I was five when I learned how to swing. Not just swing, but really swing, the type that takes your breath away and makes you feel like you are flying. Mommy and Daddy had been at work, and the babysitter (I barely remember her name, much less her face) had taken me to the park. Once arriving, she had promptly sat under a tree and fallen asleep.
The playground was a jungle. Kids were everywhere, as were parents. Looking back, it was probably unsafe for me to be more or less unaccompanied, but that thought didn't cross my mind at the time. I knew not to talk to strangers, and not to leave the playground. I would be fine.
And so I set off on my adventure. First, up the stairs! My shoes, black with a bit of heel, clomped noisily. I got to the top and surveyed my surroundings. I was Queen, everyone would bow to me. Then, down the slide. Swoosh went my skirts, and I laughed. Then did it again. This time, the cork screw slide was chosen. It was the highest slide, but I didn't let fear stop me as I lithely slipped under the bar and down the slide. Whooosh. Again and again, up the stairs, down the slide. I paused, once, and eyed the firefighter pole nervously, before turning away. No, I was not that brave. Besides, sliding down poles was for ruffians, not the Queen. And I was the Queen.
However, the slides could only hold my attention for so long. After one final slide, I stopped and stood, surveying my kingdom. I caught sight of the swing set, and I knew what my next conquest would be. I marched over with all the regalness one could possibly attain at that age, not sparing a glance to anyone.
I considered myself far too old to even consider the baby swings. I was tall for my age, and had little problem getting on to the big people's swing. That was the easy part. Someone had always helped me from there, giving me a starting push before I finished the rest. However, with my nanny still quite passed out under the tree, I was at loss of what to do. As Queen, it was far too below me to just give up. So I tried, and tried, and tried, to get myself swinging.
"Need some help?" A voice had asked, and I had turned. I don't remember much about him now. He was older, much older, but not an adult. This I remember. However, to one of my age, that could have either meant 13 or 17. He was dressed in mostly black, and had shaggy hair. But he had smiled at me, and gestured to the swing. I vaguely remember some of his friends, dressed similarly, in the swings behind him but I gave them no attention. I nodded, haltingly, and he had laughed.
"Can your toes reach the ground?" He asked, sliding into the empty swing next to me. I tried, reaching my toes as far as they could go. They touched, but just barely. I nodded again, still shy.
He smiled. "Well, the first step is to get moving." He said, and he pushed off from the ground with his toes. "Try it!" He gestured. I did, and it took me a minute, but I slowly got the hang of it. He nodded.
"Now, try and push really hard. And remember, hold on to the chains tightly!" So I tried, and soon enough I was getting into the air.
"Very good!" He exclaimed, and I smiled. "Now," he said, "You need to point your toes." He demonstrated, pushing back, and then swinging forward by leaning back and extending his legs. "You have to pull your legs back to go back," He added, demonstrating. He kept demonstrating, back and forth, back and forth, before finally resting his feet on the ground and stopping himself.
"You try," He nodded, and I tried. Push back on your toes, then extend your legs forward, then pull them back in. It took me a try or two, my start was still sloppy, but I got the motion. I smiled at him.
"There you go," He said, nodding. "Remember, lean back to go forward. And hold on!"
I tried, again and again, the boy offering helpful hints every now and again. Soon, I had gotten the hang of it, and although I was not swinging as high as the boy, I was still swinging. All by myself.
The boy had smiled, looking proud of his work, when he turned. His friends were calling his name (how I wish I could remember his name!) and walking up the hill.
"I got to go," He told me, already sliding off the swing. "But keep practicing!" He turned and walked away, jogging to meet his friends.
"Thank you!" I called, the first words I had spoken. He turned, still jogging, and waved. And then he was gone. The entire lesson must have been less than 10 minutes.
I don't remember much of that day after that. Now a days, swinging is one of my favorite pastimes. It's the closest I get to flying, and the world is always more beautiful when you can look down upon it. Still, ten years later, his words echo in my ears every time I see a swing. Push off, extend forward, pull back. Hold on tight.
A/N: An update? From August? What the hell is this? Haha, this is based off a true event in my life though the details are a bit falsified, the gist of it is true. :) Not a typical piece from me, but I rather like it. What are your thoughts, and hope you all are doing swell!