Disclaimer: Not mine.
There's a baseball game, little league, going on over at the field, but I walk past it. Hurts too much to look at it, let alone watch it. There's a playground with swings, a slide and gossiping mothers on park benches, rocking strollers to keep their babies asleep while their elementary school age kids play. Hurts too much to look at them, too. So I keep walking, hands in my pockets, trying to escape the children that surround me.
There's a father and his son playing catch with a football in a clearing, a handful of other boys playing soccer not far from them. Two more mothers power walking with their babies in joggers go past, talking loudly about their husbands and families. I walk off the pavement and onto the dirt, letting it guide me to a lone hill over looking an empty field. But it won't be empty for long, I think as I see a bus drop off a field hockey team. I can't help but give in and watch the girls as they drop their bags on a picnic table and partner up, passing the ball to each other and warming up. Another bus load of girls are dropped off and I see a referee get out of a car in the parking lot.
There's a chair sized rock to the right of me and I walk the couple steps to it and sit down. It's not that comfortable, being a rock, but it'll do. The yells of the girls as they start playing drift up and then the shrill whistle of the ref as a goal is quickly scored. I smile as the other team regroups and goes to it with renewed hope. As absorbed by the game as I am, I don't hear as she comes up behind me.
"There room for two on that rock?"
I close my eyes and move to the side so she can sit down. She's quiet for a while and by looking at her out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she's watching the game below as well. There's a sharp intake of breath as two of the girls collide, sending both to the ground and the ref and coaches running out. After making sure they're all right, the two teams cheer and resume playing as the ref blows on his whistle again. As the teams go over to the benches for a break, she finally talks again.
"Elliot called, said Jimmy's gonna make it."
I nod, words getting stuck in my throat.
"How about you? Gonna be all right?"
I don't move, don't say anything. I can't answer her because I don't know. The truth is, I never know if I'm going to be fine after any case. It's hit and miss, shooting blind.
The game resumes below us, but I can't concentrate as before because I can feel her watching me, almost see her out of the corner of my eye. "Don't you have someplace to be?" I don't mean it to sound rude or anything, I just rather be alone now.
"Yes." But she makes no move to leave.
"And where might that be?" I'm nudging her gently, trying to get her to leave.I came here to escape, yet she follows me.
She's quiet for a moment, her eyes turned back towards the game. "Here."
I look at her, seeing a woman, a friend, and not a cop. Seeing someone who actually gives a damn, who cares. Far away, the dim sound of a whistle signals a penalty and she looks back at me. Holding my gaze, her hand slips into mine and squeezes gently. I squeeze back as I remember something.
"You know, they say you can tell a lot about a person from their hands."