Lucy

Lucy Writer: Vivian Xu Editer: Jiaqi (Julia) Peng Designer: Wyejee (Sara) Jung

A curl of heat slipped out the crack in the concrete and climbed up Lucy’s leg, which continued running unbothered across the playground. The less pleasant signs of early July—hot sun, scent of mulch, hungry mosquitoes—hardly dampened the energy that poured freely from the little people of this town, a flat lot populated by slides and swing sets and secrets which never lasted long.

When Lucy told Patrick she liked him, he only scratched the back of his head and mumbled, “Okay?” But it was enough to send her squealing to her friends, fueling the whispers and giggles of the girls sitting under the oak trees. Everything was something to laugh about, talk about, dream about, to twist and pinch into a perfect story behind closed, smiling, flickering eyelids. Lucy didn’t know what exactly she liked about Patrick, but he gave her a new feeling, and she liked that.

The sun had cooled by now, and the oak leaves, bright red and orange and yellow, fluttered down in groups whenever the trees sighed. The air was touched lightly by the scent of earth and old wood. Lucy picked at the shell of an acorn with reddening fingertips, her hair (now to her shoulders) hanging over her face as she squatted over the grass, trying to pry open the kernel of honey-yellow flesh.

Her best friend had moved away last month, and now there was no one to listen to her secrets. They just sat in her chest until the excitement in them died out.

When the purple polish on her thumbnail chipped, Lucy abandoned her labor and wandered over to the swingset. Dodging kicking legs, she sat down on an empty seat, and pushed. The wind brushed her hair and kissed her cheeks, speaking to her in soft tones. She felt a little less alone.

Sometime after the trees had been cut down and the slide replaced, Lucy sat down again on the swing. The seat pressed her overgrown legs into each other like a clutch purse trying to snap shut. Her feet dragged against the wood chips, thwarting her momentum, and she resolved to a small sway. The ground was littered with sticks and unopened acorns, and in the distance an abandoned bicycle sat upturned, its wheel spinning slowly in the wind. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning…