I am 20. A little too old to be riding the swing. I don’t want to but the wind draws me to the back and forth motion of the seat. Back…forth…back…forth. I gravitate towards the swing. I sit on the cold but fair colorless seat.
I am the swing. Back…forth…back…forth. Gaining more and more speed. Back…forth…back…forth. I reach the peak of the forth. It lasts a split second. I reach the peak of the back. I hang in a standstill for what seems like a lifetime compared to the forth. I want it to stop but I the swing draws me to the back. And then it lets go. Back…forth…back…forth. The back and forth motion makes me dizzy. My mind is foggy. I remember being at the forth. But the enjoyment of the forth descends. I remember staying longer at the back. Is it hopelessness? Is it nothing? I cannot remember.
I am already walking away leaving the swing behind as a feint memory. When I close my eyes, I see myself 10 years younger on that same swing but I am frozen in the back. I cry. I cry. I want to get down. But it won’t budge.
10 years go by. I realize the back is where I belong. I realize that the back is not so bad.
Suddenly, there are hundreds of swings, hundreds of people…forth…back…forth…back. I smile. I once swung higher than all of them. I frown. I am now stuck higher than them. Face down unless I tilt my head up. Seeing them makes me want to come back forth. But I still don’t budge. I still don’t budge. I still don’t budge. They swing. swing. swing. Their movements become slower and slower. Until they stop in the middle. They leave. But I stay. I stay and wait.
Maybe the back is not so bad after all.