“Oh, look!” It’s an elementary school playground, busy even after school. Green plastic. Nothing special. I walk by it every day after ballet class, hear the shrieks of kids playing, never really pay any mind to it. Or at least, I try my hardest not to.

“Mm, yeah, that’s Bryant School,” I tell her, swinging my dance bag at her to encourage her to move. But her fingers are wound tightly against the metal chain-link fence. “Come on!” I say, grabbing her wrist.

“Can we play on it for a little bit?” No. No. Please don’t let this be happening. No.

“Um, well…” I’m stalling for time. “Um…do you want to?”

“Yeah, let’s!” Her eyes light up, and I can’t help but smile. She doesn’t know. I squeeze my eyes shut, and run after her.

“Race you to the top!” She cries, dropping her bag under a tree. And forgetting all the reserve of my fifteen years and poise of my ten years of dance training, I run after her. Run so fast the colors blur, making it almost a different place.

Who cares what happened here eight years ago?