It was cold when Emma and her brother Michael arrived at the park. The sun was about to sink below the horizon and the wind had picked up so it nipped their faces. The playground was completely deserted, and the snow on the ground made it seem more barren. Emma pulled her hat down to cover her ears as the wind blew in her face.
Michael looked up at her with a sour expression. "Cold," he said, wrapping his arms around himself.
Emma bent down and straightened his jacket. "I'm sorry, Mike, I know. We can go home when Dad calms down a bit, okay?"
Michael nodded his head. "Swing?" he asked.
Emma smiled and nodded. "Sure, Mike. I'll push you." She let him pull her in the direction of the swing set. It had only two seats, each a bright cherry red and hanging by two rusty chains. The ground underneath them was muddy from the constant kicking of children.
Michael brushed some snow off of one swing and settled on top of it. "Push," he said.
Emma chuckled and started to gently push him. Michael giggled as he started to gain momentum, swinging higher and higher so he could see above the entire playground. It wasn't very big or extravagant; it had a swing set, a see-saw, a sandbox that was filled with dirt and bacteria from random strangers, and a faded merry-go-round. Several trees surrounded the playground, all dead and sinister from winter's curse. The wind continued to pick up as it grew darker. The sky was now a grayish-pink color, so she knew the streetlamps would turn on soon.
As she continued to push Michael, Emma caught something out of the corner of her eye. There was a thick tree several feet away, and behind it she spotted someone watching them. She saw red hair, a patchy wool coat, and a book bag resting over one shoulder. The person looked around the tree and Emma saw who it was.
It was Walter, her neighbor from across the street. She had seen him a few times outside his house, walking around aimlessly and staring at the ground. She knew he lived with his mother and he was an only child. He was her age and they went to the same school, but other than that she knew nothing about him. She assumed he knew that she saw him, but he continued to stare. Emma turned her attention back to Michael, who hadn't noticed the unexpected visitor. She still felt his gaze on them, and she didn't want to be rude.
"Hey, Walter?" she called. He flinched, but he didn't respond. "That's your name, right? Do you want to join us?"
He took a hesitant step out from behind the tree, gripping his book bag tighter. Emma waited patiently for him to come closer, but he looked…afraid. She decided to try to talk to him a bit, and if he still didn't want to speak, then that was fine with her. "What are you doing out here, anyway?" Walter looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. "It's cold. Your mother must be worried about you."
"Doubt it," he mumbled. He looked back up and slowly made his way to her and Michael. "Too busy to care." He stopped and leaned against one of the swing set poles.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked, pushing Michael again.
"No. Cold doesn't bother me," he glanced up at her. His expression was blank, as if he were a robot.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I've never really introduced myself," she started.
"No need. Emma Jones. Lives across the street with alcoholic father and brother."
"You're right," she said hesitantly. A moment later, she said, "You know, it's kind of weird. We've lived across the street from each other for years and we've never formally met."
"I guess," he looked down at his shoes. The wind picked up again, but this breeze was stronger than the last. Emma looked up and saw that all the streetlamps were on.
"We should probably go back inside," she said, grabbing for Michael's swing. "It's getting late." When Michael got off of his swing, he saw Walter and quickly looked up at Emma.
"Who that?" he pointed at Walter, who was looking at him like he was a specimen under a microscope.
"This is Walter Kovacs, Mike. He lives across the street from us, remember?" she took Michael's hand.
"Oh. Hi, Walter," he smiled.
Walter nodded his head. "Michael."
"We should be getting back. Will you walk with us?" she asked Walter.
He looked unsure of what to do, but then he reluctantly nodded his head and said, "Sure."
The three of them walked in silence back to their neighborhood. The houses were dead quiet, which was a rare thing since somebody was either fighting or drinking or causing trouble. Emma glanced at Walter a few times, but he was scanning the area around him, like he was a cop or something. When they arrived at their houses, Emma turned to Walter and said, "It was nice talking to you, Walter. I hope we can do this again soon."
Walter simply said, "Nice meeting you, Emma Jones. Stay safe, you and Michael." With those parting words, he turned his back on them and walked across the street towards his house. Emma looked up at where he lived and saw the silhouette of what she assumed was his mother on the top floor. When Walter went inside, she picked Michael up and together they went back into their house.