swinger

Apr 16, 2008 - 20:54 PM PST

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On the playground there are rules.
The bell rings for recess. I power walk down the hall.
This is before I know the term “power walk”.
All I know is that if you run, there will be a whistle, and then you’ll have to wait by the tree until everyone is on the playground.
This means the lines for a drink of water will be long. It means all the jump ropes and hoola hoops will be taken and distributed to those who followed the rules.
But most of all this means you will not be able to swing.
I step onto the sand and it fills my flip flops. I sit on the swing and put my hands on the metal ropes.
There are 5 seats on the swing set. And in order for everyone to get a turn, you have to alternate.
You stand in front of the seat you want, far enough way so you can’t get hit. And count 20 swings before the person swinging has to get off.
Unless….
I’m gripping the metal ropes and I’m pushing my legs back and forth.
I scream with the strength of a determined 6 year old, “One, Two, Three CAN”T COUNT ON ME!!”
I smile, and I know I’m immune.
In our ten minute recess I don’t have to take turns. I don’t have to wait in line. The world is a different place when you swing, it’s movement exaggerated and changing. I would motion myself to reach maximum jumping heights. I would hold my breath when I felt I went to high. I thought the swing might flip completely. I thought the metal might break.
For a moment I feel like I’m above the teachers and the classrooms.
I have immunity.
Ten minutes of freedom.