The Playground

I knew this girl, once. She was like... swinging from one rung of the monkey bars to the next, a fresh pulse of air and those butterflies that flair up at the first tremor of possibility.

Drew wasn’t like the monkey bars. He was a slide, maybe. He held me when I was lost and made me feel safe until my feet were back on the ground. Even Cara wasn’t like the monkey bars and we had been friends since birth. She was a seesaw, there for the ups and downs, keeping me grounded, then raising me higher.

Of all my friends, only Elise made me feel like I was flying through the air, praying my hand would find the next rung.

I didn’t think too hard about it. Eight-year-olds have too many important things to do, after all, but games of tag and math worksheets faded with the sunset. Even back then, the whispers of doubt and fear were thunderous in the quiet nights. Why her, I wondered, but then sleep would come and the new day’s sun would draw me in again.

The world looks different from a playground. International politics shrink down to Fin tripping Lucas and Carter pulling Sophia’s pigtails. Critical negotiations? Evaluating the exchange rate between strawberries and homemade cookies. Allied nations are the cliques that prefer the swings to dodgeball to reading under a shady tree.

Small problems, though, are still real problems.

When I was ten, I fell off the monkey bars. My fingers slipped. I tried to stop the momentum, but all it got me was a hand full of splinters and a broken ulna. I had two casts, one hot pink and the other white, when they realized my arm wasn’t properly set the first time around.

After that, I was too aware of the pain monkey bars could inflict, so I climbed off the platform and back onto sturdy ground. I traded bright pink excitement for neutral white silence. The rest of my elementary school recesses were spent on slides and seesaws. It was fine.

In the tenth grade, my friend Ben brought me to the park. We walked around for a while, then settled on this old swing-set. When I pushed off the ground, I felt that familiar breeze against my skin. The caterpillars broke free of their cocoons and I soared. I didn’t think about the monkey bars at all.

It was easy to like the swings because everyone did. They were sturdy and safe where the monkey bars were dangerous. Bad.

College was different. I met this girl, Mel, and she took me to a playground. She held my hand and dragged me to the monkey bars. They were scarier at twenty years old than they were at eight. Still, she helped me up the ladder, and I put my hand on the rungs for the first time in a decade.

My feet dragged against the ground and I walked myself across. I convinced myself it wasn’t fun anymore, that I had conflated the memory of monkey bars with general childhood wonder. Then, she had me bend my knees and try again.

The wind lapped at my cheeks and I reached for the next rung almost desperately. How could anything this amazing be bad?

Mel and I spent a thrilling night there, getting a feel for every rung. Then, the sun came up. Even in that older daylight, the world looked different from the playground. There was this air of potential, of hope, but I knew better. Countries go to war and people die. Leaders negotiate exports, territories, lives. Nations put themselves first and others get left behind.

Maybe it was best to stick with swings for a while.

I was twenty-three and almost married this guy named Clark. He was good, better than good. He was kind and understanding... and he liked swings as much as monkey bars, too. Mel gave me the confidence to climb, and Clark helped me let go. Even though I loved the swings, I had to take a mid-air leap of faith and feel those metal rungs under my palms again.

I found Mel at the playground late one summer night. We stood on either side of the monkey bars and stared at each other in the moonlight. I’m not sure who moved first, but it only took seconds for our hands to meet in the middle.

Kissing her made me feel weightless, knees bent and soaring. I knew my feet could reach the ground, but it didn’t matter. I would fall for her any day, so long as the cast was pink.