It’s been a long time since I last sat on the swings.
I miss them.
We used to name them. Typhoon and Cyclone were the least squeakiest ones. I don’t remember what the others were called.
There were eight swings, and seven of us. Me, my younger sister, and five older cousins. We would sit on the swings in order of our ages. Joseph, Hannah, Danny, Elisabeth, Lois, Me, Katie. If you sat facing one way, you would see Meadow Park Elementary School, blacktop, buildings, basketball courts, handball walls. If you sat facing the other, Meadow Park’s field was spread out before you, and on the other side South Lake Middle School. At the time, when I was still in fifth grade, the concept of middle school was just as distant as that building seemed to be.
Swinging was simple joy. It felt like tired muscles and homework troubles were left behind on the ground, and clean, cool air was all I knew. It felt free, love and happiness and laughter and family and everything good in the world.
I always thought that if I swung high and fast enough, somehow I could start flying. I wanted to fly. It was a dream I held tight inside a fist. I would close my eyes and pump my legs, imagining that the swooping feeling in my stomach was because I was high above the clouds, dancing with the sun and wind. But I could never jump. My cousins and my sister would jump one by one, at the height of their swing. They would have contests to see who could go the farthest, would sometimes even bet fifty cents on it. I would watch as they let go of the chains and rose to the sky, but they would always fall back to earth. I didn’t want to have to feel the inescapable hold of gravity, pulling me away from my dreams and back to reality. And so, when I was the last one swinging, I stopped, grinding my sneakers against the ground.
But I couldn’t stop time, and now I’ve been catapulted through middle school and into my freshman year. My sister is battling middle school now, and my cousins have started disappearing off to colleges. Parts of my childhood go along with them. Hannah’s old house, with the attic where we used to play runaway princesses? Sold. Lois’ garden, where we grew cucumbers and tomatoes? Someone else’s now. And it wouldn’t do any good to have them now, because there’s no time to spend together. Life isn’t so simple anymore. I can’t just get on a swing and forget the essay that’s due in a couple of days. I can’t just let go of everything that needs to get done before next year, summer internships, college applications, job interviews. That’s the one thing I’ve never done. Let go.
And it’s too late now. It’s too late to spend more time with my college-bound cousins, to bond with my sister. Too late to make memories of picnics on grassy hills, midnight bonfires on the beach, or dancing in the rain. Too late to do all the things I backed away from.
It’s too late to fly.