They wait until Adrian’s mother falls asleep then sneak out, putting their shoes on only once they are outside and the door safely shut. Eight year old explorers in the realm of the dark, Tom and Adrian creep through the backyard until the embrace of the woods separates them from the mundane world of Sega Genesis and high-fructose corn syrup. Blind but for the light of a full moon overhead.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Tom whispers. The more timid of the two. He’s been taught that rules are to be followed and he believes everything he’s taught.
“I do it all the time,” Adrian says with a shrug. The very spirit of lawlessness given form and function. “And you don’t gotta whisper, dude.”
The difference between the two boys is exemplified by appearance:
Tom wears a button up shirt tucked into tan slacks. His hair cut short with just enough in the front to let his bangs swoop.
Adrian rocks baggy jeans, reduced to string at the bottoms, and a Metallica tee. He leaves his hair as long as you’re imagining.
Ying and yang.
Talking Heads and Iron Maiden.
Boys so young should not be out so late. But their intentions are noble, shared with boys and girls throughout the world. Desiring nothing more than to explore and play.
No, they want nothing more than to play on the same equipment they’re let each school day at noon. Transformed by darkness into the magical. Who are we to deny them the pleasure of our ancestors when they set forth to discover the world dying in their droves to bring us the enlightenment we take for granted?
See them play the children. Sticks from the woods as swords smash not windows but imaginary beasts.
Adrian the experienced leader, always in the front, familiar enough with this journey for he has made it before. Though let us not believe he’s over-familiar. Exaggeration is a talent with that one. Yet always a kernel of truth from which the untruth grows. Where Adrian leads, Tom follows.
Don’t miss those subtle glances they’re casting. Eyes on each shadows from which death may emerge. For death is a shadowy thing, hidden at the edge of every experience.
“Quick,” Adrian cries in tones not as hushed as he believes them to be, “We must mount our sheds.”
“Steads,” Tom corrects but Adrian has already rushed ahead.
Adrian leaps upon teeter-totter, in actuality a bucking bronco. Fighting against gravity to keep it elevated on both ends. Precarious balance, a fine art that Tom lacks.
Instead he watches and wishes he weren’t so awkward in his body. Teachers call him bookish. Kids call him a nerd, but only behind his back. Kindness has earned a simulacrum of respect. In his daydreams he’s always an action hero taking a bullet for his crush. Why so many villains should be shooting at eight year olds he never understood but then who amongst us could?
“Prepare yourself,” Adrian says in his best warrior growl. He pointed his stick towards the vast array of monsters rushing at them from the swings. “We’re going to have to fight our way out.”
Tom grinned as roguishly as he could. This he could do. Slashing and blocking, parrying swords, daggers, axes. Dodging arrows or snatching them out of the air. The perfect imaginary killing machine. In contrast, Adrian looks awkward in his mounted position. The need to maintain his balance precludes fancy footwork and dazzling flourishes and soon he grows frustrated.
“Come on,” Adrian growls with real anger. “Let’s take the fight to their base.” He jumps down and lands gracefully, slashing through two gnolls in the process before charging a pack of ratmen to break through the enemy line and regroup with Tom.
“Welcome back, Sir,” Tom says but can’t give the appropriate salute on account of the beholder that was trying to mesmerize him. He slashes at eye stalks then uses the dying beast like a bowling ball to clear a path to the swings. “Quick, Sir.”
Tom rushes the swing set, his stick swinging left and right to fend off those fool monsters that still think they have a chance. He grabs the swing and tosses it with all his might. If he could only just get it over the top bar. But try as he might, it only gets so close before gravity pulls it back down towards the ground.
Then Adrian catches up and takes over. Adrian, self-assured and master of every situation. He takes the swing in his hands, steps back, then forward he runs. He puts his everything in this moment. The swing makes a complete loop and goes over the top bar not once, not twice, but three times before it stops and dangles only a few inches from the bar.
“They’re exposed,” Adrian boasts.
Tom spins around and slashes at the glowing heart of the enemy’s base. With each strike the monsters howl out in pain and shrink back until at last the coast is clear and the only monsters still left are those laying slain.
“We did it!” they cry together. They hug and jump for joy.
Now what? You can see them both thinking it. How does one continue the story when every beast lies dead?
Adrian leads the way. Tom falls back. No longer feeling capable like he did in the depths of battle. Here he is the bookish boy again, the thought of looking down from the top of the slide triggering a knot of anxiety like a fist in his stomach. He opts instead to take up a defensive stance at the bottom should the forces of darkness have a trick up their sleeve.
Adrian climbs the ladder one step at a time. The cold metal stings his hands. He notices just how late it truly is. Just how dark it truly is. How young he is. But this passes as all things do in a mind enamored with the pristine pleasures of play.
At the top he surveys the landscape but it is too dark. The lights at the top of the school that stay on all night don’t piece very far in the darkness. Only the edge of the playground is illuminated. But he has the sight of the night and knows these lands like the back of his hand. He stands tall and proud, stepping onto the heightened edge of the slide to gain an extra foot. Tom keeps watch but never lets Adrian out of his sight. He needs to see the moment of their victory to be able to share it vicariously and so he sees the moment when the powers of evil reach forth and push Adrian, sees how he falls, suspended for long seconds turned into centuries, his body rotating in the air, head angled just ever so wrong, its not the fall but the landing his mother said, only once had he heard the sounds of bones breaking, a recognition and a reminder of his littleness, a cry suddenly silent, the darkness only darkness, and the only fiend gravity.
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