Swings

I struggle up the hill to the playground, snow crunching under my boots. The streetlights are on, and everything is glowy and orange, almost dreamlike.

The swing creaks as I relax my weight onto the stiff seat. It's not because I'm much bigger since I last came, though I am. These swings have creaked and groaned since I was young. The familiar sound brings me back to that time, hearing the repetitive squeaking as one swung forward and the other backward.

I remember my small hand interlocked with another, giggles and footsteps tracing up this hill. Barreling down the slide, then getting on my favorite part of the playground, the swing set. I envied her ability to swing higher than me.

She was my only friend, so despite my jealousy, I was happy. It was just us, the perfect amount of people for the two swings. I didn’t have anywhere to go if it wasn't to the park with her.

The playground and its swings never got old to us. The anticipation that built when we pushed away and the gust of wind in our faces as we rushed forward kept us coming back. Despite that, when we got older, we got a little bored of swinging the whole time. She decided we should start sitting under the playground structure when we weren't swinging. The secluded spot was an appropriate place to whisper and tell secrets, like big girls do.

She always felt like more of a big girl than I. She knew how to swing better than me, but that wasn't all. She knew more than me about everything. She would lean in close, telling me things in my ear that turned them red. I'd get so nervous when her lips tickled me that I felt more like a little kid.

I wasn't sure why I wanted to sit under the playground together every time. I just liked the feeling of being close, her eyes only on me while I picked at the mulch, struggling to hold their gaze.

I wouldn't tell my mom why I wanted to go to the park so often. How could I explain it? The things she made me feel that I hadn't felt before? Things that made my heart beat faster than when she'd push me on those swings, thrusting me toward the sky? Even someone as naive as I knew it should be kept secret. So to Mom, it was just girls being girls.

It's been a long time, but I've still avoided remembering that feeling and what happened to us. It makes me cringe to think about it.

I was too young to understand why I felt the way I did about her. There was no name for why our time under the playground was so special to me. No diagnosis for why it made my insides flutter. I did know that this nameless feeling was the strongest I'd ever felt. That’s why on that awful day 10 years ago, before I left at school dismissal, I decided to kiss her. I brushed my lips on hers the same way she would to me at the park, and it put that same fluttery feeling in my heart. Kissing her felt so right.

I soon found out it was not.

Her smile shrunk, leaving furrowed brows in its wake. Immediately she recoiled, looking around to see if anyone saw. She snapped her head back to me with panic on her face.

"Ew, Ade! Why would you kiss me?" she cried. She turned her back to me and stormed off.

Everyone turned in the direction of her voice. Then their eyes turned to me.

“What the heck Adeola? Are you-”

“No way! What’s wrong with you?”

"Ew! Why would you do that to her?"

I had no answer, so I took off. I ran the entire way to the playground, sobbing as I sat on my swing.

I was scared, but I somehow hoped she'd come too. I was hoping she wouldn't have abandoned me, that I could explain myself to her even if I couldn't make us secret again. When I heard the rustle of leaves and her footsteps from the path behind me, I immediately turned my head, eager to fix things. Maybe she could see the schoolgirl puppy-love on my face. Maybe she felt it too but couldn't admit it. That's what I told myself, because then I could still believe that I saw some sort of pity on her face before what happened next.

Usually, when she pushed me on that seat, I flew toward the sky. This time, she shoved me off, and I hurtled face-first into the mulch pile collected by our feet.

“What were you thinking?” she scolded. "Don't ever try something like that again!". I was so disoriented, spitting out dirt and trying to recover, I nearly didn't hear her. But as she turned her back to me, the words finally made it to my brain. I watched her walk off before I could say a word.

When I left the park that day, I didn't turn back. Why go if it wasn't with her? Worse still, why go if I risked her rejecting me again?

Going back to school as the weirdo who kissed her only friend was awful. My peers had never seen something like that before. If they had, it was paired with disapproval. If something was unusual, queer, you could say, it had no place there. And that wasn't the worst part. While kids would whisper and snicker and gawk at me, she would look through me like I wasn't there. She wanted nothing to do with me.

In a school like that, word got around quickly. There weren’t many friends to lose in the first place, but kids would tell their parents what they saw. They, in turn, warned my mother of me "going down the wrong path". I was ashamed to have ostracized us both.

I was also nervous as to what would happen when she found out. It wouldn’t have been a secret unless it was wrong, right? Was I going to truly be alone after this?

I didn’t know what to expect from her, but I was relieved things went the way they did. She was angry that I was keeping secrets, but she didn’t say anything else. She didn't hate me, and it seemed that was all I had going for me.

With that, I had to wait. I didn't make anymore stupid mistakes. I silently willed everyone to forget. Eventually, they did. They stopped thinking about me, and I finally got to put it all behind me when I graduated and left town. Thinking about it makes me thankful that I've come this far.

I had to come back for Christmas, though. I missed my mom's cooking.

And since I’m here, I decided I might as well take a trip down memory lane and revisit this park. It's been forever since I've last seen it, and it's nice to sit back in the swing I loved so long ago.

I wonder, has she been back here since? Does she reminisce about us? Even if she hasn't, and I'm just a memory she wants to bury, it's okay. She was scared. Even if she never got out of this town like me, I hope she stopped running from herself.

I sway on my beloved swing. I've been here a while, and night has fallen. It's a little cliche, but it feels like closure to come back here after all this time. I rest my head on the chain, putting my memories and feelings to rest.

Until I hear something. The rustle of leaves and footsteps. My head whips toward the woody path behind the park, my calm interrupted. The spot is away from the streetlights, obscuring the source of the sound. I hear the steps come to a halt.

“Ade? Is that you?”

"Who-"

Wait. No one called me that for a very long time….

Oh my goodness.

She steps out into the light, inching forward. A voice I nearly don't recognize, a face I know like the back of my hand.

"Whoa, what a coincidence…" she hesitates. "Can… can we talk?"