What may have happened at the park

I reach the park. The smell of rain warns of an impending storm. The swings move back and forth, as if the ghosts of small children have decided to play. That is except for the last swing. “This is where we first met,” her voice soft, almost inaudible.
I don’t answer, but sit down in the swing beside her, displacing any ghost child that may have been there.
“We’ve known each other our whole lives, and I have never seen your eyes.” She says.
I touch my sunglasses; I feel them cool against my finger tips. I long to shed them, I am sick of hiding behind them.
“Let me see your eyes,” she says. There is desperation in her voice. As if seeing my eyes will reveal the secret of the world.
“Are you sure?” I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what my parents think.
Kristen nods, her head moving like a bobble head.
I reach for my sunglasses and then stop. “Are you sure?” I begin to quiver.
“Yes.”
“You do it.” I try to swallow down the lump in my throat. Fingertips brush up against my face and slide my glasses off. My eyes are shut tight.
“Amolas, there is nothing to be afraid of,” Kristen whispers, “Look me in the eyes.”
I open them.