Short: The Swing

It was always worth a shot.

The playground swing, the one swing meant to entertain sixty children for half an hour. If you stayed on it for too long, the supervisor would drag you off and let someone else take over.

I'd never been on this swing before, you see. I tried every single break, and every single break I got to watch the cool children take turns swinging their legs back and forth on their oscillating body, like a pendulum on a pendulum.

Every time I failed to get on the swing, I got more jealous of the cool children, and more determined to one day be just like them. To be the ruler of all the playground, sitting on his sturdy mobile throne.

We had this rule -- whoever sat on the swing had supreme rule. He (and yes, it was always a he) gets to pick teams, even though he doesn't play. If he asks for your chips, you better give them.

It didn't used to be like this. We used to have no swing in the playground. Granted, there were still the cool kids, the girls, and me, but no one was in charge. The grown-ups had pity on our flat playground, and so they imposed the tyranny of the swing. We were just fine without it here, thank you.

Now, it's become an obsession. How can I have fun in my playground knowing that the swing was never used by me? The only feature of this playground, and I never got to try it.

One day, I felt more determined than ever. I could feel it behind my eyes, a sort of burning desire guiding me to achieve my goals, my dreams. I was visualizing how it would be like to be one of the cool kids, swinging madly back and forth and barking out orders like a frantic principal. This was going to be me. I was going to become one with the swing, with blissful highs and turbulent lows. Just watch me.

I approached the swing. I recognized the kid, he took the school bus home with me sometimes. I think his name was Tim or something. He was a little bit taller than me.

I approached the swing, and Tim, and asked of him very softly, "Can I play?"

He did not reply, and my face burned with shame. I had come all this way only to be ignored by the cool kids. I would have to go back to my little corner and reformulate my plan of attack.

Instead of giving up, however, I pressed on, a little louder, and with a little more confidence, "Can I play on the swing, Tim?"

At the mention of his name, his head snapped toward me. It frightened me for a minute, but then he spoke, "Oh, Matt! Hi! What?"

He knew my name! I wasn't expecting somebody like him to know who I was. And it turns out that he just didn't hear me, so I repeated my request, "Can I play on the swing Tim, just for a little bit?"

He smiled at me and said, "Sure! I'm kinda bored with it anyway." And Tim stopped the swing and got off. He even held the swing in place while I tried to sit down on it.

I was on the swing! I had finally achieved my goal! I was a cool kid now!

Something was not quite right, however. I didn't seem to be having quite as much fun as the cool kids were, and Tim was just staring at me blankly. Oh! I had forgotten to swing! In my excitement to be sitting on the swing, I had forgotten to use it!

Now, I wasn't quite used to being on a swing, but I'd watched the other kids do it all the time, so it couldn't be too hard. You just stretch your legs when going forward, and bend them when going back. I tried doing it, but wasn't really getting anywhere. Tim snapped out of his reverie and started pushing me, and soon, I was swinging.

From that day on, Tim became my best friend. Every day, we took turns between swinging and pushing. Soon, Tim's friends joined in, and eventually they too became my friends. The moment I decided to ask if I could play, I became a cool kid. Let that be a lesson to all would-be swingers -- don't be shy.