[ WP ] A man pushes an empty swing .

I was about to say something, to ask him to come inside, but the words caught in my throat. I struggled to swallow but could n't. Something would n't let me, like I had a fish bone stuck in the back of my mouth and I could n't mind-over-matter myself into swallowing it down. The autumn wind picked up and I wondered whether it would stir him, if the chill might snap him to attention. But nothing changed. 
 
 `` How long has he been out here?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Less than half an hour,'' the orderly replied. `` We managed to get his attention a couple of times, but he says he's busy and we would rather he came in of his own accord instead of trying to move him.'' She hesitated. `` He... he said he would come inside when you were ready.'' 
 
 `` Oh,'' I replied. I thought a moment. `` Has he said anything else?'' 
 
 `` We tried to tell him that it was time to come inside, that you had had enough, but he just said you could play as long as you wanted to, because it's your birthday.'' 
 
 `` Oh,'' I said again, feeling like an idiot. I could n't think of anything to say. Vaguely, I wondered if that's why they called it,'dumb.' `` Well, thanks for calling me.'' 
 
 `` No, thank you for coming. We're so sorry to have bothered you, but since he mentioned you by name, we thought you might have better luck. ” 
 
 `` It's no trouble at all,'' I answered, finding more of my voice. It really was n't. I lived just a few minutes away, down Lesperance. Over the train tracks and a left around the elbow and there you go, Home away from home. It was one of the reasons why I picked this place. Well, why he did, I guess. 
 
 He did n't have to come here. I tried to tell him, Dad, money is n't a problem. Do n't worry about it. You could go to OakWood. It's not that much farther and you have friends there. 
 
 “ Pfft, who? ” I could hear his voice, derisive and stubborn, standing there on the edge of the schoolyard. I can still hear it now. 
 
 “ Well, there ’ s Rick Thibert and Trudy Beekman and Dave St. Pierre- “ 
 
 “ Dave St. Pierre isn ’ t a friend. He stole my fiancee. ” 
 
 “ Dad, that was forty years ago, ” I complained. Exasperated. Tired. “ It doesn ’ t have to be Oakwood but it could still be someplace *nice*. ” 
 
 But he would n't hear it. One of the orderlies had been fired in the last year for mistreating some of the patients, complaining about them within earshot and taking too long to respond to emergency calls. *How could I sleep in a place like that? * I remembered the pitch of his voice rising, syllables dropping from his words or scratching out in a rasp, like it stretched the mind beyond its natural limits to even consider such an option. Never mind that Famille had caught one its employees skimming prescriptions to sell to Americans in the last six months, or that it was seriously in danger of losing its license because it barely met the province's regulations. 
 
 No, he needed to be near me. He wouldn ’ t say it, but I knew that was why he was so set on here. Because it was close enough to be *there. * Eventually, I gave in. Standing in the no man ’ s land between the school and the home, on the edge of two properties that, I thought, couldn ’ t be less alike, I was glad he had won. I suppose I had to be for the both of us. 
 
 “ Would you prefer to go alone, or…? ” I snapped out of my own thoughts and returned my attention to the woman next to me. She had a round, pleasant face and curly, cascading hair. Her eyes were a rich, earthy brown that nearly matched her skin. She wasn ’ t quite beautiful, but she was pretty in a very natural way. The kind of pretty where you know, rationally, that she must have some makeup on, but don ’ t believe that she does. You just picture her waking up and walking out the door, totally comfortable in her mostly smooth skin. As if she knew she had nobody to impress, so she didn ’ t try, and that made her all the more appealing. 
 
 “ I think I ’ ll go talk to him myself, ” I said. The discomfort of the situation was seeping back into my brain from the sides, like fog creeping up to a county road from the surrounding field. I didn ’ t see how she could help but, despite the privacy of my struggle, it was comforting to know someone else was with me. “ I… don ’ t know how it ’ ll go. I might be a while. You could go inside if you want. ” Don ’ t. 
 
 “ I ’ ll just wait here in case you need me, ” she replied. “ Just wave or call me over. My name is Johanna. ” 
 
 Johanna. I pocketed the name like a beautiful stone and walked forward. I had to walk through a soccer field to get to the swing set. There were larger swings inside the fence of the schoolyard, but this field had a smaller one which might have been for babies and smaller siblings of the children who played here after school. I had a funny feeling, then, as I walked across the fields, as if I were surrounded by their ghosts as they played, completely oblivious of the stranger rudely interrupting their game. I could hear the shouting and whistles and ragged breathing that would inhabit this field in the warmer months. For now, though, there was only the faint, regular creak of the swing. 
 
 I walked on. 
 
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 I want to continue this story but writing it is going slow and I have to eat. Will come back to it later. Love the prompt and the other comments so far!
