Week 17 - I Can't Recall

I Can’t Recall

Matthew Ryan Fischer

What happened here, I don’t remember.

What happened here, I can’t recall.

What happened here was hardly famous,

And meant nothing to those not involved.

What happened here shall easily be forgotten.

But what happened here,

made the world grow very, very small.

                                (N. Gates, The Wastes of Youth)

The grass was worn away and the ground carved out – the impressions left behind over time, where thousands of feet had pushed off for speed, or skid their toes in order to stop or be slowed. Mitch could remember when his feet barely touched the ground. Now his feet rested firmly on the ground. He leisurely rocked back and forth, letting his weight push himself ever so slightly. There was a little bit of perpetual motion in every swing set, or at least that was the way it seemed. Just enough weight, and just the right leaning, and the swing would do the rest. Even now as an adult, Mitch loved the gentle rocking.

He was a strange sight to see – a grown man with suit and tie, sitting on a children’s swing.

Mitch always like swing sets made with metal. Even if they were clunky and loud sometimes. Even if the links in the chain got stuck and one side of the seat hung lower than the other. He didn’t like rope swing sets or the rope burns he got on his hands. Of course that only happened when he was young and was swinging as high as he could possibly swing and he would grip the ropes too tightly. He knew better now. But still, he liked what he liked. Probably only because it had been his favorite so many years prior.

It used to feel like flying. It used to feel like he was losing control. Higher and higher. Faster and faster. He never went so high, so fast that the swing completed a full loop over the top support beam, but he had told that lie many times as a child. He also never leaped off into the air like so many other kids had. Mitch had never been a daredevil, even if he knew how to act like one. Even as a child he knew the value of big words and strong talk. People believed in confidence. They wanted to believe the story. Believe the person. He just had to seem like that person. He always knew how to tell it and he always knew how to make the other kids believe. The swing set antics were a long long time ago, but his communication skills had served him well through the years.

Mitch kissed his first girl on this playground. When he was too young for such things to really matter. He and a girl named Amber something – he couldn’t remember her name. They were in grade school together and they were curious about the things that adults seemed to do. So they kissed. It meant nothing, except that he still remembered it. Amber something. Somewhere in the 5^th grade and already thinking they were just like the adults. He should try and find a yearbook or class photo or something. Amber something deserved a last name. He would try to remember to do it this time. He told himself he would anyway.

Years later he kissed many girls on this playground. Kids needed places to go at night. Parks and playgrounds were great places in the middle of the night. He had several dates that consisted of nothing but swinging on this swing set. Sure maybe they had modernized the playground equipment since he was a kid, but it was basically still the same place and the same playground, so in his mind it was basically the same swing. Even if it wasn’t. That didn’t matter too much to his memory. He still had good feelings sitting here, rocking back and forth.  

Swing sets used to be magic. Time lasted forever. Just him and the air. The wind in his face. The world didn’t matter. The world didn’t exist. Time just stretched out, on and on.

It was getting late and Mitch was a little intoxicated. It felt like this night might stretch on forever and ever too. Swing sets were still magic.

“This seat taken?”

Mitch looked back over his shoulder. “Cindy McGill, as I live and breathe.”

“You always have to say it like that?”

“I don’t. But I do.”

“It’s not even my name anymore.”

Cynthia Palmer – Cynthia who would forever be known to Mitch as Cindy.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really matter to me.”

“That’s neither cute nor charming.”

“No, probably not. But nobody calls you Cindy like that anymore, so if I do it, then I get to be the only one. It’s like I’m special. It’s like I’m giving myself a little gift.”

“Jesus, you never change.”

“I try not to.”

Cindy sat down on the swing next to Mitch.

“The great Mitch Richards. Here and in the flesh. I’m surprised you came. I didn’t think you were coming. No one heard from you.”

“Well that’s just not true at all. You hadn’t from me. You and all your little gossip hounds. But plenty of people knew I was going to be here.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No... No, I guess that’s true. You didn’t.”

“I heard Jason got a promotion?”

“Well, he got a job title. I don’t know what you’d really call it. It’s nothing really. No money.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have much to say. That was the way the world seemed to be working more and more often. He was trying to think of something nice to say or something that wasn’t cruel or insensitive, but for the life of him, Mitch couldn’t. He tried hard to ask a polite question instead of something he really wanted to ask, and yet that had somehow sparked a stressful response. The world was shitty sometimes and Mitch knew that all too well. But he also knew he was doing better than most of the people at the reunion and he knew he should keep his mouth shut about money and jobs and such things. He hadn’t meant to say anything about Jason at all, but he was searching for something to say that wasn’t just about her.

Mitch decided to keep his mouth shut for the moment. She had come to see him. She had sat next to him. It wasn’t his job to instigate conversation. She had sought him out.

“Why did you come back?”

“I don’t know. You know how they say you’re going to end up missing things when they’re gone?”

“I don’t think anyone says that.”

“Well not like that. Not like that’s the saying. But there are sayings. People say stuff like that. ‘You can never go home,’ ‘the grass isn’t always greener.’”

“‘You end up missing things when they’re gone.’”

“Exactly. But now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Poor Mitch. You got nostalgic. And you came to a high school reunion. You turned out to be the cliché you never wanted to be. But you did play high school football, so maybe that’s not such a surprise.”

“Wow. Glad to know you’re as sympathetic as ever.”

“I can be a bitch to you.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can. And you used to have thicker skin.”

“Well go easy on me. Just a little bit. I’m trying to be nicer. Means I can’t dish it out like I used to, but also can’t take it as much.”

“There are so many things I want to say to that. Soooo so many. And you deserve them all.”

“I probably do.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be nice. Just a little. Little bit. I’ll still be a little bitch to you. That’s what you get.”

“I thought...”

“What? What did you think?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“You know it’s crazy.”

“What is?”

“This. All this. This is my grade school playground. Over there was my middle school, and that’s our high school. All of this is basically on the same block.”

“Cheap land.”

“Yeah. Sure. But... all of it? I started in preschool here. We spent half our lives here.”

“Not me. I transferred in 8^th grade.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I guess so. Still. A long time. I spent half my life on this street. Add in preschool and that’s like fourteen years. Five days a week. This was the most important street in my entire life.”

“At least you’re not Max – he teaches Algebra now.”

“Really? That guy became a teacher?”

“I know right? Who would ever trust him with their kid? But he did it.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I talk to him. He lives like twenty minutes from my place.”

“You were really good that way. I... I don’t talk to anybody.”

“All I do is pick up the phone.”

“Algebra? That guy was an idiot in high school.”

“Yeah, teaches math and helps out with the theater department. For the plays and stuff.”

“Damn. He’s a lifer.”

“See? Yeah. It could be worse. Much much worse.”

They laughed. Together. It felt nice. Spontaneous but natural. Mitch liked it.

He was about to say that maybe being a lifer wouldn’t have been so bad, but he noticed she had turned cold. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he had a guess. He thought it best to keep his mouth shut. As soon as Mitch had that thought, Cindy must have had a similar one, because her demeanor changed and she grew serious. She turned pensive and spoke quieter.

“At least you got out.”

“Cindy—“

“Don’t...”

“I... I didn’t get anything. I just left. That’s all. I left. I wanted to do things. I wanted to—“

Cindy smiled at him. It was a sad and painful smile as she held something in, deep inside her. She didn’t speak for a moment, but Mitch stayed quiet, understanding. She opened her mouth, but all she did was breathe in and sigh a little. Her eyes filled and her lip trembled. If she had to speak she might cry. If he said anything, she certainly would.

After a moment, she muttered, “I know you did. I know.”

Then Cindy and Mitch sat in silence.

Eventually Mitch stood up and stepped behind her. He leaned in close and she looked up at him. It felt natural. She had looked up at him like this so many times before. She liked feeling his warmth near her. He stared down and their eyes locked. She knew his face so well. He looked nice tonight. He had such kind eyes. Even when he tried to hide them. He had kind eyes.

“Mitch—“

“Shh…”

Mitch pushed the swing and Cindy flew through the air. She got to be a kid again. They both did.