DON'T READ THIS (It's from Meg...)

It was a sunny afternoon in Santa Clarita and Aaron and I were sitting at a picnic table at Central Park.  A couple of feet away was the playground where a number of young children were playing.  Not too far from us a group of three girls, ages three or four, were growing a flower garden in the sand.  I noticed that every once in a while two of the three girls had an adult that would come over and check in on them or they’d run proudly over to tell them something.  The third girl, however, didn’t have anyone come over to her nor did she go over to anyone.  As that didn’t seem to bother her, however, I just assumed that she had come with one of the other two girls.
Aaron was working on my computer as I finished reading Lois Lowery’s The Messenger for the second time.  As much as I tried, I couldn’t quite keep the tears back as I closed the book with a sigh.  I tried to subtly wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, but my nose proved a more complicated matter.  So I got up and walked the couple hundred feet around to the other side of the shack to the women’s restroom, right across from the swing set.
     As I walked in, I noticed that the far handicap stall was closed and heard a man’s voice.  At first I thought maybe I had gone in the wrong room, but then I remembered that the men’s room was on the other side of the shack.  As I walked into the nearest stall to grab some tissue, I innocently thought that maybe a man was with his young daughter.  Almost as soon as I thought that, I dismissed it as I heard him again.  “Oh, yeah, baby!”  And then I heard a woman’s sultry voice heavily reply, “Oh, yeah.  Yes.  Ohhh.  Right there.  Ohhh.”  My eyes grew wide as I realized what was happening two stalls over in the rather unclean and very public woman’s room.  They were still moaning in pleasure as I threw my tissue away and rushed out, a bit embarrassed at what I had overheard.
     By the time I got back to the picnic table I was again wiping my eyes, but this time from laughter.  Mindful of the presence of kids, unlike the two in the restroom, I went around to where Aaron was sitting and told him what I had just overheard.  He kind of laughed and rolled his eyes.  “Oh those teenagers,” he said.  I looked at him doubtfully.  “Aaron, they didn’t sound like kids.  They sounded older than that to me.”  “Come on, Meg,” he replied.  “Who else but kids would be having sex in a public restroom?  And remember, the high school was just getting out when we arrived.”  Who else, indeed.
     A few minutes later a very happy and friendly couple in their twenties appeared and called two kids over to them.  One was the third girl who I had noticed earlier.  The other was a boy who was just at the age where he could run around.  Their two young children had been left to entertain themselves at the playground while they had attended to… well, other needs.  The man was eager to chat with us about how the park was hot (free wi-fi available, but take it as you will) while the boy sat proudly on his shoulders.  The girl excited by the final appearance of her mother, ran ahead, calling for her to chase after, which the mom obligingly did.  Aaron and I exchanged knowing smiles and I struggled not to laugh as I heard a stranger’s reply to the young girl after being told that her mom had chased her around: “Well, your mom’s getting her exercise today, isn’t she?”  She certainly was.