Our Playground

This was our playground. Now, snow covers the swings, slides, and sidewalks equally - all around. Memories of past days drift like snowflakes mingling with the frigid air. My failures of the past are distant echoes of today’s hopeless problems. They whisper playfully in my ear, “nothing is in your favor.” Their shivering hands pull at my hair and tug at my knitted scarf.

This was our playground. When I look around, there is no one. Only a line of grey clouds looms. Slowly, it approaches - ready to swallow everything whole. Should I give up, finally? I let my knees buckle and collapse into the snow. Snow envelopes my socks, shoes, and pants - wet, cold, and miserable. With immense effort, I attempt to piece together a reality. The sky is the sea. I find myself hanging upside down in the clouds. Together, we roll and roll. Take a deep breath and smell the electric sea. With that single breath, I fall down down down. In the air, the wind. The things I do not know. They are far greater than the number of scents on the wind. It is an overwhelming realization if pondered for too long. The sky is the sea and I am a boat - tossed around aimlessly.

This was our playground. Now, only robins inhabit the space where children used to play. A robin lands beside me. It chirps, chirps, chirps - trying to anchor me in reality. At that moment, my breath escapes my hold - it has been set free. The robin chirps once more the flies away - out of reach. Does it even matter? I cannot chase it. My limbs have grown far too weary. I can, at least, follow the robin with my eyes. It flies so intentionally free - weightless and happy. Too soon, the robin has flown too far for my eyes to see. In its absence, tears burn my frozen skin.

This was our playground. Summer days and unrestrained smiles shone off the swings, slides, and sidewalks equally. Now, clouds approach closer and closer. Where is the sun? Send me someone who takes pictures of the sun. Will they give me one? Smoke. I smell smoke. Is that the scent of the burning sun? Smoke indicates fire. Fire burns everything heavy away. Will I be able to fly like the robin? One more time. I will try one more time.

This was our playground. Far to the side, a coffee cart stands alone in a snow-covered field - odd amidst the barren surroundings. Three robins, perched, watch smoke plume from a low fire. The words Life Coffee sprawl across the side of the cart in a dancing script. I tilt my head. Since when has that been there? Through the snow, I drag my feet forward. One step. Two steps. Three. I turn around. Once more. One more time.

This was our playground. Why is there now a coffee cart here? The barista smiles - unrestrained - as I approach. Lines around her eyes indicated a face long-accustomed to such expression. “It’s a beautiful day,” she takes the coffee pot off the fire, “how about a relaxing cup of coffee?”

“A beautiful day? The sky is not blue, it’s grey. All is grey as lightless day.”

“Cloudy days are beautiful. Sunny days are beautiful. Rainy days are beautiful too. Honestly, I connect most with the rain but somehow looking up at the sun always brings a smile to my face. So, coffee?”

“This was our playground. Why are you here? Why Life Coffee?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Life tastes like coffee - bitter but warm. After a few slow cups, it begins invading your thoughts. But, magical is the day you discover cream and sugar. Remember,” the barista pours a cup and offers it to me. “Life may be bitter at times but a simple dash of sweetness can make all the difference.” I grab the cup and take a sip. “How’s the taste?”

“Fine,” I answer and resume drinking my coffee. She pours herself a cup and sips. “How’s the taste?” I mimic.

“Exquisite,” she grins warmly. “Some days I’m convinced that the world is constructed out of glitter rather than atoms. Everything shimmers. Today must be one of those days.”

This was our playground. Now, it has frozen over. I look around at the world in repose. Ice and snow have invaded the essence of everything. It winds through the ground, wraps the clouds, and warps the air - nothing but cold desolation.

“You are an impossible person, you know that?”

“An impossible person?” The barista chuckles.

“Yeah, how do you do that?”

“Do what?’

“See the world as though it sparkles.”

“Give me a second,” she takes a long unhurried sip. “I have never given it much thought before. Most of my time has been focused on the sparkles themselves.” The barista silently drinks and I shift my feet from side to side. The winter wind blows and my coffee grows cold. Coffee. There is coffee on the wind. How had I not noticed? I close my eyes. In my delirium, I think I can hear the clink of ceramic mugs in the lengthy silence - the chatter of people; the hum of city pop. Eventually, I open my eyes and the barista sets an empty cup down. “Smile when you see the sun peak through the blinds. Then, put on a good song.”

This was our playground. My whole world. It all comes crashing down. Crack. Crack. The sound of cracking ice is deafening. Crack. Crack. Crack. Then, something shatters. My voice is the sole thing in existence that is as quiet as a whisper.”Truly impossible then.”

“Hey there, Mr. Blue Sky. That’s not true.” The barista’s voice weaves around the snowflakes and reaches my ears. How did she hear me? “Look and see. I am smiling at you.”

“Why?” My voice wavers.

“Why am I smiling at you?”

“No. Why are you here?”

“To distract you.” Smoke. I smell smoke. Smoke indicated fire. The barista gestures behind me and I turn. I was right. Why was I right? The whole world is crashing down.

This was our playground. 

This was our playground.

This was our playground. In an instant, I slip and collapse - disastrously - into the snow. With a beath, I am like the world - falling down, down, down. I lie in the snow watching, utterly helpless, as the playground burns before me.

This was our playground. I cannot remember our meeting but I will never forget this farewell. It is a farewell of fire. Fire is all around, covering the swings, slides, and sidewalks equally. The things that burn. Wood. Metal. Glass.

This was our playground. Memories fly and failures smile like the flickering sparks that reach for the sky. The towering flames wave a long goodbye - bitter but warm. The things that melt. Air. Ice. Snow. Winter.

This was our playground. Now, it is gone. Light spreads its delicate fingers across the landscape. The snow shimmers and sparkles; the sky is blue. My eyes take in the sight of a previously impossible world. Everything is alive; everything is beautiful. It is a beautiful day. I let my eyes close. The snow is so very cold but the sun is so very warm. Is this what a relaxing cup of coffee feels like? Is this it? I roll onto my back and take a deep breath, absorbing it all.

This was our playground. Now, something is different. The snow at my back seems to be falling away and the sun on my face seems to be drifting closer. I realize, suddenly, that I cannot feel the cold anymore. It is all gone. When did that happen? I open my eager eyes in surprise. The blue sky is painted above me like the call of destiny. I am floating. My body has left the ground. I am rising. The breeze carries me to new heights. My entire being is weightless, my legs, arms, and heart. A laugh bubbles out of my throat. The smile of my soul. There has never been a sound more free.

This is our playground. High within the sky. A warm ocean that smells of coffee and salt. Far down below, I hear the barista call out to me one final time. Her voice bounces playfully on the breeze. The very air itself is her playground.

“Blue! Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“That you’re in a dream!”