When I was about 9 years old, there was this kid in my afterschool program named Tem. I didn’t know him particularly well since he hung out with a completely different set of kids than I did, and he was in a grade below mine. The only stuff I really knew about him was that he had an obsession with Eli Manning and would often strong-arm the younger kids into doing things like giving him their ball or sharing their candy. Still, nothing a normal kid his age wouldn’t do.

Things all came to a head one day in October. I remember the month very well because I remember earlier that day our class was making Halloween cookies. I still had my cookies in my bag and had eaten one right when I got to the program, saving the other two for my parents. I guess it’s true that you tend to remember the little oddball details the best when it comes to traumatic events.

About thirty minutes after the school day ended, our program let us go out on the playground for about an hour. Usually near the end of this time, my mother would pick me up. That day, I also remember, she didn’t – she had a big meeting at work, some sort of conference, and so that day she’d be late. But all this would’ve occurred around that same recess period.

I remember being at the top of the slide when it happened. This gave me a good view of the entire playground – the slide itself was on top of a knoll that stood right in the center of the field. Most importantly, it gave me a clear view of the swingset, and everything that transpired there.

The first thing that got my attention was Tem and a few other boys yelling about something. I looked over and realized they were having some sort of swing competition. It was when the first boy went – some red-haired kid named Astin – that I realized what the competition was supposed to be. 

Astin swung himself up high, then at what appeared to be his peak, jumped off the swing. He didn’t go very far, heading past the sandy pit and landing somewhat unsteadily on the sidewalk. Beyond that was a few bushes and, most notably, a huge concrete wall that separated the playground from the busy street on the other side. 

Immediately as Astin landed on his feet I heard the whistle ring. One of the aides saw the entire thing from her vantage point at the ramada and began walking over to the group of young boys, yelling about how what they were doing was completely and utterly dangerous. Looking back it’s impressive the level of scare tactics that these aides could muster. If only anyone ever listened.

The mood of the boys soured, and they walked back over to the swings with their heads down. They hung out there for a while longer, and I continued spying on them from my perch. At that point, my curiosity had set in to see what the group of kids would do next.

After heading away from the swings for a bit, eventually their temperment changed and they went back to laughing and smiling with each other. This, of course, led them back to the swings. 

This time it was Tem who got up on the swingset. I looked over at the aide to see that she was now busy with two other girls, looking away from the playground. He swung himself, up and down, up and down, up and down… each time stretching the height at which the set would take him. I remember becoming anxious just looking at how fast he was going and how high he was able to get on the swing, that sort of secondhand fear you receive when you see someone dangling off a skyscraper or running from a bear. His friends on the ground looked up at him in awe, more the kind of splendor than of fear, until he finally reached the apex of his launch.

The next few moments, even though they’ve replayed infinitely in my head ever since, are still a blur. Tem got off the swing, but something snagged onto his shirt and caused his body to come off the launch at an awkward angle, one he clearly couldn’t control. I watched him fling off the apex of the swing’s arc, almost like a ragdoll, more object than human, and he hurtled straight towards the concrete wall.

His head struck first. There was this sickening, inhuman ‘thunk’ – something bassy, low, like when someone drops something heavy a few rooms away from where you’re standing. I remember him falling into the bushes and not coming back out. His friends just kind of stood there, dumbfounded, shocked, not sure what to do. But the thing I remember most – the first vision in my memory when I think about what happened – is the spot. The big, large, dripping spot on the wall from where Tem had hit into it. From a distance, it didn’t even look that red. It already looked dark, almost like a magenta, perhaps from the shade of the wall. I remember feeling like I had entered a dream. It felt like the entire world had gone silent, and the only things left in it were me and that oozing red splotch on the concrete wall a few feet away.

Then I heard the aide scream.   

Usually when you hear someone scream as a kid, it’s other kids just trying to be loud. Up until that moment I don’t think I ever heard someone really scream, that uncontrolled sign of pure terror that someone lets out when they’re truly horrified. I remember the scream itself is what really scared me. I didn’t want to know what happened next – I ran off the playground set and sprinted towards the far side of the field, away from it all. I don’t know why. Maybe I just didn’t want to be a part of whatever happened next. There was a little indent near the school building, I think where they kept some sort of drainage system. I hid in that little pocket, sitting in the corner and covering my ears with my hands. There were shouts, a lot of shouting. That’s all I remember. I couldn’t hear any of it, though. I just remember keeping my eyes closed tight and my hands cuffed over my ears tightly until they hurt.

My memories of the events that happened after that are pretty scattered. I think an ambulance came, but I couldn’t be sure. I remember the sounds of a loud siren overtook my covered ears, and I remember peeking briefly to see two people dressed in white rolling down what I could only guess was a stretcher. I remember when my mom came, one of the program leaders took her aside and whispered something to her – my mother looked concerned, shocked, but still muted. I remember the drive home was silent – I looked down at my feet and kicked a small ball that had gotten stuck under the driver’s seat. I remember when dinnertime came some hours later my mom came out and said she decided for us to go out for dinner that night, and that we would get ice cream too. This was very rare – my mom is a good cook, and we’d only go out on special occasions such as birthdays or after one of my soccer games. At that point I had gotten over the event (at least temporarily) in my child mind, and was just happy to have dessert.

Tem never came back to school. I leave it at that because, to be honest, I have no idea what really happened to him. Everyone – teachers and classmates – stayed silent on the topic. And if you were ever foolish enough to mention Tem’s name, the entire tone of the conversation would  change for the worse. And yet no one ever told me what really happened. In high school, in a sudden spout of curiosity, I tried looking his name up online – I figured if he was still alive I’d find him easily enough on Facebook, but if he died it would at least make local news. Yet, shockingly, there was nothing. Not a single word. It was as if, beyond this traumatic memory of mine, he had completely disappeared. Not living, not dead. The only place he lived on was in that playground. And that dark, oozing splotch.