The tears continued falling, and this time when I reached out to touch her, she didn’t brush me away. I slid off of the swing, reached out and swung her off as well. I settled with my back to the brick wall, and my arms around her, watching the tears form a wet spot on my t-shirt. Slowly, her hands climbed up to my neck, and she held herself there, shaking with a pain I didn’t know.

I wasn’t sure how to comfort her, how to console this girl. When her sobs began to subside, I drew her back, looking at me, and asked, “Was it something I said?” She shook her head. The look of strength was gone from her eyes, replaced by vulnerability, and it changed her. She raised a shaking hand, arching her finger towards the slides. “You want to go over there?” She shook her head, harder this time. Her frail body trembled.

“Right there,” she whispered, “by that slide. Right there…he, he’s always there. He waits for me…after school…an he makes me play mommies and daddies with him…but, but I wasn’t s’posed to tell…”