Swallow
by Claudia Smith
We liked eating dirt behind the playscape; it had the deep taste of chocolate mineral.
We buried things there and waited to see if others found them. It only happened once, someone dug up a yellow Peeps. There was still one left, and we ate it, too, and the sugar hurt our teeth but the dirt made us feel better about the bright sugar. It was the best place in the world, that park. There was a shallow pool and you could play there if someone was watching, and we wore our matching yellow duck bathing suits, the ones with the ice skater skirts, and we'd whirl around in the water so that the skirts fanned around our bottoms. Our grandmother said it was like Esther Williams. She let us have our freedom whenever she took us to the park. She'd never forget to bring her stories with her. She'd sit on the bench with zink on her nose and a paperback, and we'd run up and grab her legs when we were ready for home. Her legs were pure white, streaked with blue veins. She didn't care when we grabbed or ran or screamed or played in the dirt. At home, we soaped up with strawberry shampoo.
There were tall oaks, the kind that probably took a century to grow, and we'd peel off the bark. There were woods around the park. Narrow trees. We liked to hide there. It was what she was doing, hiding from me, when she was lost to us. It started out with us calling her name, asking her to stop. She was the stubborn one; at least, that's what our grandmother said. I don't remember her that way.
After she was gone, I stayed inside. Our grandmother cut my hair short above my ears. I had to scrub my hands with a loofah. Just once, I snuck out. I went to the dirt and dug up the candies, and ate them until my mouth was sore.
I can't eat strawberries. The smell of chlorine burns and makes me vomit. Even now, at times, when I'm in my garden, I swallow earth.
Claudia Smith's stories have appeared in a number of online and print magazines, including elimae, Failbetter, and the Mississippi Review online. One of her pieces will soon appear in New Sudden Fiction, the anthology edited by James Thomas and Robert Shapard. A list of all her publications may be found at www.claudiaweb.net.