A Walk in the Woods

At first, Ava entered the woods with caution, careful to step around deer droppings and anxiously scanning the path for muddy spots. But, the ground still hard from the last of winter’s grip, there weren’t either. The only contact her clean white shoes made was with the dead brown leaves that crunched and crinkled beneath.

She wasn’t used to the woods, even the parks back in Los Angeles seemed strange and unnatural. But here, in backwoods Indiana, her grandpa’s heavily wooded acreage was a source of measureless curiosity as well as distraction. The needled limbs of the pines, stretching first upward, then out, then down, were the only trees with any green left on them in the transition between winter and spring. The now naked fingers of cottonwoods and oaks, covered only by thin cracked layers of bark, that had once sheltered the forest in a canopy of green illuminated by the sun. If she’d been one of those fanciful teenagers, she might’ve thought the forest was magical. But Ava—although curious—didn’t truly grasp much more than dry bark and dead leaves.

The forest did serve an important purpose, however, one that she didn’t consciously admit. Ever since she’d been between her parents, like some rag-doll being torn as they each demanded she move this way or that way, her mind had begun to work differently. School had become less interesting, the cliques and meaningless gossip all gray in comparison to the crimson shadow that now loomed over her life. Trees and leaves, even if they were dead, were clean departures from cold metal chairs and paper-thin walls. But of course, she’d never admit that to herself or anyone else. A seventeen-year-old doesn’t need two parents, she doesn’t even need one. Once she escaped to college, everything would change. Mom and dad wouldn’t be the pitfalls blocking her way anymore, they’d be puddles, shallow and reflective only of a different time in her life. But again, she’d never admit to any of these deeper feelings. Not to her parents, her friends, or her grandpa.

At first, she’d been disappointed to leave home to stay with grandpa. She hated moving, and although this was temporary, it felt like moving. But now that her classes were all online, it wasn’t like the other moves. She didn’t have to find a new school, new friends, or new places to be alone. So it was alright, for the most part. She wasn’t too sure about grandpa, though. She’d met him once or twice a year at family get-togethers, but didn’t really know him enough to feel normal around him. But she had decided to just be herself, she didn’t have to prove anything to him after all.

“Hiya cookie,” he said cheerily after she came in from her walk.

“Hi grandpa,” she replied, unsure how or where he had thought up the nickname.

“See any turkeys out there?”

“No,” she answered, “I didn’t know there were any.”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, his wrinkled brows lowering in sincerity. “Great big ones,” he held out his arms to give her an idea of just how large they were. “Usually see ‘em this time of year.”

She nodded, and then they both stood somewhat awkwardly. She’d only been with him for two days so far, so neither of them had really gotten used to one another yet.

“Well hey,” he began, putting his hands in his jean pockets, “there’s an old ice-cream parlor downtown, I was wondering if you’d wanna go later today.”

She was about to decline, and he saw it, so he continued.

“It’s real vintage, full of old pictures and neat little trinkets. I heard somewhere that young people are interested in that kind of stuff.”

“I’m not really a hipster, grandpa,” Ava said with a smile, partially out of politeness and partially due to his knowledge of ‘young people’.

“What’s a hipster?” he asked, his eyes growing wide for a moment.

“It’s—” she paused, seeing that he would be more confused by an explanation. “Never mind.”

“So you wanna go?” he asked again, his eyes returning to their usual state of confident optimism.

“Sure,” Ava yielded. It was a nice gesture, and he was clearly excited about it. It wouldn’t hurt to go, and it might help things feel a bit more normal.

“Great!” he said, pumping his fist a moment as if he’d hit it big on an investment. That was what her dad used to do whenever he did.

The ice-cream parlor was pretty much how grandpa had explained it: real vintage. On the way there, Ava learned that it had been around since grandpa was young, although it had looked much different of course, and had been a favorite spot of her dad’s. This detail interested her, although she made no request for elaboration. Grandpa didn’t talk too much about her dad’s connection to it, and Ava assumed he was like most of the other adults were when they were around her: cautious and eager to avoid the topic. She didn’t have a problem talking about it, most of the people she knew at school whose parents were divorced didn’t mind talking about it. It was jut life to them, it happened and they moved on. For some reason, adults saw it differently, like it was somehow tearing her apart. Ava hated that view, and rejected it whenever possible. Although she would never admit it, that kind of talk made her feel small and fragile.

“Okeedoke,” grandpa said as they stood back a distance, studying the menu above the counter. “You know what you’re getting? I never know what to get,” he said after a moment.

“I’ll probably get the triple chocolate,” she answered.

“Ah,” he nodded, “that’s what your grandma used to get. Although she’d get it with a dollop of whipped cream on top.”

Ava nodded again, not sure whether to respond or not.

“You know, you’re dad never had any trouble ordering either,” he continued, no doubt to the frustration of the cashier, who stood watching patiently. “It was like he was thinking about it on the way over.”

He did always have a quick response, Ava recalled. It seemed like no one, not her mom and not herself, could ask a question he didn’t have an answer to. It wasn’t always the right answer, of course.

“Okay,” he finally said, and stepped toward the cashier. “I’ll have a scoop of mint chip and a scoop of chocolate mocha.” The cashier moved to the ice cream tubs, quickly scooped out the order, and then returned to the counter.

“One scoop of triple chocolate,” Ava said, with the same confident air she did when she ordered coffee.

“Add a dollop of whipped cream on there,” grandpa quickly added. He then turned back and winked at Ava.

When they sat down with their ice-cream, there was a moment of silence as they both ate.

“How you like the whipped cream?” grandpa asked after he noticed Ava was nearly finished.

“It’s good,” she answered, nodding slightly. It had been good, and she was glad he’d added it.

“You are your grandma’s granddaughter,” he chuckled victoriously. “And nothing will change that,” he then added.

Ava wasn’t sure exactly what he meant with his last comment, but didn’t feel the need to ask.

“You know,” he continued, having finished the mint and now starting on the chocolate mocha. “That woods is a real special place.”

Ava didn’t ask why, she had the feeling he would tell her without her asking.

“For a whole bunch of reasons.”

“Like what?” she said, deciding to indulge his desire to share his knowledge. It was the decent thing to do after he’d bought her ice-cream.

“Well I’m glad you asked,” he said, as if she hadn’t known he would have told her anyway. “It’s where your dad proposed, that’s probably one of the biggest reasons.”

This answer shocked and stunned Ava. She’d been expecting something about the wildlife in the woods, or maybe that it was a peaceful spot to think. But this answer felt raw and strangely honest. It confronted her in a way that every other adult seemed too scared to, and left her motionless.

Grandpa didn’t expound, he didn’t tell her it was going to be okay, and he didn’t purse his lips in one of those sympathetic expressions she’d seen countless times. Instead, he scraped away at the last of his ice-cream, thoroughly enjoying each spoonful.

“You ready to go?” he then said, after he’d finished.

“Uh,” she shook herself a moment, stepping out of her bewilderment, “yeah.”

The two got back into grandpa’s truck and made their way out of town. As she rode, as the town faded away into cornfields and patches of forests, Ava felt that she needed to ask something, and that she didn’t care what it made him think.

“Why’d he propose in the woods?”

This time, the question seemed to catch grandpa off guard, and it took him a moment to answer. When he did, it was after a short chuckle.

“Your dad was always a bit of a romantic,” he began, and then quickly added, “although he’d never admit that. Yeah, he thought the world of that forest. He grew up more there than he did in the house,” he paused for a reminiscent chuckle. “So I guess it made sense he’d propose in one of the places that meant the most to him.”

“What about mom,” Ava asked, “didn’t she think it was weird to propose in the woods?”

“Weird?” Grandpa squinted and scoffed at the notion. “I don’t see what’s so weird about it, and I don’t think your mom did either.” He then continued with a more thoughtful—yet not somber—tone. “Your mom and dad dated through high school, and the woods was a place they went pretty often. Your grandma was pretty careful with the two of them,” he added, “she didn’t want them to fool around or get themselves into any trouble, so she did her best to make sure your dad didn’t take her too far from where she could see.” Grandpa then paused a moment, as if his mind had switched to grandma. He continued shortly. “So yeah, your mom liked the woods too.”

“Did grandma?” Ava asked, turning the conversation away from herself and to something that seemed sensitive toward him.

“You know,” grandpa chuckled again, “at first she hated it. She always said this place was too far out in the boonies for her. But over time she got used to it and I think by the end she liked it even more than I did.”

Ava turned her eyes to the road. The woods was suddenly a place of much more interest, there was much more than bark and leaves in it. She felt a newfound desire to step into the woods, to uncover the memories within. Of course, it wasn’t so she could understand things better, that was another thing the adults were always saying she needed. It was just curiosity.

For the next week, Ava took daily walks in the woods. Online school gave her a lot more free time, so she was finished with that pretty early every day. Grandpa was much more active than she thought he would be, and wasn’t always hanging around wanting to do things with her like she’d been afraid he would. She liked having free time, and as much as she missed her friends, she liked having alone time. She never would have admitted that she wanted it, and she certainly wouldn’t say that she needed it, but it gave her a subconscious peace. It seemed to sneak in and spread throughout her, just like the brown vines stretching up the thick and powerful trees. Just like the thin, almost unnoticeable strips of thorn plants that hid beside trees and larger plants.

And although she wouldn’t admit it, she had a desire to find the exact spot her dad had proposed at. She didn’t dare ask grandpa, if she did he’d likely get all sincere and sensitive like the other adults did when she made a comment related to her parents’ relationship. Instead, she looked for the small things that they might have left: a heart and initials etched into a tree, maybe a small bench—something to give that place value.

But the woods was much bigger than it looked from the outside, and the trails seemed to go on forever. Ava had lots of time to walk them, but wasn’t noticing anything that stood out. Maybe the spot wasn’t as important, maybe it was just like what the moment had become: a distant memory of a more simple time. Maybe there really wasn’t much value in the place, or in what was done there. It had been forgotten pretty suddenly, after all. At least, it all seemed sudden. The adults, particularly her parents, always said that this had been coming for a while. They said things—whatever ‘things’ means—were escalating and this is just the last 'thing'. Didn’t really matter that much.

She did find one thing in the woods. It was a little startling the first time she saw it, and she hadn’t gone too close until the third time taking that path. It was an old swing set, fully rusted over years and years of exposure to the elements. Ava thought it looked a little creepy standing off the path, simply another part of the forest now. It was forgotten, abandoned, and left to decay.

When she did observe it closer, Ava saw that it had only two swings. Only one of them was still fully intact, one side of the other having lost its connection to the chain, which now hung loosely in the air. It was strange, and Ava wondered if someone had broken the one swing, or if it had just fallen as it was worn down. She wondered if the other one would break if she sat on it.

She nudged the working swing with her foot, watching as it swung backward and then forward. To her surprise, it didn’t creak or wine, as most rusty things do. It was almost like it was too rusted to manage it, like all it could do was swing for what little time it had left before it too fell. The silence was disturbing. It should have made a sound, it would have made the swing set feel more natural, it would have let her forget it easier.

Instead, it followed her after she left the forest. It followed as she interacted with grandpa, and it followed her as she pulled the covers around her at night. It followed into her dreams, where it slowly rocked, empty and silent next to the severed chains of the swing beside it. There was never anyone swinging, and, upon waking, Ava wondered who had swung on it. Her dad probably had, no doubt beside her mom. Did grandma and grandpa? She pushed aside the thoughts while she focused on homework, but they picked up afterward until she decided to talk to grandpa about it.

As casually as she could, Ava brought it up one evening.

“I noticed there was an old swing set out there,” she said as they were eating dinner.

He received the information quite simply, nodding and finishing chewing before answering.

“Yep,” he said, “I put that up before your dad was born. Actually—” he thought a moment, “it might have been soon after we first got the house.” He thought a moment longer, long enough to make Ava think he was delving into a deeper memory. He finally shook his head and concluded with, “I can’t remember exactly when. A long time ago.”

Ava was frustrated that he hadn’t given any detail on it, anything to hint at the deeper purpose it had to hold. She didn’t consider that it may have simply been a swing set, with no deeper connection. But she was curious enough to continue the conversation.

“One of the swings is broken,” she said, hoping that it would tie back to a story or hidden memory.

“Oh is it?” he asked as he loaded his plate with a second scoop of peas. “Hope you didn’t try to sit on the other one.”

Of course she hadn’t, Ava knew better than that.

“It’s pretty rusted,” she added, knowing that it was a dumb response. But she felt that simple details might get his brain going, that they might jog some memory.

“You’re pretty interested in that swing set, aren’t you?” he said with a smile, “want me to build you another one out there?”

“No, but thanks,” she answered, appreciating the gesture but annoyed that she hadn’t been able to draw anything out of him.

She slept uneasily that night, contemplating whether she’d been silly in thinking there was some deep emotion tied to the swing set. Maybe it was just a plain old swing set.

During the next walk, she avoided the swing set. It was only distracting and confusing her, not that she had any deeper reason for walking in the woods, of course.

Her alternate route was rewarded with a new artifact. Her eyes, pinned on the ground to avoid stepping in deer droppings, came upon a red object partially hidden beneath a leaf. She stopped, lowered her brow, and then moved the leaf with her foot. She lowered to her haunches to get a better look at it and discovered that it was a shotgun shell. Its red capsule was still full, the miniature beads patiently waiting to be scattered out of it. The golden cap, now rusted and dirty, was untouched by the hammer that would have struck it and initiated an explosion. Ava reached down and picked it up.

To her knowledge, grandpa didn’t have any guns. Although, if he did, he might not necessarily show them off. A lot of people in the country had guns, at least, that was what she’d always heard. Maybe they didn’t. But someone had to. She put it in her pocket, wondering if her dad had been a hunter when he was younger. Maybe mom had been too. Maybe they went hunting together. But maybe it was grandpa and grandma too. Or it could've just been some random hunter, crossing through grandpa's woods.

It didn’t really matter, at least, it shouldn’t have really mattered, but Ava was reminded of the swing set. Both objects were discarded and forgotten, once used by someone but now left in the forest to decay. Ava was intrigued by them, and couldn’t get them out of her thoughts.

What made it worse was that grandpa talked so little of the woods, this place where significance seemed to be growing despite dead trees and leaves. When he did talk about it, it wasn’t the kind of information Ava wanted. He talked about simple times, factual information, and never seemed to let loose the emotion that Ava felt was connected to it. So, disgruntled but far too curious to stop, her mind continued to live in the forest.

“Soon it’ll all turn green,” grandpa said after noticing Ava staring out the window at the brown woods. She turned quickly, almost as if she didn’t want him to know how heavily she was fixated on the woods. “Yep,” he continued. “Then the crunchy leaves will be gone, and the bugs will start being a nuisance again.”

Ava considered his comment, but couldn’t find any hidden meaning other than the natural change of seasons. But this change stuck with her throughout the day, and at dinner, she mustered the courage to ask a question that she felt might be delicate.

“How do you feel about all this?” she asked. It felt like a very grown-up question, almost like she had moved on and was in a position to consider how other people were impacted by her parents.

“About what?” he replied, as if he didn’t know.

“Dad and mom,” Ava clarified, somewhat frustrated that he didn’t leap on the topic as she had expected. “Especially dad,” she added, cutting right to the root this time.

He thought a moment, chewing the last bits of his food carefully, as if it aided his contemplation. When he answered, he was much more factual and removed than she thought he’d be.

“At first I was mad,” he began, giving her a very serious look. Ava liked it, it made her feel like she was his equal, that they were on the same level. “I mean, your grandma and me, we raised him and taught him best we knew how. After he married, had you, and things went on so well, we were proud of him.” He paused, and then added, “I was proud of him. He was his own man, and he’d found a special woman and made a family. Every dad wants that for his son.” Ava watched carefully as grandpa lowered his head a bit and turned his eyes to the empty plate before him. Here it was, she thought, here’s where he would finally get to something real. “I still can’t understand how he could just give up like he’s doing. I mean, he and Melissa were so happy when they were younger,” he then looked up, and Ava saw slight traces of tears in his eyes. “Your grandma,” he paused and averted his eyes again. “When they were dating and things got more serious, she said,” and now his voice quivered a moment, “she said—and I’ll never forget this—‘I am proud to have raised that boy,’ she said. ‘Because he is a good man, he will take care of that dear girl and they will be the most beautiful family you’ve ever seen,’ she said.”

There was a long moment of silence, and, although Ava would never admit it, her heart began to race and tears began to well in her eyes. Grandpa made a quick chuckle and sniffled once.

“And you know, that’s what they were until she died,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad she didn’t see this part, it would’ve broken her heart.”

Ava wanted to ask if he’d ever be able to forgive her dad, but she knew that her voice would let out the tremor she was feeling inside. So she didn’t, she pushed her question underneath her skin and sat in silence.

“Look what you’ve done,” grandpa chuckled, “you’ve gone and made a mess of me.”

He didn’t ask how she felt about it then, and Ava wondered if she wanted him to. For the first time, she almost felt like saying something, like asking him to ask her how she felt. But she didn’t. She reminded herself that she was as grown up as her parents, this was all a natural part of life, and she would be fine. Just like they said she would be.

As she went to sleep that night, her face turned to the starry night through her window, she felt warm tears inch out of her eyes. How she’d let them through she didn’t know and quickly wiped them away. The clouds crept away to reveal the pale moon, solitary in the black sky, separate even from the stars.

With the morning, Ava expected to wake to a fresh start, removed from the previous night’s emotions and the image of grandpa’s surrender. Instead, she woke up and saw the dried stains of her tears on the pillow. She turned it over and got out of bed to start the day.

One of the things she noticed the most about the country was the morning sounds. In the city, sirens, people, cars, and everything apart from nature tore through an open window. But here, surrounded by trees, nature entered softly, like a still breeze. Birds chirped politely, not obnoxiously but loud enough to be heard, and the leaves and branches of trees rustled up against one another like they were shaking and stretching from a long night’s sleep.

But this morning, the sounds seemed less impressive. Ava heard a crow in the distance, cawing obnoxiously and drowning out the quaint morning birds that usually welcomed the sun. No breeze stirred the trees; they looked much more dead than they ever had, branches plastered tightly to a pale canvas.

Nothing seemed the same, and Ava wondered if it had been that way for a while now. Looking in the mirror as she got ready, she was intrigued by her reflection. The girl, the woman, standing in front of her was different than the one she thought she was. Or maybe, she was different than the one who had cried herself to sleep. She was different than something that she was supposed to be, that much Ava was certain of. She didn’t like looking at her, she didn’t like the eyes that seemed hidden behind scales of bland indifference. Those were the same eyes she saw in her parents, and she realized now how much she hated them.

But things were the same, she reminded herself. What her parents did wouldn’t affect who she was. She existed apart from them, they didn’t need her and she didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone to be happy, to stay the same.

She decided to call up one of her friends, Maya, to assure herself. She would never admit that was the reason she called, of course. It was nothing more than a social call, it had been a while since they’d talked.

“Hey Maya,” Ava began, her tone light and happy, “how’s it going?”

“Great!” Maya replied perkily, “although things haven’t been the same without you,” she added somberly. “Raquel’s been driving me nuts, it takes two to put up with her.”

Ava laughed, remembering Raquel’s energy and the fun the three of them had together. She suddenly missed the two of them much more than she realized.

“How’s Indiana?”

“Not bad,” Ava replied, “definitely not L. A.though.”

They talked for several minutes about the differences and good things and bad things both locations held, and about how they each preferred Los Angeles to any other place. This was mostly true for Ava, although she had begun to treasure having the woods just outside. But finally, and much to Ava’s disdain, the question came that she had been dreading.

“How are you holding up?” Maya asked, that wretched tone of sympathy melting through the phone.

“I’m fine,” Ava replied shortly, almost with a chuckle.

“Yeah?” Maya probed, “cause you know you can talk to me about it if you want.”

“Yeah,” Ava said, “look, I gotta go,” she decided, knowing that the conversation was tainted and couldn’t be restored.

After she’d hung up, Ava sighed and looked out the window at the woods. It seemed the only place bigger than her parents, big enough to silence the repetitive questions and sympathetic looks.

Shortly after lunch, Ava saw grandpa putting his coat on. It was Wednesday, a day he didn’t work.

“Where you going?” she asked as he picked up his keys.

He paused a moment and then answered.

“To the cemetery,” he said, showing very little emotion and even giving a slight smile. “I usually get out there every other week or so. Just to make sure she doesn’t get lonely.”

“Can I come?” Ava found herself asking. She hadn’t thought that it would be a personal visit, that he would want to go alone, partially due to how factually he’d said it. But after the words were out and she saw him hesitate to answer, she realized that it was, and that the emotion she so wanted to extract from him was much closer to the surface. “Unless you want to go alone,” she quickly added.

“No,” he answered then, nodding. “I think she’d like that.”

So the two drove off together, riding in silence as they made it to the edge of town, where a quiet cemetery awaited them. It was small but full, tombstones of all shapes and sizes popping up like speed bumps. Ava watched as they drove past them, reading their names and wondering who their families were and whether they were old or young. She wondered if the families visited like grandpa did, or if they forgot the tombstone like they did the life the dead person had lived.

They stopped near a tree, where a simple slab rested. It was much less detailed than Ava had expected, and had only grandma’s details and a small set of flowers beside it. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but grandpa had brought new flowers and switched them out after they stepped out of the truck. The two of them stood a moment then, looking down at the tombstone.

“She always wished you’d have visited more often,” grandpa said, breaking the silence. He gave Ava a nudge. “She missed her grandbaby.”

Ava wasn’t sure why, but that almost brought tears to her eyes. It was such a simple statement, hardly worthy of tears. She’d only seen grandma once or twice a year and didn’t have much of a connection to her. She shouldn’t be crying, grandpa should be.

“We only had a few pictures of you, but she was sure proud of them,” grandpa continued. “She always asked your parents to send a few pictures during the year, just so she could keep up with how quickly you were growing.” He chuckled, “every time she got one, she couldn’t believe how tall you were and had to call just to be sure she hadn't gotten the wrong picture.”

Ava sniffled and shivered slightly, pretending that the cool breeze was making her nose run. Grandpa made no comment on her emotions, although she was sure he was picking up on what she was trying to hold back. Instead, he turned the conversation to himself.

“You know, I never got to say goodbye to her,” he said.

Ava looked at him, watched as his eyebrows lowered and he fixed the gray tombstone with contemplative eyes.

“I got a call from work, saying there’d been an accident,” he scoffed. “That was all I got, by the time I got to the hospital it was too late.”

Ava watched him, anticipating the tears she was sure would come streaming out. But she never saw them. Instead, he sighed and sat down on the grass, motioning for her to do the same.

“You know that old swing set?” he then asked.

Ava nodded.

“There’s a reason I never took it down or fixed it up,” he continued, eyes still on the tombstone. “It used to be a favorite spot of ours.” He smiled and chuckled. “We’d swing out there for hours, just talking as the sun went down.” He gave Ava a slight nudge. “Sounds funny doesn’t it, two old people swinging?”

“No,” Ava said. She felt that she should say more, that she had more she wanted to say, but couldn’t think of the words. So grandpa continued.

“After your grandma died, I didn’t go out into the woods much.” He paused, and Ava caught a regretful look in his eyes. “Too much memory there, too much I needed to let go of. Walking through there just made me remember everything and realize that nothing would ever be the same.” He then looked to Ava, and gave her a discerning look, one that she feared saw much more than she wanted him to. “It’s dangerous to live stuck in your memories. It can bring anyone low,” he said, but then added, “but it’s not good to forget either, can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Ava listened carefully, and it suddenly felt like she wasn’t even there. It felt like grandpa was talking to himself, for himself.

“After you brought it up, I went out for a walk and visited the old swing set,” he continued. “It was good, it made me realize that in avoiding painful memories, you often avoid good ones.” He smiled. “Me and her swinging side by side is a good memory.”

They were silent the rest of the time they sat at the cemetery. Ava thought carefully over what grandpa had said. She knew they hadn’t been directed at her, but somehow felt that they had been. How could they have not? Every adult seemed fixed on giving her their wisdom and support, and grandpa’s seemed far too coincidental. What he was saying was far too close to what she needed. She suddenly stopped, realizing what she was thinking. She wondered if it was wrong, if it went against what she was trying to achieve. It made her sad, it made her want to talk about how she felt. It made her mad too, mad that grandpa hadn’t once asked her how she felt. A grandpa was supposed to do that, he was supposed to care for his granddaughter and be there for her. But she'd never admit she wanted that.

After they’d made it home, Ava quickly left to take a walk in the woods. She needed space, time away from everything. Being around grandpa made her want to give in to the weakness that had been bubbling up. She couldn’t do that, she couldn’t give the adults what they expected from her. She was just as good as them, just as strong. She was going to make sure it was just like they said it would be: everything, and everyone; the parents and their kids, will be alright.

Whether by coincidence or intention, Ava ended up at the swing set. She stared at it a moment. She watched the motionless seats, no breeze giving them life. She looked particularly at the unbroken swing, the one that had endured after the other had fallen. She moved toward it, drawn to its rust. It wasn’t strong, it was just like the other swing. It was still hanging, but for how long? A week, a month, maybe a year?

Ava touched the chain, feeling small particles of rust shake off into her hand. Her heart began to beat quicker as she followed an inner compulsion to turn and take a seat. She took the chains and lowered herself into the swing. It made no sound, not yet, it was still strong enough to hold her. She put her feet to the ground and gave a slight push. The swing moved backward and then forward, carrying her gently and smoothly. It was much stronger than she’d thought, and supported her cleanly. She smiled, and felt her heart began to return to a steady confident beat. But suddenly, and in a moment that jarred her and sent her heart quaking, the chain snapped from the side identical to the broken one, and she fell to the leaf-covered trail.

She wasn’t hurt, she hadn’t been swinging high enough for that. But something inside her was. With the swing, something had snapped and broken after enduring far too long, and she felt her hands shake as tears began to fall. She couldn’t stop them, and she put her hands to her face as she began to sob pitifully. She told herself to stop, but the chain was broken, and she couldn’t fix it.

She then felt two gentle arms wrap around her. She leaned heavily into the arms of her grandpa and released everything she had been so afraid of letting out.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” she asked in between sobs. “Why didn’t you ask if I was okay?”

Grandpa held her tight, his hands steady and comforting.

“You’re an adult, you’re supposed to do that,” she added. She didn’t care if what she was saying didn’t make sense, if it was stupid or selfish. She needed to say it.

After she’d stopped, which was several minutes later, grandpa spoke.

“I didn’t want to be like the other adults,” grandpa said gently. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, and I—” he paused and then continued, “I didn’t want to talk about your parents at first either.”

Ava rubbed her nose and listened.

“I don’t understand why they’re doing this,” he said, his voice somewhat angered and personal. “And I hate that you’re between them,” he said, his hands shaking slightly. He then continued in a weaker voice, “and it’s okay to hurt and to cry when you don’t understand something. I cried for weeks when your grandma—” he paused and sniffled. He then returned to her questions. “I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want you to feel like I did after I lost your grandma. Everyone thinks they can help you, they think they know what to say and that you want to unburden your soul to them. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted things to make sense, I wanted things to be normal again.” He then took her by the shoulders and gave a firm squeeze, connecting his eyes to her. “If you ever want to talk or need someone to cry with,” he nodded sincerely, “I’ll be here, Ava, you hear? We’ll work through this together. Whatever happens with your parents, you’ll never stop being my grandbaby.”

Ava could only nod. The tears had started flowing again, and she didn’t think they would stop.

“I think we have a knack for making each other cry,” he then said with a chuckle.

Ava cried softly for a good deal longer, letting grandpa hold her, unashamed that he was seeing her so weak and vulnerable. She knew that he understood, she knew he couldn’t fix her and wouldn’t try to. He needed as much fixing as she did. And as much as she wanted to be fixed, for everything to be normal again, it was comforting to know someone who didn’t have the answers; someone who was hurting too, and wasn’t pretending that everything was alright. Because what happened wasn’t alright, it wasn’t alright for her parents, their parents, or for her.