Al stepped onto the playground and called out to a girl near the swings. She turned toward his voice and whispered, "Hazzl?" Al frowned. "Can you not see me?" The girl reached out until her fingers brushed his. "No," she said, smiling. "I'm blind. Do you want to be friends?"
Al led Hazzl toward the slide, but she stopped and ran her fingertips along the metal, hearing it hum and tinkle as kids slid past. She laughed — bright and ringing — and tapped the side. Ting, ting, ting. "It sings when you touch it," she said. Al tapped it too, surprised he'd never noticed the sound.
They tried hide-and-seek, and Al counted to ten before hiding behind the jungle gym, but Hazzl walked straight to him. "You stomp," she said calmly. Al tried again from behind the slide, and she found him again. "And you say 'over here' right before you hide."
On the third try, Al tiptoed into the sand and stayed perfectly quiet, but he tripped over a rubber mulch pile and landed with a soft oof. Hazzl laughed. "Your knees are loud too."
Al counted to ten again behind the jungle gym. Hazzl didn't move. He held his breath. She walked right past him, stopping only when she heard a chipmunk scratch behind a trash can. "There!" she said, pointing. Al groaned.
A thunderclap split the sky and kids scattered. Hazzl froze, her hands clutching her sides, breathing fast. "I can't find the gate," she said, voice shaking, as rain began to fall in fat, heavy drops.
Al grabbed her hand and started walking, but she pulled back — too many feet, too much noise. He knealt and tapped the metal slide. Ting, ting, ting. "The gate is that way," he said. "The chains sing toward it."
Hazzl pressed her palm to the slide, listened, and nodded. Al tapped again. Ting, ting, ting. The sound traveled through the green rubber chains like a thread pulling them forward.
They walked together through the rain, Al tapping the slide at each post so Hazzl could follow the singing chains. Her breathing slowed until she found the cool iron bars of the gate.
She squeezed Al's hand and smiled through the downpour. "Same time tomorrow?" Al bumped his shoulder against hers and grinned. "Same time tomorrow."
The rain slowed to a patter. The playground emptied out, one by one, until only the swings creaked gently in the damp wind.
Al stood by the gate and watched the first stars appear through the thinning clouds. Tomorrow, he thought, he'd teach Hazzl how the slide really sang.
Hazzl stood where he'd left her, one hand resting on the cool iron gate, listening to the rain drip-drip-dripping from the slide's chains.
The slide gave one last ting as a breeze shook the chains, and then the playground went quiet.
Al walked home with wet shoes and a dry heart, his pocket full of the sound of chains singing in the rain.
Same time tomorrow.