The morning was warming up but still cool enough to be enjoyed, the humidity not yet sticking to my skin like an impatient lover. I approached the swing and carefully swept aside the moss, just enough to climb through the tire and swing, but not so much it would damage the tendrils of moss. Time had frayed the rope and lined the rubber with cracks, but it was still there. Still serving its purpose and persevering.
The tire swing had been one of the few things my dad had added to the grounds with his own hands and sweat and elbow grease. It had been a present for my fifth birthday, the only one I said I wanted the morning I woke up and my parents asked me what they could buy me. Since it had been a Sunday and most of the staff was off for the day, Dad had no choice but to buy the supplies himself, hang the rope, and cinch the tire tight. It was either that or deal with a disappointed daughter, and back then, our relationship had been easier.
I’d picked out the tree, and Dad had done the rest. It had taken him most of the day, and my birthday was only a couple hours away from being over by the time it was done, but I got what I wanted that day: my dad’s attention—the good kind—and a tire swing I’d spent a year’s worth of hours on since.
The rope stretched and whined when I settled my weight into the swing, but it held strong. The outside of the tire might have worn thin, but the core was still strong. Winding my arms around the rubber, giving it a gentle hug, I leaned my cheek into the tread and used my toes to swing me gently back and forth. The dew-dotted grass tickled my ankles while the sheets of Spanish moss brushed across my back. If there was one place in this state I felt at home, it was right there.
Only a minute or two had passed, and I was just starting to put the disaster known as breakfast with my family behind me, when I heard heavy footsteps crunching through the grass behind me. I didn’t look over my shoulder to see who it was; I already knew. In my lifetime, only one person had come looking for me when I’d gone missing. Only one had cared enough to find me, or cared enough to notice I was gone in the first place.
The footsteps came to a stop a few lengths back, then he cleared his throat like he was announcing himself. “So . . . I’m a prick.”
I continued staring at the world in front of me, refusing to look behind me at all that was there waiting.
“Already know that,” I said, feeling something more closely resembling exhaustion than the outrage I’d felt earlier.
Behind me, Boone sighed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Those people . . . the way they think of me . . . the way they treat you . . . I guess I can’t help but try to even the score any time I see a chance.”
Back and forth. Forth and back. I kept swinging, though my toes were growing tired of bearing the weight of my body. “Already know that too”
“What does that mean?”
I caught myself about to look back. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for my moment of peace to be over. There’d already been too few and far between. Twenty hours of torture to every two minutes of solace. “You know what that means, Boone.”
He seemed content to let my words hang between us, not in a rush to move on or deny it. Just when I was close to checking to see if he was still there or if I’d scared him away, I heard his steps move closer.
“Enough with the heavy for one morning, okay?” he said, his fingers brushing my back when the swing swung his direction. “You want me to push you?”
I slid my hair back behind my shoulders to hide my neck. If he was paying close enough attention, I didn’t want him to notice the goose bumps dotting the skin there. “I want you to push me and keep your mouth shut.”
When I swung back in his direction again, Boone grabbed the rope to stop it. “I think I can manage that.”
I smiled, knowing Boone might have been capable of keeping his mouth shut momentarily, but never for long. If he managed a whole minute, it was a success.
Letting go of the rope, he grabbed the tire and pulled it back as far as he could, then he lifted me even higher. When he let go of the tire, I closed my eyes and focused on the way the air felt crashing across my face. On the way it felt breaking through my hair. I focused on how something so invisible to the eye and so taken for granted could become such a powerful thing.
When the tire swung back Boone’s way, my smile widened as my hair whipped across my face, tangling in my eyes and darting into my mouth. Life seemed so simple from the seat of this swing. So clear that it was more simple than it was complex, more good than it was bad. Why things got so muddied when I climbed off of it, I didn’t know, but maybe that was the price of gravity.