Sam and Lara Watch a Man Build a Leaf Pile at the Retreat Park

Lara told Sam she needed out of there, now, could they go someplace? She wanted to be outdoors. So they wrapped scarves around other’s necks and snapped the leash on the old retriever, Buck, leaving the mess of the apartment behind. They walked the four blocks to The Retreat park, where there might be music and children playing.

Sam threw the ball for Buck to fetch. But Buck started limping, so after awhile the game ended and the three of them sat together on the blanket and oak leaves dropped over them and flitted across the ground and Lara’s hair kept blowing into her face, so she tied it back.

“You look pretty that way,” Sam said. “This was a good idea,” he said.

Buck lay on his side, snoring.

“I brought raisins, do you want some?” she asked and Sam held out his hand. She’d done something wrong with the eggs that morning.

They watched a man pushing a stroller with two toddlers in it. They might be one and a half and three years old. The man walked quickly, bumping the stroller off the sidewalk onto the grass and bumping it along over the grass and the toddlers jostled fatly, one behind the other, holding onto sippy cups.

Sam asked Lara if she felt calmer now and she said she was never not calm and then she said again that she was sorry and Sam said again that it was okay.

The man was hoisting his toddlers out of the stroller, one in each arm. Their legs kicked at the air until he plunked them onto solid ground. They stood on wobbly legs for a moment then proceeded to gallop, in opposite directions and the man ran around like a border collie until he simply grabbed the younger one and ran over to the older one who wanted up on the smiling yellow duck.

Sam scratched under Buck’s chin. The dog closed his eyes. Lara stroked his head, tugged on his ear and the dog sighed in the shuddering way he’d been doing lately.

“Maybe this was too much for him,” Sam said. And Lara reminded Sam that Buck loved that park and they both got quiet.

Lara didn’t want to look at Buck so she looked at the sky. “Sam,” she said, “isn’t there something curious about the light this morning? It’s not golden like it ought to be, it’s soft, but–revealing. Like those light bulbs.”

“It’s because the trees are almost bare now. There’s no filter. And it’s a little overcast, so that’s why the light is soft.”

Lara lay back and crossed her ankles and took another long breath. Sam lay back, too, so they were side by side, both propped on their elbows. Buck leaned heavily against Sam’s leg. There was no music today at the park, but they could hear a radio in the distance and a dog barking. Buck’s eyes opened briefly, but he didn’t lift his head.

“What do you suppose is the deal with that man?” Lara asked.

“The one with the kids? Oh I don’t know…” Sam said.

“I think he’s had a very bad morning.”

“He does seem…”

“Yes. Let’s suppose he and his wife had a terrible argument. Let’s suppose they said mean and hurtful things to each other.” Lara swallowed and started again.

“And the wife was not his beautiful wife this morning, but something he didn’t recognize. And she banished him and the children, told them to get out, they were driving her crazy and the man, well, he didn’t dress them properly and that’s why I can’t tell if those tots are boys or girls or one of each.”

“Sounds bad,” Sam said.

Lara closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. “And the tots, they’re a handful and he’s a little Un-careful with them, but they don’t know, so they aren’t fussed even when they’re bumping against each other like billiard balls. He gets here and pulls them out and holy shit, look at those kids. They are the cutest things he’s ever seen. He’s in love with them, Sam.”

“People are mental about their kids.”

“My point! And they’re building this fucking leaf pile that’s not getting any bigger because the tots aren’t focussed! They’re taking away as many leaves as they add. And now that man is so fucking happy. And so, see, his muscles start to relax. And the muscles are connected to his brain…”

Sam stopped her. “Now that’s not exactly true…”

“Okay,” Lara said. “So his muscles aren’t attached to his brain, but he’s—awash–with some kind of hormones that make him happy and that makes him remember his wife and it’s all good stuff because these two, man, they have a lot of good memories of each other, so that’s what he’s doing right now, he’s building that doomed leaf pile and not noticing the littler one is stuffing leaves in its mouth and he’s feeling good. I mean, look, is he not smiling right now?”

Some spit caught in the back of her throat and she hiccuped and squeezed her hands together and watched her husband’s face.

“Oh, Lara,” Sam said. “Let’s not.”

The tots jumped into the leaf pile and banged their heads together and started screaming. The man put his hand to his forehead, then scooped them both up and plunked them into the stroller. Lara and Sam stood and brushed the leaves from their clothes. Buck didn’t seem to want to leave, but Sam tugged a little on the leash and he rose in a measured way to his feet.

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Kathy Fish’s stories can be found at Indiana Review, Mississippi Review online, Denver Quarterly, Keyhole Magazine, Everyday Genius, Quick Fiction and elsewhere. A collection of her work is available from Rose Metal Press in a book entitled A Peculiar Feeling of Restlessness: Four Chapbooks of Short Short Fiction by Four Women.