Riding Home

By Icka! M. Chif

The sun is bearing down on me as I ride home from a job interview. There's a cool breeze coming in from the ocean, a few miles away in the west, but it's a head wind and it does nothing to un-stick this stupid dress shirt from my back. I'm reminded once again why I hate dressing up. Not only do the clothes look and feel funny, they're highly impractical. How the heck do people wear this stuff everyday?

The interview went well, I hope. After being un-employed, except for small bouts of part time jobs that never pan out for over 7 months is beginning to take it's toll. I know I should be optimistic and all that, after all I got to joke a bit, but once the interview is over, all that's left is the waiting. That's the worst part. The waiting. You've done your best, now it's all up to someone else. That's never rested very well with me. The voices are blissfully silent for once.

Turn off of the main roads, into the housing tracks. It feels slightly cooler here, more trees, less cars. That's the important part. Less cars. Don't care for those much. Been almost run over too much. Fortunately, I'm only slightly suicidal, or we'd be in a hospital by now. Maybe crazy, but I'm not dumb.

There's more to look at here too. It's fun to guess which houses have kids, and which don't. Now, that one on the corner obliviously does. 'Home Tweet Home' with the Tweety Bird on top. Cute. Is Tweety a boy or a girl? Always forget... heh.

Short cut through the park or go over the hills? Park. Yup, definitely Park. Too sticky to go chugging over hills, no matter how small they are. Knew I should have brought a water bottle. It's not even noon yet.

The park's change a lot since I was last here and even more since I was a kid. It's nearly unrecogniseable. All the old great metal climbing stuff has been replaced by that stoopid new orange plastic junk. Try fitting through those now, huh. The kiddie pool is gone now too, replaced by small-enclosed thing for pre-schoolers. Not that there ever was much water in the pool anyway. Now it looks like some sort of demented zoo pen, complete with bark on the ground instead of sand or concrete.

Aw, no. They took down the best part; the huge brick storage shed that they put slides up all over. The shed's still there, but the slides are gone. That just bites, big time. Can't even begin to remember how many times I played tag, or hide and go seek on that huge monstrosity. What a waste.

Took down the metal train that was next to it too. Nothing but empty sand. The concrete turtles are still there though. Not much consolation. Only the babies liked the turtles.

They left the swings up, thank goodness. But not even they're unscathed. There's some sort of black stuff under a couple of them. Oh, I see. It's that rubbery stuff they put under playgrounds now to protect the kids from the sand. Huh. I wonder...

The only people around that I can see are a couple of skateboarding junior highers that snickered at me when I came in and a few pre pre-schoolers. Perfect. Before I can debate about it, I ride my bike out onto the black stuff. It's not bad for riding on, for the few feet I ride out onto it before I dismount. Quickly, my helmet and backpack join the bike on the rubber stuff. The bike gloves can stay.

There are two swings on the foamy junk, and a few more out over the sand, including one of those strange baby ones that by the time you know what they're for, you've out grown them. Looking down, I realize it must be a two foot drop to the sand. And there's a swing right there. Wonderful. Always liked the ones with lots of leg room.

Feel kind of awkward climbing down into it. I mean, I'm two0, almost two1, in dress clothes for an interview getting into swing set. My parent's voices echo through my head for a second; it's not lady like, act your age, behave like the proper young woman that you are. I dismiss them and sit down. After all, they can't see me right now.

The height is just right, my feet can't quite touch the ground with my feet. Before I can dwell on that too much, my legs start pumping, getting me started. The memory of my Dad teaching me, or was it Dori? -how to swing makes me smile. Kick out when you go up, then under you when you go backwards. Up, down, up, down. The skirt swirls around my ankles, tickling them as my ponytail slaps me in the back every time I move forward. I still feel kind of silly, but I can't deny that it's fun.

Something's not quite right though... Doesn't feel right. I feel heavy. What... oh, the tail. While flying backwards, I grab the fuzzy scrunchie holding my hair back and shove it into the skirt pocket, nearly taking my bike glove off in the process. My hair flies free, falling into my face, nearly blinding me. I love it.

I'm lighter now, going higher into the sky. It's almost as is I could just reach out and touch the clouds. This is why I love swings, it's the closest one can get to flying and still be on the ground. All my problems, all my worries seem inconsequential now. All there is the rush of wind in my ears, the chains in my hands and the push and pull as I try to go higher still.

The skirt flies up in front of me and suddenly I'm reminded of a bell. The skirt is the bell and my legs are the clapper. Ding as I soar up, Dong as I fly back down. Ding... Dong... Ding... Dong... I find myself giggling over it. I can't help it. It's funny.

I hit a bump; I've gone as high as I can go. From my vantage point as I reach the top of the curve, I can see some of the pre pre-schoolers heading over to the new playground and climbing around on it. In the far background, one of their mothers watches them idly as she reads a book. She disappears behind the bathroom wall as I fly backwards, then reappears when I go forward again. It's like a game of hide and go seek or peek-a-boo. I wonder if she can see me. Probably thinks I'm insane. It's okay, I'm used to that.

The bumps start to get bigger every time I hit the top, rocking the entire swing set. Something in me says it's time to go. Reluctantly, I stop pumping my legs, instead crossing them at the ankles and allow my momentum to slow me down. I feel heavy, awkward again. Resting my head against the knuckles of my right hand, I start to feel a bit seasick. Fortunately, it doesn't last long.

One of the young kids is staring at me from behind the orange bars of the playground equipment with wide eyes. Then he turns and scampers off, running onto the black foamy stuff, then on to the concrete that separates the older playground from the new stuff. His feet go higher on the concrete and I notice that he's barefoot. It's probably burning the soles of his feet, poor kid.

The swing's about half the height it was before now. Just right for jumping. A voice in my head speaks up that I must be out of my mind, I'm gonna trip, fall and break something or get tangled up in the chains or a dozen other embarrassing and gory things. I ignore it, focusing on scooting forward so I can clear the swing. It sounds like my biological mother. I don't like her much.

The swing moves forward again, and before it can move back again losing more height, I tense up, launching my self into the air. I'm in glorious free fall for a moment, then my feet hit the ground in a perfect landing. I grin, feeling like I did the first time I tried that and got it right, oh so many years ago. Triumphant, I turn and head back to the bike, reaching out and stopping the still moving swing as I pass.

Slowly, I pull my hair back again and put it in the ponytail for bike riding, then swing on my backpack. My stomach, no longer tied up in knots over the interview loudly complains that it wants food. I vaguely remember as I fasten the helmet that I skipped breakfast today, I was worried over the interview and getting the computer to work so I could get the resume printed. Not that there's much food in the place anyway, I need to go shopping. And bills, I need to pay those too, it's getting near the end of the month.

Reality and responsibilities settle back on my shoulders like a cloak as I pick up my bike and get on, mindful of the skirt. I need to wash it, I remember. I have the money to do laundry this week. I smile a bit as I pedal off, still feeling good. I may be unemployed, but that doesn't mean I'm not busy.

I pass the lady watching the kids. She's got her nose in a book, she doesn't see me pass by. I vaguely wonder what she's reading. As I turn onto the street, keeping an eye out for cars, one of the voices suggests that this would make a good story.

Maybe I'll type it up when I get home.

Epilogue: A week later, I got the job. {D