, I think
that maybe we can be anything we want to be again. Maybe Jamie loves
me in ways she can’t understand, too. Maybe she will come home to me,
and the two of us can start over. Maybe this time we’ll get it right.
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