and thick adobe walls. We turned onto a small side street. There was a little deserted park with a swing set and climbing equipment. The patch of sand and green was surrounded by a wall of bamboo overgrown with morning glories, bougainvillea, and oleander, all intertwined to create a new plant of purple bells, red leafy blossoms, and hot-pink-and-white flowers. A white angelâs trumpet with its poisonous, upside-down lily cups grew nearby. Winter jumped onto one of the swings and gestured for me to join him. His long legs looked like they could touch the sky.
I scowled at him for a while but it didnât seem to be working so I went over and sat on the swing, dragging my skates in circles in the sand.
âItâs better if you actually swing,â Winter said, smiling at me sideways. âThatâs why they call it a swing?â
âI donât feel like it.â
He slowed down and twisted the chain swing so that he was facing me.
âAre you sending me those notes?â I asked.
âWhat notes?â He blinked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes the way an actor would do in a movie, but it felt genuine.
âFairest of them all? Fee Fi Fo Fum?â
âNursery rhymes?â
âYes. Did you send them?â
He shook his head. âItâs been a long time since I heard any nursery rhymes. Why?â
I decided to let that one go. I had a more important question. âHow do you know Charlie?â
âHe was my momâs director. I guess they were friends.â
âFriends? Yeah right.â
âBelieve me, Weetzie, whatever the situation is, youâre the one he cares about the most.â
âCares? He left me! He hasnât even called.â
âHe thinks about you all the time.â
âHow do you know?â I got up and moved away from him. My heart was doing its slamming thing. I saw red. You know how they say you see red when youâre angry? That was really what it was like. The world looked red for a second like when you press your hands over your eyelids and tilt your face up toward the sun.
Winter looked down at his hands and bit nervously at one cuticle. âHeâs tried to call you,â he said. âBut she always answers. Or the machine.â
I slumped on the bench and put my head down. âWhy is this happening?â
Winter untwisted the chain of his swing and spun away from me, rubbing his eyes with a fist. âMy dad left, too,â he said.
When he stopped spinning I saw that his eyes were red. âI never really got to know him at all. He was always doing his own thing and working so hard. All I got from him is this fucked-up last name.â
âIâm sorry.â It was the first time I had stopped thinking about myself that afternoon.
âBut then I realized that the whole thing is bullshitâthis parent-child thing. Some people are lucky to have it but a lot of them donât. You just have to make your own family, your own life. Whatever. Even when youâre a kid and it feels too hard. Thatâs the only way. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself before anything else will work out.â
I nodded and watched him squinting into the tangle of foliage around us.
âThis is beautiful,â he said. âHere. Thatâs another thing youâve got to do. Youâve got to see the beauty whenever you can and take what you can get. Otherwise you just get old.â
âLike Charlie,â I said. âHe got old. And my mom, too.â
Winter tossed his hair out of his eyes and leaned back in the swing, stretching his arms up behind him and cracking his knuckles. âThey all do. But not me. Iâll never get old.â There wasnât teenage invincible, live-forever bravado in his voiceâhe sounded a little melancholy, almost.
The day seemed to get darker and cooler all at once. A blackbird cawed ominously in a tree overhead and I wanted to leave. I had