We Were Just Playing

Based on true events.

1. Tents and Trouble

The wind makes the tent flap like a big bird trying to get out. It scares my sister, so I tell her it’s just the wind, just the sky blowing too hard. She believes me. She always believes me.

Mama says not to leave the tent today, but Papa says we can go as long as we stay where he can see us. I don’t know how he can see us if he’s with his friends doing a strike, but I don’t say anything. Grown-ups don’t like too many questions, even when they’re not mad. And Mama’s mad a lot lately. I don’t know what a strike is, but mama says it is because Papa refuses to work until he and his friends get something they want. I think it’s more money. Grown-ups talk a lot about money. It’s the only thing I ever see them argue about.

The ground outside is brown and crunchy, like it’s made of crackers. I draw a line in it with a stick and make a square. My sister steps in the middle and puts her arms out like a bird. She turns and turns until she falls, giggling. I don’t fall when I spin. I just keep going until the sky tips sideways and I have to sit down or puke.

There’s a man with no mustache sitting by a barrel fire. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his legs, even though it’s not cold yet. I think his foot is hurt. He doesn’t talk, just stares at the fire like it’s telling him something. I wave at him. He doesn’t wave back.

Some of the tents have smoke coming out the tops. Some don’t. The ones that do smell like coffee and meat. Ours smells like boiled turnips and potatoes again. Mama says if we don’t like it, we can talk to Rockefeller. Then she says a word we’re not supposed to say—“that motherfucker.” Then she laughs, but it’s not a funny laugh.

A man came to our tent last night. I was pretending to be asleep, but I saw. He talked quiet, and Papa nodded a lot. I couldn’t hear much, but I heard the word “scabs.” I think that’s a bad word for workers who don’t strike, but Mama says not to repeat anything I don’t understand. I told her once she shouldn’t say things I don’t understand, then. She slapped me. Not hard, just enough to stop me from talking. That was yesterday.