SWING
I remember it as you would a dream. A memory, foggy and sleepy-eyed, cutting through the layers of the past. I must have been around four, and I sat on a swing. First day of preschool. All was fresh like a fresh coat of paint. I can't remember if I felt lonely, though I was alone in the playground.
A girl walked up to me and said something. What was it? She must have asked what my name was. I must have replied. All I remember are her dimples and her smile, her dark brown eyes and shiny hair, and my feet dangling slightly. At some point, she asked me if I wanted to go play. So we did.
She was my first friend in school. We went through our first school years together, then bumped into each other on and off during high school, then finally time passed and lives happened and, to use the old familiar phrase, our paths diverged in the woods.
We still hear of each other occasionally (thanks, Internet!), but geography and different pursuits have taken us to different places. She still has dimples and I still dangle my feet, but otherwise we are no longer the little girls we once were.
In my memory, though, I get to relive it. The swing. The curiosity. The kind gesture of a friendly face saying hi. Going off to play together. And I wonder why we don't do that more often as adults. Saying hello to the kid sitting alone. Asking if they want to come play (or perhaps just grab a cup of tea). Oh, and swinging with our feet dangling too!
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