Why must I be "it"?
They know I can't run for beans.
Everyone quickly runs off in different directions, as if I suddenly have the cooties. I run blindly off after them in the unusually hot sun. Now I have to go gallivanting around like a crippled horse trying to get some other unlucky kid to be "it." That's close to impossible for me to do.
By the time almost five long and tiring minutes have passed, I'm gasping for air, with a throbbing stitch in my side, ready to fall heavily to the green grassed covered ground.
Everyone else seems to be having a lovely time. Why wouldn't they be? They barely have anything to do. If they see me coming the most they have to do is power walk away as I limp angrily after them, and that takes minimal energy.
Eventually, I give up furiously, and say that it's to hot for all this running around in circles. They agree, their skin slightly tanned, hot and sweating from the heat, clothes moist.
Though you can bet, once they drink some refreshing cold water from the silver water fountain, and spend some time away from the humid outdoors in the air conditioned building, they'll be ready to play again, and I'll be running desperately across the vacant field, praying not to be "it" again.
Based off the vignette: The Monkey Garden by Sandra Cisneros.