Saying Goodbye

         I walk out into the yard before leaving for work to say goodbye.  The morning air is pleasantly cool compared to the muggy atmosphere of a summer afternoon.  My flip-flops collect dew droplets and fling them onto the back of my legs as I cross the lawn toward the swing set.
         I break out into a run, racing toward the middle swing, the one I always swung on if I had the choice.  I slow down as I reach the swing and study it for a moment.  I can remember it was once a bright cheerful blue.  Today, the plastic is discolored, a light blue after years of baking in the sun.  While it once was smooth, it is now is rough and bent from years of use.  I sit and grip both of the fraying blue and white striped ropes that suspend the swing.  The rope is rough and scratches uncomfortably against my palms.  I hesitate, thinking about how silly it is for me, fifteen years old, to be playing on a swing set in my backyard.  I shake my head and realize I don’t care; this will be the last time I can. 
         I push my feet against the ground.  They slip across the wet grass and I am puzzled.  This was never a problem before.  And then I remember. The grass beneath this swing was once worn away, leaving only dusty dirt, due to the constant trampling of children’s feet.  Yet now the grass grows thick, I haven’t touched the swing more than twice in the past year.  With a swift kick I fling my shoes across the lawn, hoping my bare feet will have a better grip.  I push off again and this time it works.  I start to pump my legs but suddenly my feet ram into the hard ground.  I suppose my legs are a bit longer than they were last time.  I start over again, careful to keep my feet up as I glide through the air.
         I close my eyes and smile to myself.  Even though I can’t remember the last time I swung, I can remember the feeling.  I soar forward and my hair chases behind me.  I rocket backward and my hair whips in front of my face.  I and wonder if maybe we shouldn’t sell the swing set.  Aren’t I having as much fun today as I was 10 years ago?
         I continue to swing, climbing higher and higher. Then, at just the right moment, I let go of the ropes.  For a fraction of a second, I soar upwards and know what it feels like to fly.  And then I’m falling.  I land smoothly on my feet as I have hundreds of times before, but this time my head is spinning and my stomach is turning.  I rock unsteadily for a moment and then decide to sit down on the grass.  I take a deep breath, close my eyes and rest my head in my hands.  I remember laughing when, as a little girl, my parents told me swinging made them lightheaded.  Now I’m the one who is feeling dizzy.  Gone are the days when I would swing for hours on end with my friends.  After a few more deep breaths I open my eyes. 
         I stand up and turn to face the swing set.  Last week I’d been so sure that selling it would be okay, but now I wonder.  For years my swing set had been my favorite place.  I swung by myself and with friends.  I swung after school and during the summer.  And now it will be gone.  I glance down at my watch and sigh.  I have to work at a summer camp with hyper kindergarten and first-graders in fifteen minutes.  I smile and imagine how much fun the campers would have playing on the swing set.  And then I realize; I’m not a little kid anymore.  I don’t have time to play on a swing set now, but the kids who own the swing set next will.  They’ll be able to spend countless hours having fun, just as I did.  I know it is time to say goodbye.
         I walk up to my favorite swing touch the rope.  Childhood memories swirl in my mind.  Goodbye to my swing set, goodbye to my childhood. “Goodbye,” I whisper, “and thank you.”