Swing Low

Remember when I had semi-exciting things happen and I was able to write ridiculously wonderful stories about the semi-exciting things that were happening? I vaguely remember those days. They were semi-exciting!

Well, last night something non-semi exciting happened to me, something actually exciting happened to me...

You remember those days, in the local playground, when you used to try and see who could swing the highest? I half remember them, because most days the swings in our local playground had been tied up over the top bar by mean boys (probably my oldest brother and his friends) or were surrounded by our friendly alcho-pop drinking 'I'll-beat-you-up-if-you-step-any-closer-or-even-look-at -me in-the-eyes' neighbourhood bullies. However, on the rare occasion that the swings were in full working order and free from gangs, I would like nothing better than to sit on a swing and see how high I could get. I liked the way my legs could control the movement of the swing. I liked how the horizon of terraced houses would lift up and down before my eyes. I liked the sound of the wind rushing past my ears and the way my not-ginger hair would lift up from my neck. Good times.

Good times that are worth repeating.

The other day I found some local swings and last night, when there was a break in the dreary grey rain, I decided to revisit them. Best. Decision. Ever.

It took longer than I expected to get there, mainly because I got side-tracked looking at pretty (and entirely unaffordable) dresses in a shop I passed on the way. However, eventually I arrived in the small playground, surrounded by the fog covered skyscrapers of downtown Chicago and looking out into the growing darkness of the lake. The playground was empty. Perfect.

I walked round to the small side-gate and let myself in, heading straight to the swings. At first I just swayed gently back and forth, aware of the stray shoppers passing by. Then I gained confidence and began to swing higher and higher and higher. My shoes fell off in the process, but so did all my worries, and as my bare legs and naked feet kicked back and forth, I found my grin growing wider and wider. This was the life. This was how it was meant to be!

I had got to the point when normally, when I was nine, you would jump dramatically off the swing and land in a slightly bruised and triumphant heap about six feet away from the see-saw. I decided that, even though I am now far older than nine, now would be a good time to try this trick again. I swung back and forth a few more times, building up momentum and courage. I prayed a quick prayer, took a deep breath and, just as the swing reached its climax, launched myself off into the cold evening air...

It was then that my adventure truly began...