“Frankie don’t do that.”

“Stop throwing sand Frankie.”

“Those kids do not want to play with you Frankie.”

Everyday it was the same routine. My teachers would scold me and I would spend the majority of my day in timeout. Always in that squeaky, orange chair. It was as though they wanted to make my time on the playground as miserable as nap time.

I don’t want to be yelled at today.

I make my way to the far corner of the playground and sit down on the ledge, looking at everything around me. As expected, my teachers are watching me. Taking my shoes off slowly, I dump the sand out, tenderly touching the bruises on my legs.

On the days I am put in timeout, I spend the time pouting in my chair. My teachers take out the notebook and write down words and letters I do not understand. When it comes time for my dad to pick me up, they hand him the notebook and I watch his face turn red. He removes me up from whatever I’m doing and carries me to the car, mumbling under his breath the whole way there. He doesn’t speak to me on the ride home, but once we get inside of our house the screaming begins. Yesterday was no different.

“Every damn day Frankie,” he shouts in my face once we are inside. “I’m sick of you and having to put myself through the embarrassment that comes from having to hear about your stunts everyday.”

As he yells and rants, drops of spit land on my face. I slowly raise my hand to my cheek to wipe the spit away.

This was clearly a mistake.

“Are you even listening to me?” he roars, grabbing me by my hair.

My eyes begin to water and I force myself to nod.

Daddy’s hands are trembling now, as he holds on to me too tightly.

He stares at me, and then releases me from his grasp and I fall to the ground. Squeezing my eyes shut and curling into a ball is the only defense I have. My body throbs and I hold my breath, hoping Daddy has gone to his room for the night.

I realize he has not by the sound of his grunt somewhere behind me.

“When are you ever going to learn?” he bellows.

My body is hit with an object. I raise my head to look around, just in time to see Daddy picking up another wooden stool and throwing it my way.


“Frankie, what are you doing?” A voice asks.

Graham had made his way to my corner, bringing two shovels and a bucket with him.

“Nothing,” I respond, noticing the grains of sand in his long, blonde hair.

He puts down his shovel, “Do you want to build a sand castle with me?”

Shaking my head, I start to get up, “I want to play by myself today.”

“We could play I-Spy if you want,” he asks, his face hopeful.

Graham gives me a toothy grin and begins to hang on the fence, something I usually get scolded for.

He pulls his body up onto the fence and looks across the street, “I-Spy the big kid school.”

I stop walking and look across the street to where he’s looking.

“I bet they don’t have parents or teachers over there,” I exclaim, climbing onto the fence next to Graham. “They can do whatever they want.”

I look back at where my own teachers are sitting. Addison found a family of worms living in the sand and everyone on the playground was gathered around her, like bees swarming around their queen.

My bruised legs begin to ache.

“I’m going to the big kid school Graham. Where there’s no teachers or parents, and we can play however we want.”

“I want to come,” he says, already beginning to climb over the fence.

Ignoring my aching legs, we both make our way over the fence and begin running. The hundreds of fallen leaves that cover the grass crinkle beneath our feet. I look over at Graham and can’t help but laugh.

We reach the street, pausing to look both ways before crossing, and then we dart across. I have never felt this way before. The wind blowing through my hair, no adults yelling at me about anything, it felt like nothing mattered.

Standing in front of the big kid’s door was scarier than I had imagined. Graham looks at the doors and then back at me, “Maybe we should head back now,” he says quietly.

“You can go back Graham. I never want to go back.”

“What are you going to do now that you’re here?”

I look away from the doors to face Graham before answering, but before I have a chance to say anything I am bombarded by two adults.

“I’m so glad you two are okay,” Kathy, one of my teachers exclaims, pulling us into a tight hug, “But what on Earth were you thinking?”

I wince as something rubs against my leg.

Kathy raises an eyebrow at me and reaches for my pant leg. I pull away, but she is faster than I am. She rolls up my jeans and reveals my black and blue legs.

She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. Without saying a word, Kathy picks me up and holds me in her arms. Her sugary perfume fills my nose and her hug is making it impossible for me to breathe, but I feel safer than I have in a while.

When we return to the playground, I’m not put in timeout like I expect. Instead, Kathy brings me to the other teachers. They all smile at me and take turns hugging me. None of them answer any of my questions. When it comes time for parent pickup, I watch all of the other kids run to their parents. Everyone gets picked up, and I am the only kid left.

Daddy has never been late before.

“When’s my daddy going to be here?” I asked Kathy, tugging on her shirt sleeve.

She didn’t answer and I knew something must be wrong.

What did I do? Why isn’t Daddy here? My bruises begin to throb again.

“I want to see my daddy,” I scream, knocking over the box of building blocks.

“He’s not going to hurt you anymore Frankie,” Kathy says, holding me as we both begin to cry.