Swing Away Girl, Swing Away

Sara sat in the rubber paddle seat, the plastic wrapped chains digging harsh frowns into her palms. She squeezed hard, hoping that maybe the sharp stab would wake her up, force her sleep-filled eyes to open. She’d realize this was all some horrid nightmare destined to be forgotten in the early morning sunlight streaming through her second story windows with the bubble-gum pink curtains. She hated pink, but her mom always insisted she’d grow to love it. Every inch contained some piece of pink - mauve carpets, pastel walls, or rose metal daybed frame. She couldn’t escape the Pepto Bismol feeling whenever she set foot inside her own bedroom. The chalky aftertaste sense memory rising as her feet stepped over the threshold, from neutral to frilly in 0.6 seconds.

The biting chains didn’t help; she didn’t open her eyes to a surround-sound diarrhea commercial. It wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.

Crap.

She pumped her legs a little to give herself some air - barely moving, but just enough so she didn’t look like she was moping. She didn’t want them to know how badly she hurt right now. They didn’t need to know she was fighting the urge to cry, choking back the tears and biting her tongue to keep the sobs from pouring out of her. They didn’t need to know.

Pretending to tuck an errant hair back into her messy pigtails, she brushed away the lonely teardrop that had passed the gauntlet of self defense mechanisms. Sara looked down and noticed her knee was bleeding. She must’ve fallen harder than she thought, gravel cut like knives into her soft skin. Too soft, she was too soft.

Not for the first time in her short life, Sara wished she could be stronger. Not muscular or scary, just … strong. Strong enough to let it roll away without obsessing over what happened and why. Strong enough to just let it be and not care what anyone thought of her. Strong enough to just be happy in her own gravel-bruised, porcelain skin.

Sara wasn’t strong. And they all knew it. They looked at her swinging back, pigtails flying as she tried to build up height and maintain the illusion. Adam kicked the gravel and spat in the grass. Jamie laughed. She sounded like a hyena, but no one ever seemed to notice, or were too afraid to say anything if they did. Sara pumped her legs harder, hoping the built up speed hid her flinch at that evil sound. No human should laugh that way.

She focused on her shoes moving up and down to stop the shaking when they started in again.

“Soooo weeee! Sara Swinegirl! Sooo weee! Here Sara swine! Soooooo weeeeeee”

The pink plastic toes were scuffed from falling off the monkey bars. The buckles needed stitching, they were starting to fall off their bands.

“Saaaaraaa! How many rolls does it take to fill out Sara’s dress? I don’t know, too many to count!”

The white socks with frilly tops floated like bloated jellyfish with each pump of her legs. The shoes were losing their shine, she’d have to ask her mother to polish them soon. Patent leather is so hard to keep looking new.

“Cankles, Tankles, how do you walk on those Sara Swinegirl?”

The socks bunched unevenly at the ankle straps. It looked like marshmallows escaping a pastel s’more., oozing all over and scalding if you touched them.

“Jiggly Wiggly Sara on the swingset. Jiggly Wiggly Sara pumping high. Jiggly Wiggly Sara’s gonna break that swing and die!”

She pumped her legs harder. She was flying high now, her plaid jumper dangerously far up her legs, threatening to show everything with one false move or slip.

“I hear that squeaking - Sue, do you? I think Sara hears it too. A few more swings, a few more tries. A few more pumps and Sara dies!”

Sara couldn’t stand it any longer. She alley-ooped, somersaulted as she reached the top, and soared into the trees. Her arms bent, retracted, curved and flattened. Her legs shrunk in - cankles, tankles gone forever - and tucked up and under her plaid jumper dancing in the wind.

They all stared: Bobby and Adam, Jamie and Sue. Sara was shrinking into herself, escaping her oversize clothes that never fit quite right even on her most normal day. Her red pigtails turned to crimson feathers, wings flapping happily out of her clothes. The plaid monstrosity fell helplessly to the prison yard below, shriveled and empty like a snakeskin left behind. Sara was free.

She chirped happily, sang her little song as she flew off into the trees. They’d never see her again, she’d stay this way as far as her little arms could fly. She’d start over somewhere new, where she wasn’t Sara Swinegirl; somewhere Sue didn’t call her piglet and Adam didn’t pull her pigtails. Bobby wouldn’t throw gum at her new dress, Jamie wouldn’t steal her diary and read it to the entire playground at recess.
She glanced back at their staring faces, at jaws wide open in wonder at her amazing feat. They’d know how great she was now that she was gone. They’d miss her when she wasn’t there. Wouldn’t they?

Below her and far behind her wandering, the school bell clanged the end of recess. Sara stopped pumping, her little legs forcing her to a halt. Delicate human hands in pockets, she shuffled over the gravel to line up in the grass with everyone else, studying her shoes like she always did waiting in line. Adam placed himself alphabetically behind her, gave the left pigtail a sharp tug and chuckled as Sara jumped in pain. He yanked the other one, then sighed with disappointment when Sara didn’t flinch.

Clenched fingernails digging half moons into her palms, Sara walked single file back into the prison, back to her plastic desk in the baby blue classroom. Someone, probably Sue, had drawn a pig with curly pigtails on the chalkboard. Everybody laughed. Sara sighed. Bobby had stuck gum in her seat.

Doodling in cursive lettering, she chirruped once under her breath and snuck a glance out the window at the V flying over the electric lines. Sensing Adam’s eyes on her, she coughed away her grin. They wouldn’t stop until they thought she was completely broken. Best to let them go on thinking that…