This is a re-telling of a True Story. As a writing exercise, I reimagined a childhood memory from the point of view of someone else who was there. My childhood was fairly normal for the 80s and 90s — barely worthy of an Afterschool Special — but there were a few weird occurrences like this one.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

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I love how powerful this motorcycle makes me feel! I can do anything, be anyone—I can be a man. I round a bend in the road of my apartment complex and that’s when I see them: three beautiful girls at the playground, swinging on the large metal swing set, the kind they have at elementary schools. The older one is tall, lanky, and blond. The middle one has curly dark blond hair atop a wiry little body; she’s really cute. The youngest — a bit too young, perhaps — is adorable with her sweet round face. They’re all my type of kids.

The day is gray and getting on in hours but the grass is so green. The playground is set away from the apartments that surround it, closer to the road, which seems dangerous for small children. Before I pull over, I scope out the yards at the back of the apartments and my eye catches the cloudy sky reflected off of the glass of their sliding doors — no one is watching out those doors, no dark shadows making a break in the clouds. When I’m sure there are no adults lurking around, I pull my bike to the side and cut the engine.

The girls are all so young — so young and sweet that it makes me ache. The little ones won’t be a problem but the older one might be. I’m sure I can put her at ease with my friendly nature. I just want to talk, right? This is a good opportunity — this is something I might be interested in.

I swing my leg over my bike and walk towards them. Pushing my visor up, I see the oldest one is watching me watch them. I’m excited already. There’s still no one around. Even if there is someone watching, there’s not a lot of risk in this — I’m just going to talk to them — and who knows what the reward might be. As I get closer to the girls, the oldest one stops swinging the toddler and looks at me.

“Hey there.” I hope my voice is sweet, innocent.

“Hi.” She looks at me with a skeptical, reserved look on her face and a lift to her greeting that makes me think it’s more of a question.

No matter; any kid might be wary of a stranger. She hasn’t screamed or run off so I will persist. She’s pretty with the lightest blond hair I’ve ever seen.

“How are you doing today?”

“Um, fine.” She turns to look at the other girl pumping her legs on her own swing. “Amber, come here.”

That wiry body and curly-topped head hops off her swing and stands next to her . . . sister? Are they sisters? I can hear the oldest girl’s panic in her tone. I shift my weight onto the other foot. Maybe this isn’t going to be as smooth or easy as I thought.

“Do you live around here?”

“Um, no. We have to go.” The tall girl grabs the toddler off the swing and hoists her on to her hip. “Amber, come on, we need to go back to your grandma’s.”

I see them start to leave and I want to say something—anything—to make them stay, but I am not good at this. Not yet. I see the tall girl lean down and say something to ‘Amber’ and then they start running. I’m not worried, though. I watch.

I watch them run towards one of the sliding doors. I watch them go through.

I turn and walk to my bike. I don’t rush, but I’m not going to linger. I don’t know what might happen next, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. Flipping my visor down, I climb on my bike and kick start the engine. Checking my mirror as I pull away from the side of the road, I think I see a tall figure at the door the girls went through. I can’t be sure, though, because I’m off, sailing away around another bend in the road.

The power of the bike thrums between my legs and a calm confidence settles over me—I was someone back there. It won’t be long before I get home, unless I spot something interesting like that again.