Angels in those times were the fugitive survivors of a celestial conspiracy.
--- Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The sky was fading from the brilliant orange and red silks to the velvet purples of dusk, but Megan didn't want to admit it. She stood at the far edge of the backyard, in the wild patch --- not part of the garden where Daddy grew okra and green beans and he thought maybe corn, too, but not part of the grassy, sometimes tended yard, either. It wasn't a flower garden like most of the border parts of the yard. It was dirt and rock and weed and sand. Wildflowers sometimes grew in it, but that didn't make it a flower garden. Megan had pointed out that some people had rock gardens, but her mother said that patch was definitely not a garden of any sort.

And since no one could decide what it was --- or what it was good for --- it was Megan's piece of the backyard. She had arranged the bigger rocks in a circle and sometimes she tried to balance on the rocks and walk in the circle. Tonight, though, she sat on the biggest rock and stared at her new Keds. They were white with red terrycloth trim. Rather, they had been white yesterday when her mom bought them. Today they were a filthy brown-grey canvas exactly like her old ones. Only her old ones hadn't had red trim turned a muddy dusty orange. They'd just been white. She bounced one foot a little on the ground. They were still soft and bouncy inside but they weren't new anymore. Just dirty old filthy shoes. Her mother was going to kill her.

She bounded over to the swingset and grabbed the chains of her swing. The yellow plastic was cool and the creak of the chains against the swingset blended with the crickets starting to sing

"Megan! It's time to come in now!"

"Just another few minutes, Mom? Please?"

Megan pushed her legs as hard as she could. Damon told her that once he had gone all the way over the top of the swingset. Maybe she could do that too. She pushed harder, straining for more power.

The breeze rustled through the oak trees in the backyard and behind their house. Their house was in Balcones Woods and it was right next to the woods themselves. Damon said that Balcones was also a fault-line like in earthquakes. But everybody knew that earthquakes only happened in California a million miles away. There was no way that her house was anywhere near a place where there might be earthquakes. They were in Texas for crying out loud. Not California. You just didn't have earthquakes in Texas.

She pushed her legs harder again, feeling the wind whip her hair all over her face, but she didn't dare take her hands off the chains and wipe it off her face. She'd fall or start swinging sideways and break her rhythm. She just shook her head and tried to pretend that it didn't bother her, that her hair wasn't stinging in her eyes. Just like she pretended that she believed Damon really went over the top of the swingset.

"Battlestar Galactica is on!"

"I'll be in in a minute!"

She let go of the swing and flew through the air, landing in a crouch and rolling onto her hands, grinning. Looking back over her shoulder. The farthest one yet. She jumped up and ran back to the swingset, caught her swing and got back on. This time, though, she faced the fence instead of facing the house and the brown two-by-fours making up the porch her dad had built earlier in the summer. Without her help, of course, because she was too little to help. Even to hammer. She'd learned how to hammer in pre-school, but he wouldn't listen to her. Even after she'd gotten two pieces of scrap wood and a bent nail and hammered the whole mess together to show him. Yes, honey, that's nice. Go play.

She pumped her legs harder.

She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping. Mommy said that's just what all little kids did in the afternoon. They slept. It was called a nap and she was supposed to be doing it.

But she didn't want to. She wasn't done playing yet. As long as she was quiet, Mommy would never know the difference. And she played very quietly. So quietly that sometimes Mommy forgot she was even there even when she was not supposed to be sleeping.

So, Megan rolled out of the bed and tiptoed to the doorway. The toys she wanted were in the living room and it would be very hard to get to them without Mommy seeing her. She'd been watching Sesame Street and playing with her Little Peoples when the call to nap sounded. At first, she hadn't thought to grab any of the toys. She had been tired and agreed with Mommy about nap time, but after laying in the bed forever and ever and ever, she realized that she wasn't really sleepy after all. That had been happening a lot lately. She'd think she was tired when she finally got to bed, but then she couldn't go to sleep at all. She'd lay in bed awake for a long, long time before finally the waves of darkness washed over her enough and took her to dreamland. But that took a longer time every night. Every nap time. And when she couldn't sleep, she'd crawl out of the bed, like now, and find her Little People so she could play some more. One night she fell asleep in the closet while her Little People were in a hurricane and the houseboat had been wrecked and all the parents were lost at sea and only the kids had swum to the island which was really some of her Charlie Brown Encyclopedias laying flat on the floor, and when she woke up in the morning, she had a Little People dog imprinted on the side of her face.

The phone rang and Megan grinned. The only phone was in the kitchen. Mommy would not be able to see her get those toys now. She darted into the living room, ignored the soap commercial on the tv, and grabbed as many of the peoples as she could, leaving the camper and truck behind.

"Working late again tonight?"

Megan froze for a second. Caught. Ooooh, her mom was going to kill her.

"But I was going to make t-bone for you tonight."

She relaxed. Mommy was still on the phone. Good.

"Oh. Well, I won't wait up, then. You want me to save the t-bone for tomorrow night?"

Megan made it to the hallway and grinned. She opened her jumper pocket and looked. She had Tommy and Peter and Suzy. Where was Chris? She couldn't play without Chris. One orange boy, one light blue, one orange girl. No green boy. No Chris. Where was he?

He was sleeping in the camper.

Megan looked back into the living room. Her mother was standing at the edge of the couch, smoking her cigarette and watching her soap opera.

Well, she could pretend that while Chris was sleeping in the camper, the other kids went for a walk in the early morning. And when they got back, kidnappers had stolen the camper and Chris, too! Yeah, that would work. She got down on her hands and knees, the nap forgotten, the need for quiet and secrecy forgotten as the rescue plans for Chris were debated between her three peoples.

She stood up and started to move her peoples into the living room when her mother reached down to the coffee table, picked up the full ashtray and heaved it into the tv set. The glass crashed all over and a small fire smoldered inside the tv and Megan wondered briefly if that fire is what made the lights in the tv or if it happened because the tv was broken.

"Why?" her mother screamed.

Chris had taken a long vacation without the other kids and he would be back later. She turned around and went back to her room. Right now, Megan thought she was maybe sleepy again.

Megan forgot and slapped a mosquito and the swing swayed sideways, turning crazily. She pumped hard and tried to face the fence. Tried to make the swing go straight. She was really high now. She pumped her legs harder and harder. Ignored the buzzing in her ear and the goosebumps on her arms and legs. Just a little bit higher and she'd swing all the way over the top. She heard shouting in the house, but paid it no mind. Damon said that his parents never yelled at each other. Megan figured he was lying. She knew all about lying. That's why her parents never knew when she was doing it.

The swing dropped suddenly at the top of her glide. She grinned. Only a little higher now. She'd seen some of the bigger kids at school get their swings this high.

"Megan! What ---"

"--- happened to the tv?"

"I don't know, Daddy." She didn't look up from her desk. Right now, her peoples were building a spaceship and they were going to go to Mars and talk to the Martians. There were bits of cardboard tubes and tape and glue all over her desk. She'd have to clean all of this up before she went to bed or Daddy, no, not Daddy, that was silly. She'd have to clean up all of this mess before she went to bed or Mommy would be really mad. Mommy would kill her if she left such a mess on her desk.

"Megan, put down that stuff and look at your father."

Megan put the scissors down and put the cardboard tube to one side of them so it wouldn't roll off her desk. "What?"

Daddy was still dressed in his suit. "I came home last night and went to turn on the tv and it wouldn't come on. Seems it's a little bit broken." He looked at her, expecting an answer.

Megan looked at her mother, standing in the doorway, smoking. Daddy didn't have a cigarette. He must have just gotten home.

"I think it's a lot broken, Daddy," she said finally, still looking at her mother.

"Yeah, I think it is, too. I think we have to buy another tv because that one is so broken."

She looked at him and started to grin but thought better of it. "Will it be a color tv this time, Daddy?"

"Megan, how did the tv break?"

He was mad now, she could tell. She looked at her mother, but Daddy grabbed her cheeks and made her look at him.

"Answer me," he whispered, his breath stinky with old cigarettes and beer.

"Sesame Street wouldn't come in. I wanted to watch Sesame Street."

He stood up and let go of her. Felt in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. Took one out. Lit it. Took a deep breath. Put the cigarettes away. Looked at his lighter and then at her desk. And smiled.

"You have got to learn that you can't go around breaking things just because you didn't get your way. You know that don't you?"

She got that sick feeling in her tummy like she was going to throw up. "I have to go to the bathroom."

He shook his head slowly. "Bring some of those people and follow me. You can go to the bathroom when we're done." He watched as she picked up one or two of the peoples.

"No, let's take this nigger one, too." He reached for Peter.

Megan really felt like she was going to throw up now. Her tummy hurt bad. Even worse than when she woke up in the middle of the night. Some nights she woke up and threw up and threw up and threw up and now, right now, looking at Daddy, her tummy hurt even worse than then and she hadn't thought that was possible.

He walked through the house, discarding his suit coat on the couch and walking outside. He turned to make sure that she was still following him and then walked over to the grill and opened the black top. Megan sat down on the chair swing and kicked her feet. She stuck Chris and Suzy into her sock and pushed her jeans back over them. Peter was the only one he wanted anyway. He'd always hated seeing her play with Peter.

He fiddled with the grill for a minute. Stepped away from it and leaned into the house. "You got those hamburgers ready for me?"

Megan's mother handed him a plate.

"How about getting me a beer, too?"

She disappeared back into the house.

"Now, Megan, you can't just go around breaking things that don't belong to you. You can't expect to get your way all the time, you know that don't you?"

She nodded, tears rushing down her cheeks. This was what had happened to Peter's brother, too. Michael had to come out here after Daddy fell over the baby gate that one day. Daddy said that it was Megan's fault. That he had tripped on her toys, not the gate. It was Megan's fault.

"Give me that toy. I have to teach you a lesson."

"Here you go."

Daddy took his beer from Mommy and opened it, tossing the pop top out into the yard. Megan tried to remember where it landed. You could make neat things out of pop tops. Once she made a scooter for her peoples with a pop top.

He dumped a little bit of beer over Peter and dropped him into the grill. Tossed a match down into the grill and smiled as it lit up. "Come here, honey."

Megan got off the swing and walked over to the grill. He lifted her up so she could see inside the grill. Her eyes blurred with tears. "You see it?" he asked softly in her ear. "You see it in there?"

The light blue of Peter's body was black already. His little hat and head were melting --- the only bits of plastic on him. His body was wood. And you couldn't hardly see him now. Not with all the red and orange and yellow dancing all over and all through him. You couldn't hardly see him at all. And he was one of her favorites. One of her very favorites. Daddy had tried to make her bring Peter the last time, but she had grabbed Michael instead because she loved Peter almost as much as Chris. If Chris hadn't been on vacation right now, he'd find a way to rescue Peter. Even now, he'd swing into the fire and grab Peter out if only he knew. If only he wasn't so far away. She forgot that Chris was in her sock right now.

Her dad put her down, eyes never leaving the fire. He flipped the burgers onto the grill. "You go on inside, now. Go to your room and be glad that's all I'm going to do to you. Some daddies would spank a little girl like you, you know. Just be glad I'm not one of them."

Megan turned and ran.

"Megan! You better get in this house right now! It's too dark to be outside!"

Megan pumped her legs harder. She was close, now. She could feel it. She could feel the ground move beneath her. No, the swingset was moving. It was rocking its way out of the ground.

She pumped her legs harder.

She couldn't go to sleep. No matter how hard she tried. She just kept listening. Something was coming to get her. She just knew it.

All of her peoples were put away. She didn't leave any of them out tonight. It wouldn't be right. They were all very upset about Peter. There was another little black helicopter pilot at the church nursery school. She'd have to make sure to get that airport out this weekend and accidentally let that Peter crawl into her sock and come home with her. And then she'd have to hide her new Peter somewhere that her daddy would never ever find him. And not play with him except in the closet. Otherwise she might forget and leave him out where he might get found.

Was that a footstep outside on the front sidewalk? Right by her window? She held her breath and listened carefully. No. It was nothing. Just nightnoise. It was the starsong, her mother would tell her on the few occasions she would run into the living room while her mom waited for Daddy to come home. It's just the starsongs. I wonder what the stars sing. And she listened again.

This time it was a footstep.

She fell asleep. She was sure she was sleeping, but it was such a bad nightmare. Standing right by her bed was a man. All dark and gloomy in the nighttime. The nightlight in the hallway made him very, very dark. Even darker than her closet with the open door.

He whispered to her. He always whispered to her when she had this dream. He never talked, just only whispered.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm not mad at you." And his hand came out toward her, moving to her and touched her face, caressed her cheek. "I just wanted to make sure you know that I'm not mad at you at all. I know who really broke that tv."

And the hand brushed her hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear and followed it down to her shoulder.

She couldn't see his face in the dark. He was so dark that she couldn't see him at all. Just this dark thing in front of her where there should be light from the hallway. From the nightlight in the hallway. Only there wasn't any light coming from the hallway because this man had eaten it all up. Her tummy hurt. She hadn't wanted to eat the hamburger because it felt too much like eating Peter and that was very very very very bad.

He was reaching down into that place and pulling out that thing. Sometimes that happened and then she couldn't breathe. Sometimes, though, it was even worse.

She pumped her legs harder.

He lay down in the bed with her. And then she was fire, all red and orange and yellow all dancing all over and all through her. She couldn't see herself for all of the red and orange and yellow all over her. And then, she was flying.

She listened to the crickets and heard the slam of the screen door. She put one more burst of effort into her pumping and the swingset tore loose of the earth and Megan felt herself launch into the air. She sailed out over the top of the swingset, out away and over the tops of the trees in Balcones Woods behind her house. She let go of the chains and listened as the crickets and the bullfrogs chorused together from the creek below her. Her hair whipped around her face and she smiled. She was flying.

[an error occurred while processing this directive]

Robin MacRorie graduated from the creative writing program at the University of Notre Dame in 1996 and currently teaches first year composition there. "A Very Young Girl with Enormous Swings" was first written in 1992, but has been re-written several times, most recently in 1997.