Your father never gave you swings.

You’re like your father. You’ll get more and more like him as you grow older.

PLAYGROUND BY LINDSAY SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 106

In the playground Harry sits on a swing motionless, his hands gripping the cold steel chains. His father standing nearby is rummaging for his pipe and tobacco. “Ah, the pine trees, the smell, you know?” Jack says. “Touches off memories, collecting pine cones when I was a kid.”

Harry stares at the pine forest.

“You coming?” Jack asks.

Harry gets up. A little girl runs across and grabs the swing.

+

At a restaurant Jack fills up his wineglass again.

“Do you think you should?” Harry asks.

“It’s good for you,” Jack says. “Anyway I’ve been drinking merlot all my life.”

“But so soon? They only discharged you yesterday.”

Jack shakes his head and drinks.

Harry checks his phone. “How long are you staying?” Harry asks.

“Want to get rid of me already?”

“I only want to know so I can make plans. Dad, what do you think of Nicole?”

“Nice girl, just like your mother when she w…