Through the Years, and the 4th of July

Just a short piece I whipped up about this American holiday and how it makes me think.

You know when you were little and the best thing in the world was a swing?

That's how it was for my friends and me, anyway. It was the first thing we did when we were released, screaming in joy, from our cramped, construction-paper decked classrooms. We'd rush to the swing set, jump and wriggle up onto shakily dangling seats from the deep ruts that thousands of feet had scraped away. We would pump our legs, toes pointed, hands gripping the supporting chains so hard that perfect pink imprints formed on our palms. We would laugh and giggle and strain until our toes seemed to clear the tops of the trees, until we could reach up and stir the clean, creamy canopy of sky.

I went back to that school yesterday. I had heard that there would be fireworks, and so I went there, my family, a few friends. And we walked over to the old, rusty, rickety contraction as if we had never left, as if we still did this everyday, as if the past seven years had been but a dream.

There were differences, of course; the sky was midnight-black, stars hidden by a swath of rainless clouds; we could bend and duck to settle ourselves on the well-worn seats. But somehow it didn't seem to matter. I half-expected to hear the shouts of schoolchildren fresh from lunch, the top-of-the-lungs chatter that would mesh and meld into a hum of nonsense.

The whistle-whine-shriek of launching fireworks, and the quick gunshot-snap, rat-a-tat-tat of small but brilliant color. The magnificent ones, the lights that painted the sky and scorched themselves onto retinas long after they had disappeared, were better; the hollow thud I could feel deep inside my chest or tugging at the ends of my toes.

I pushed off from the scraped, raw ground, tucking my knees in with each swing to keep from dragging my heels in the dirt. The beginnings of the still-familiar swooping feeling started in my stomach, and I smiled.

I yanked the tie out of my ponytail, running my fingers through still-shower-damp hair, hair that had not had a chance to dry in the humidity. It blew around my face in the wind from the swing, brushing and catching and kissing my cheeks.

I leaned back as the fireworks boomed around me, as my smile became a grin became a laugh. As I went higher, higher, until the ear-splitting beauty of color was only an arm's-length away. In that moment, I could do anything, I could be anyone...and all I wanted to do was to be myself, swinging under the sky.

A scrap of song wafted its way through my head, mixing with the scent of smoke and ash.

Time, where did you go? Why did you leave me here, alone?

I released one hand and let it trail out beside me, pushing against the air. And as I closed my eyes and felt contentment, the contentment that is felt but rarely wash over my skin and seep into my very being...as I did this, I remembered another girl, years ago, who sat in just this spot and dreamed of touching the stars.

Somewhere, somehow, sometime....

I was flying.

 

 

I hope you all had a happy 4th, even if you don't live in America. The line is from "Time" by Chantal Kreviazuk.

Reviews

[Olivia Carmine]

This was really nice. I could feel everything-- very evocative. It made me smile. Even though I'm not American :)

[JC]

This story immediately brought a smile to my face, because I can remember racing to the swings everyday.

We lived across the street from the elementary school and spent an enormous amount of time at the playground, along with every other kid in the neighborhood.

The description of the scene of being on the swing is dead on.

I don't think it would have brought anything to the story if you had included your school experience, since the story itself was not about being in school. It was about the freedom on feels when their feet leave the ground and the world behind them. I also think the emphasis on where does time go when we are living day to day, would have been diminished.

What bitter sweet memories we have, when we go back to them only to realize that time is slipping through our hands.

Kudos on an excellant write.

JC

[Twilight]

It's nice to read that you seem to have such fond childhood memories, Nodamselami! Even at such a young age, you seem to have been a true American (and fond of your great country). It would have been even nicer, perhaps, if you had written a little more about your school experiences?

After your opening paragraph, you have compared the situation, then and now, so to speak. How those memories must have come flooding back, whilst you walked again on that once familiar ground!

Towards the very end, this piece takes on a slightly dream-like quality (which I liked) - with phrases such as, "dreamed of touching the stars" and "I was flying". As a closing thought, your reference to flying, made me visualise the American flag - flying high and proud on 4th July!

Thanks, Nodamselami!

[SamBug]

Great write. I really enjoyed this story.