Swing

Thinking back I cannot decide why we made it. We needed something to do. We needed to prove that it was possible. We wanted to make something bigger and better than Hopkinton had ever seen. Maybe it was all of these reasons. Maybe it was none. Whatever the reason, the result was the best rope swing I have ever seen. This was not just a rope swing. It was the rope swing, our rope swing. As we stood there in the late fall cold, wearing nothing but our bathing suits, we knew this would be our last ride of the season.

I have just as many memories of constructing the beast as I have memories of riding it. It started with five words from Ben. “Wanna build a rope swing?” We bought the rope that day with what change we could unearth in our rooms and cars. I will never forget how it felt to watch the cashier at the hardware store count out $30 in quarters. Next we found the location. For the following three days we would sacrifice our time, blood and sweat to suspend a rope from a branch. Noah fell out of a tree, bringing the top half to the ground with him. Wes got a parking ticket. I nearly fell off a branch suspended 30 feet in the air while trying to throw a Nalgene tied to the rope over the branch. Ben took the first ride. This became our child. We jokingly made up code names to conceal the location of our masterpiece. Weekly we would spend time after practice to “ride the dragon,” or “mount goliath.” Although we were not entirely serious about secrecy, each of us knew that it held some amount of significance. It was our swing and we wanted it to stay that way.

Huddled and shivering, we argued over who would go first. It was a strange feeling. Nobody had the desire to go swimming in late September. It felt more like a duty, this was something we had to do. I stepped forward at last. My breath could be seen as I grasped the woven nylon. Thin wisps of vapor left my mouth, only to disappear an instant later. The rope was worn, it knew my grasp. The connection between my feet and the platform was no longer, and I was instantly swinging the path I had traveled so many times over the summer. Reaching the riverbank the ground dropped off. I was dangling high over the water, no turning back. My momentum was lost, and for a moment I stayed suspended in the air, facing back to the bank. I let go of the rope one last time. Then I plunged towards the water, twenty-five feet of free fall (we measured). I fell from the tree, a mimic of each leaf that had already done so. I was falling, as had summer. This was it. This was the end.

Splash.

By: Sam