Swing

Today I went to the swing-set. About six minutes walking from where I live is a childcare center for the children of my college's faculty. Since I live on campus year-round, it's not all that hard to head on over when the place is abandoned.

Swings are always so melancholy. Even on TV, they're the place people go to when they're upset or depressed. My Aniki uses the swings still, bellowing Death Cab for Cutie lyrics at the top of his lungs. Today, I went and bellowed Breaking Benjamin's album Phobia. I left because of the incoming thunderstorm (something about a metal swing-set and lightning seemed like a bad idea).

When I'm on a swing, I close my eyes and remember all the times before, when I would sit there, head titled up, watching the sky and trees overhead come closer, into focus, then fall away. I remember laughing with friends, then feeling isolated, because they didn't look up, because it didn't matter. They were laughing and smiling because it was fun. I just wanted to fly, to soar, to let go and catch the wind beneath me. On the swing, I could fly faster, farther, higher than anyone else. And so often, I would realize that only I was "flying." I had to choose, between playing with my friends or flying alone. The choice made me sad, and isolated.

"Hitori". Alone.

With my siblings, it was different, at least with Aniki. My youngest brother -- not so much. He's never been much for imagination, unless it was stock cars or slapstick. But Aniki could soar like an eagle, higher than the rest, farther, longer. It was my job to keep up, but gravity forever would pull me back in. A racing, deep desire to break free would overwhelm me. But Aniki would forever pull away, like the eagle flying ahead of Spirit in Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron. Not that I particularly recommend this series, but it very much so recalls the yearning of the C ranked team of corporate salarymen Kogarasumaru faces off against in Air Gear: "You will soar to the highest heaven, but we Wolves will run to the ends of the world!" If I cannot fly, I'll run!

That's how my dreams have always been: I dreamed about flight, over and over, until it finally hit me that I cannot fly. And ever since then, I have been running, pursued, to the ends of the world. If I hit flight, it is an epiphany, from which I invariably awaken or fall.

Farther, higher, faster, yet ultimately alone.