The Truth Within The Swings

“I signed them.” The vocal cords snapped the frailness of the woman’s throat. Her cold hands gripped tightly onto her own, each singular joint seemed to pop and crack with even the smallest of movement the women procured. Once having tan skin that was kissed by the sun has grown paler and paler; hugged sympathetically by the moon now. The disheveled man, scuffed up by time as it ticks through his endless, sleepless nights, comes to sit next to her and listen to the creakiness of the struggling swings. For a moment he could make out the memories of once fresh swings that haven’t yet experienced the loving admiration of sticky kids that were able to fly for mere seconds on bright pleasurable days. For a moment, but the moment swiftly disappeared; sucked in by his egregious reality. Uncomfortable silence seems to fill the air of the rusted swings, he realizes how much silence felt like a vacuum in space to him so he conjures any charming remark that could free him from the agonizing stillness. 

  “These old things are going to break with my fat ass” He harbors a laugh that is loud, but dull; she contorts her tiredness to a half smile, losing strength quicker than the endless time it took to keep it. For years he’s been caring about the pain, now, with every small faint of sadness brings a bleeding heart that he suppresses with a laugh, however lifeless it may be. 

 “I signed them a year ago.” She tries bringing him back to the uneasiness of the statement.

 “I know I should have done it sooner, but I think it’s best that we talk to-” She clears her throat, trying to lose the raspiness that seems to quiet her, it takes her back to when she was boisterous too loud for her own good. Her parents would tell her that she could never lose that overbearing presence, always beating to her own drum. She looks at herself now, how far she has dwindled, how far away that fire within her left without any trace of ash or sparks, how far her remembrance of herself is lost in nothing but foggy memories. He notices the spiral that holds his wife, powerless, he speaks up. 

 “Isn’t this full circle” She’s still lost in space, vacuumed into the quietness, he doesn't stop “5th grade we met at the swings, boy you were a firecracker, your twisted pigtail braids swinging as you yelled at a boy for hogging up the swings almost all of recess.” A genuine smile appears onto his face. 

  His wife remembers that day, however foggy and distant it is, she remembers who she was, was is the word now, not is, was. Her brows furrow; forgetting to even just find a half smile for her husband. He feels her, he speaks a bit louder now. 

  “You hit him, for whatever reason, I can’t seem to remember, but you did, and I laughed.”His eyes seem to be caught in the ideally pleasantness of his wife in her earlier years, back when things used to be easy, he draws a heavy breath to continue the found memory he has placed himself into. 

  “I have never seen a girl in all my life, even to this day, as angry and fierce as you.” He chuckles lightly and an etch of life is found in the breathy laugh, his wife however, feels the ticks as he speaks. The ticks of her past moving farther and farther within her reach. She wishes for silence, wanting peace within the stillness. Without looking at her he continues, 

 “I wasn’t laughing at you, I know you know that now, but I want to tell you again that the small faint chuckle I let out was pure and utter amazement of who you were- still are.” He bites the tip of his tongue in calloused hatred, but tries to catch himself as he reaches for the icy hands she's clasped onto painfully for a few minutes now. The heaviness of her neck keeps her head low, the throbbing of her fragile mind is filled with tapping that never ceases to end. He sees her, so he speaks softer. 

 “You wanna bet whether or not that slide will break as soon as I sit on it, I mean I’m not that big, but I got some heft to me don’t you think. Let's just get up and-” The shattering of her glass soul disintegrates 

 “Stop it, just stop it Michael. I don’t need you to make things feel better, can’t you just accept it, do you think all of this is going to go away because you made me laugh?” Her viperous tongue slices the barrier he has shielded himself from, the truth becomes more real to him as fear tightly grasp his neck, making it hard to bear the weight and just breathe. The space between them is more apparent than ever and he truly hates it, every single ticking second of it. 

  “No that’s not what I’m doing I-” He holds strong, trying to bring her back, but she is lost. 

 “You aren’t listening to me. I am dying Michael.” The blanket statement shocked the man down to his bones, it was as if his mind never traveled to the knowing fact his wife has now laid out to him. 

  “I am going to die. I will never be here again and my son is going to have to bury me.” Her voice shrivels as she peers into the future that she cannot be a part of. He reaches back to her hand, but she moves it swiftly, she lashes out on him once more, intricately using her bladed tongue to fatally cut his soul. 

  “DO YOU GET IT NOW?” Barron and forgotten, she depletes herself. Tears comfort the redness of her cheeks, she is broken within herself the weight she’s been carrying on her straining back has finally become too much to bear. His hands tightly grip the rusted iron swing wishing they were her hands; the iron stains his once soft palms. She sees his discomfort, but continues anyway.

 “I know it’s hard, but we have a son who depends on us- on you.” She wipes her face collecting the pieces she has left of her, emphasizing the last word she let out, not just for her husband, but for herself. 

 “I’m trying to ensure that you can handle this pain and protect my son. I need you to be there for him because-” She swallows the pain that tries to leak to the surface, her strength may have dwindled, but she will forever be a warrior. He can’t bear to see her pain. 

 “Hey-” 

 “Because,” She silences him for his own good. “Because I need to let go, Michael, I need you to love me fiercely, but be able to let me go because I’m tired.” She finally faces her truth,

  “I am so so tired, I'm tired, Michael, I’m really really tired.” She continues as she cries endlessly “I’m just tired.” He brings her to his chest and she cries harder. 

  “I know, my love I know.” The truth sets in, he could feel how exhausted she had been, he knew, he just didn’t want to believe it. So without saying another word he finds her favorite spot on her back and rubs it slowly, calming the storm within her that she has kept silent for way too long, all because she loves him and their beautiful son. Calmly he grabs the base of her cheek, lifting it to meet his sad eyes and seeing her tiredness for the first time fully.  

 “You never need to worry about him, he has your strength and I am going to protect our son. I make that oath to you.” And with those words he faintly presses his lips to her forehead he believes it now, knowing she tortured herself for so long and he was too scared to confront the future that was to come. 

 “I’m sorry I forgot to love you the way you needed to these past couple years, I’m-” Tears sprinkle her face as he shakes his head to bring back his stoic demeanor. She wipes his cheeks, kissing the wet despairing eyes. 

 “I forgive you My love.” And with understanding comes a wave of relief and comfort. They hold each other as the ticking sound fades away to silence, they watch their boy stubbornly completing his way to the very top of the jungle gym. 

  “Will you promise me something?” She says, Smiling as her hands become warm when gripping the hands of someone she will die loving. 

  “I pinkie promise.” He moves his pinkie anticipating the small grip of her own, tangled together physically and spiritually. 

  “When that boy over there falls in love and he brings them over, you must teach him to make that seafood gumbo you and I used to make to impress them.” He looks deeply into her glowing eyes, unable to hide his smirk. 

 “And for the love of god make sure you get the salted butter, no one wants unsalted butter in their damn cornbread.” He laughs at how serious her brows furrow when explaining the need of butters for a dish that won’t be made anytime soon. She looks up at him her face has procured into a pout, 

 “What’s so funny?” With that question he takes a breath for the first time in a very long time and says,

 “You amaze me.” 

    “Hey, you said thank you to Mr.Fetcher for the fresh crawfish and shrimp right?” Michael’s hands have wrinkled slightly, but his gruffness has stayed the same, just with the faintness of grays and whites sprinkling onto his beard and hair. 

  “Yes Dad, now can we please just go.” His moody teenager grips tightly onto his phone as he scrolls through his text messages, and slightly forms a smile, but instantly hides it from his boisterous father. Michael looks down grinning at his awfully discrete son, but notices an error that has been discerningly mislooked. 

 “No, we have a huge problem. What is this?” he lifts up the pack of unsalted butter with disgust. 

 “That's all they had, who cares if they'll barely taste it anyway.” The boy takes the cart moving it to the line where the cashier waves them over with a wide southern smile. Michael looks to the butter then back at the lady, then notices the gleaming of his golden ring tightly hugging his finger, adoringly. 

  “I’ll be right back, just put everything up and I'll be here to pay.” He quickly strides himself to the refrigerated aisle 

  “Dad-” The boy huffs loudly in annoyance and dramatically moves the stuff to have the lady ring him up. 

 Anxiously moving around all the unsalted butters that are stacked neatly, now have scattered around as he moves them to different locations digging deeper and deeper. Losing hope he bends to his knees that now ache with old age. 

  “Well it seems I might not be good to my promise.” He huffs in defeat, remembering to breathe and enjoy the little mission he has promised to live up by. Then, as if out of thin air he finally sees a piece of her. There is one box of salted butter left hidden in the bottom of the other nasty options. 

  “The last one huh? You really don’t want me messing up that cornbread. ” He smiles, holding the box tightly to his chest. “You truly are something else my love.”