I take my chances and make myself visible. After all, it’s just a few kids here. Adults can use swings too, right? And she has no siblings and is too afraid to ask the other girls to play. She looks my way, expecting to see the embankment beyond the fence that goes down to the Humber River. Instead little Brittany sees a woman in her late twenties in a faux leather jacket. Hi.
My appearance doesn’t stop her pushing herself forward and swinging back, though she keeps looking at me, adjusting her gaze.
“Bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here?” I say.
She smiles shyly, lowering her eyes.
“I never feel warm enough at my house,” I say, nodding up to Clouston Avenue. “Half the time I want to curl myself into a ball, lie on my futon, not come out … like I’m a squirrel hibernating or someth
