Greynold's Park: A Short Story

I always sat on a bench by the back entrance of Greynolds Park, the entrance by the broken railroad. After a while, I got comfortable with the railroad. After Physics tutoring, I would go to the railroad tracks for some alone time. I would walk along the remnants of the tracks like a gymnast on a balance beam and skip rocks into the water below. It’s a wonder why I didn’t climb down to explore never-ventured-before space, I was a risk-taker. I ran up to the bench one day and looking out by the railroad I saw big yellow construction vehicles. It’s all over, I thought. So I sat on the bench and took it all in. The wood on the bench slightly splintering at the edges, the moss around the rocks at the edge of the creek, the vines swaying on the

I remember the smell of murky water, almost like sulfur, but if I gazed at the sky long enough I would smell nothing but clean air. I would crouch by the creek and dip my fingers into the cold water and even colder dirt, but a warm breeze always found its way to me. It felt like laying in a clean pile of fresh laundry. If I sat still and silent long enough, little tiny crabs would crawl around on the surface. The tiniest flinch or twitch would send them into their burrowed holes. The trees with their vines swaying in the wind resembled the willow in the Harry Potter series. This was my new attraction. I climbed these trees several times, each time from a different side. Every time, I would go up a different course and discover a new feeling of fright. Sometimes my foot would slip, sometimes I would be left hanging by my arms like a monkey who hasn’t perfected the swing yet, and sometimes I would climb too high and feel completely stuck. No matter what, I would always find my way down. I would sit there for a while and eat Asian pears as if I scheduled a picnic for ten. Every once in a while I still smell those