Swing Set

For her entire life, Lucy had been waiting for Him. She had been waiting long before she knew it, long before the idea could form in her mind, long before she had uttered her first cry into the world that her mother had never gotten to hear.

Or, at least, she assumed her mother had never gotten to hear it. Her father did not like to talk about it, so she never asked even though she kept wondering. Wondered what her mother’s laugh had sounded like, what foods she preferred, and if she sang at the top of her lungs on car rides just like Lucy and her father always did. The only answer she had ever needed was the tears in his eyes.

Sometimes, she wondered if her mother had been waiting for Him, too.

Her father told her not to think about it too hard. 

“It’ll get better,” he would say, holding her hand and smiling from where he sat at her bedside, “I promise.”

Lucy always smiled, but wasn’t sure if that was because she believed him. She was supposed to, wasn’t she? Believe him and every word he said and trust that he wasn’t lying because he’s her father and he’s supposed to protect her and keep her safe and-

She sighed, twisting to look out the window, the off-white curtains permanently tied off to the side, and looked down to the playground just across the street. It was flooded with children some days, and it was eerily quiet on others when they were all in school, and their parents were too busy to take them.

She wondered if any of them were waiting for Him and if they knew that they were. Whether their parents were, or their siblings, or anyone they knew.

Were any of them even old enough to understand it?

No. Probably not.

They were younger than her, but she had been as young as them at one time. They chased each other across loose gravel, forming conga lines of sweet ignorance as they propelled down the slides, laughing as loud as they could as caretakers pushed them to and fro on the swingset.

Lucy bit her lip and looked away.

The swings had always been fun. She had rarely gone to the park when she was younger, though her father had tried to make time for it between his job and his other job and his other job and every doctor’s visits. One moment stood out in her memory - she was on the swings, her father pushing her as high as she wanted and laughing along with every kick of her legs. The gravel was there, far away and distant, and then the sky, impossibly close, kissing her face with every brush of her hair against her pink cheeks.

It had felt like flying.

She hoped, one day soon, she’d be able to feel like that again.

“Yeah, we’ll go,” he said, “totally. When you get better. Just you wait, we’ll make it the best day of your life!”

Just you wait.

Lucy had smiled. There was no need to set a date, because she knew exactly when she wanted to go, whether he wanted to take her or not.

She would wait for Him there, in a place that made her happy.

Even so, it was still painful to look at, knowing she couldn’t go out there and play. She was older than most of the kids she regularly saw, so it would probably seem weird, regardless. But she didn’t have anyone to play with. Most of her friends had forfeited their occasional visits to live out their lives long ago. They had been too young to understand it all but old enough to realize that waiting for her would do no good.

It was lonely, and it hurt. But she was glad, at the same time, knowing they weren’t going to waste away their lives waiting for her - knowing they could get better, move on.

She didn’t know if her father could, though. He didn’t talk about her mother, despite all the years that had gone by. Thumbing his wedding band, staring longingly at old photos in their hallway, still neglecting to box up the old floral blouses and lace cardigans in the closet. 

She often wondered if he knew what she was waiting for. If he even knew that she was waiting at all. 

But no, it wasn’t hard to decipher… he knew. Of course, he knew. He didn’t want to talk about it, acknowledge it, think about it, but he still knew.

In some ways, that made it harder to deal with - knowing he couldn’t even look in her eye and say it and know it and feel it… she was tempted to be insulted. But she wasn’t. She had tried to deny it, too, long ago, when the news had come, and she was just barely old enough to understand.

But she understood now. It was her reality, and it was his whether he wanted it to be or not. In a way, they were both waiting.

And one day, as she gazed out the window and breathed steadily through the aches and the stiffness and the weakness, Lucy knew they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. 

Her father sat by her bedside, reading to her with all the funny voices she had adored as a child and still did, doing anything to make her laugh and smile and forget about the world for a few precious moments. Maybe her mother really had laughed like her when he told her jokes and tickled her until she couldn’t breathe.

Despite his denial, she was glad that he was there, day in and day out, always ready to hold her hand and whisper about how everything would be alright one day. He stood by her rather than hide away, unable to look at her and the sorry picture she painted, and she could never say that she wasn’t grateful.

She hoped he would be okay.

“Dad?”

“Hm?” he hummed, midway through flipping the thin, shiny page.

“Will you take me to the playground across the street?” she asked.

He paused, looking to the window and furrowing his brows.

“Now?” he asked, and she nodded. “It’s almost night time, Lucy. You’ll freeze your little butt off if we go out there now!”

“I know, but-”

“Like I said, we’ll go when you get better, don't you worry.”

“Dad, I-”

“You just gotta be patient, alright? Just wait for a while longer, then, you can-”

“Dad!”

He stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her, in her beaten-down state with tears threatening to cross the expanse of her pale face, her mouth pressed together and pleading with everything she could muster. 

“Please…” she begged.

Don’t make me wait anymore.

Shoulders sagging, he knew.

Slowly, he nodded, running a hand through his too-long hair - a nervous habit.

“Okay…”

No-one stopped them as he lowered her into the wheelchair, rolled her through the cold corridors with his jacket wrapped around her small shoulders. They exited the building with a knowing smile from the receptionist, into the parking lot and across the crosswalk and right to-

It shouldn’t have made her as ridiculously happy as it did. It was just a playground. But she had gazed longingly through her window for so many days and weeks and months. Her fingers had itched to grip cold chains suspended in midair, her chest empty and aching with the carefree smiles of children who would never know her. It was hard to believe that she was actually here.

Here, where she wouldn't have to wait anymore.

Her father picked her up, his strong arms wrapping around her back and legs with a grip that screamed. She lay her head against his chest, memorizing the subtle shake of his shoulders and his straggly beard, the scent of old cigarette smoke, and the beat of his heart. All her waking moments had been spent memorizing every detail, just in case every time was the last time. It had never felt like it mattered before now.

Maybe everything had been waiting for this moment.

The seat of the swing was cold through the thin fabric of her gown, the tips of her pink boots grazing the loose gravel. The chains on either side of her were cold to the touch, and she savored every crook and bend. Gently, her father reminded her not to pinch her fingers.

It was quiet with no one else around, just like she had always imagined it was when everyone went home for the day, back to their soft beds and star-stickered ceilings. With the sun setting over the trees, a gentle wind licking at her shins, she found that she preferred it this way. They were here by themselves, but she wasn’t alone.

“You okay?” her father asked, pulling his coat further around her small frame, “Comfy? Need anything?”

She smiled at him, her cheeks throbbing with unadulterated joy.

“I’m okay,” she said, “will you push me a bit?”

“Of course, hun… Hang on tight.”

Neither of them mentioned the hitch of his voice, the pain in his crinkled eyes, how he didn’t want to let her go. Firm, strong hands pressed against the small of her back, pushing her forward and back, briefly letting go so the swings could work their magic. The weight of gravity pulled to and fro, the breeze wrapping her in a warm embrace she had not felt in a long time. Her legs wouldn’t kick, and her hair wasn’t there to brush against her cheeks anymore, but that didn’t matter.

She was here, and she had spent too long waiting for it.

Her entire life had consisted of nothing but constant waiting. Waiting for her dad to come home from work, for the morning to arrive with the promise of a new day, for the doctors to find out what was wrong with her, for long-awaited test results that would change nothing. Waiting games, waiting rooms, waiting, waiting, and more waiting. Regardless, it was worth it to finally be here.

It wasn’t what she remembered it being like, but it was enough.

The gravel beneath her seemed so far away, and the sky seemed so close, the sound of her father’s voice rich and vibrant in her ears as he laughed and cried with every push and pull of the world.

A gentle breeze kissed her face… and He was there.

She had always wondered what He would look like. What He would be like when he finally arrived. There had been ideas, but it was hard to figure out what to believe. She found that He was nothing like any of those ideas, or the storybooks or the cautionary tales of old, or what everyone always imagined when they thought of Him. He looked... kind. Tired, but kind, with a smile that had seen far too much and far too many just like her. In His eyes, His mouth, the furrowing of His brow, was an apology.

She wondered if He had looked at her mother the same way.

For her entire life, Lucy had been waiting for Him, long before she knew it. And, it seemed, He had been waiting for her as well.

With the wind’s soft kiss and the memory of her father’s laugh, Lucy closed her eyes and waited for Death to take her.