The tale of Camille and the Tire Swing
When I was in elementary school, the best part of the day was undoubtedly recess. Running around the playground with my friends, poking things with sticks, making up silly dances and chants always brought a ray of sunshine to a usually dull day. There is something relaxing about hoards of children running wild in a small confined space, while security women, who are well aware that they couldn’t do anything to help if things got out of hand, scowl at the smiling faces.
The layout of the playground was simple. First, there was the parking lot, where the girls played “horses” and the cootie-infested boys sang songs about UFO’s. Outside the short wire fence was a small basketball court, tetherball pole, and hopscotch blocks. All of that was fine and dandy, but beyond the gate was where the real fun happened. A jungle gym, slides, monkeybars, swings, and a large field behind it all to play football. Even given the glory of our little playground, the one place that trumped everything else was the tire swing. Lines to ride a tire swing for less than a minute stretched out of the little area and into the lot. It was ruthless. Kids pushed each other out of the way to ride one with their friends, and many a tear was shed thanks to the Tire Swing Wars.
I am sad to say that I was a victim of a day gone wrong by the tire swings. The day started normally. We answered our morning trivia question, completed a math worksheet, and Ms. Ewin finished the story we had been reading that week. As she closed the little book, a xylophone sounded over the loudspeaker, announcing the funnest time of the day: recess. As our teacher opened the door, my friends and I all bolted outside, restless to play in the sunny paradise.
I was the next in line to ride the tire swings, and my friends and I eagerly awaited our turn. While we chatted about all the thing we would do on the beloved tire swing, a little girl named Sunni budged in front of me, hopping on the swing with her friends before I could stop them.
“Hey!” I yelled, stepping forward. “We were first. You have to go to the back of the line.” Sunni smirked at me, kicking her feet up as if to cement her seat on the swing.
“Well too bad! We’re already sitting here.”
“All you have to do is count to 100, and then we’ll let you go.” One of my friends chimed in, crossing her arms.
“Too. Bad.” Sunni remarked turning her head and starting to swing.
Being a 3rd grader, I had no intention of starting fights. My friends and I shared a solemn look, and decided to wait until Sunni and her friends finished.
By the time they finally left, recess was almost over. My friends and I hurried on the little swing, not securing ourselves on the tire with our usual care. While we all haphazardly sat on the tire, we started to spin.
Finally! This is the moment we had been waiting all recess for! The moment was sweet, but not for long. As the girl who was pushing our swing gave us a powerful push, I was flung from my seat on the swing, landing right below it. The tire hit me in the head on it’s way around, and hit me again while I tried to scramble out to safety. I decided to lay flat against the ground to avoid the wrath of the tire, and was kicked over and over by the little feet of my friends that dangled out of the middle of the tire. I could hear my friends yelling, trying to slow the swing down so they could hop off and make sure that I was okay. When the swing finally came to a halt and my friends pulled me out of the little ditch I had dug for myself, I was bruised, dirty, and crying. They each hugged me, and helped me over to the nurses office.
We vowed never to ride the tire swing again. Thanks for reading that little tid-bit. If you like pieces like this in addition to opinion stories, let me know and I'll write/find some more!
Camille
No comments:
Post a Comment