“Come play with us!” I hear. Oh, no.
“Um… I’m wearing a skirt. And… I’m bad at this game,” I tell them, trying to make up believable excuses in Spanish.
“You’re scared,” they say. Well, yes, honestly, but you’re not supposed to be thinking that along with me, I want to say. But I can’t. My Spanish won’t let me.
“Fine! I’ll do it,” I grumble, trying to hide my anxiousness.
You know, to me, flying out of a swing set and trying to land the farthest away from it sounds pretty severe. But that’s the game.
Sounds pretty dangerous, actually.
And, meaning to fly out of the swing? On purpose?!
Trying to land more than five feet away from it?!
But I had said I would do it, and now I had to.
So. I took a deep breath.
“Uno, dos, tres,” they chant.
Three of us girls swinging back and forth.
I’m supposed to jump off and break my neck. Instead, I’m going to fall off and break my neck. There’s a big, horrible difference. Believe me.
“Cuatro cinco, seis,”
This is bad.
“Siete, ocho!”
I’m going to die.
“Nueve!”
Aahh!!
“Diez!”
“Help meeeee!” I scream, as speed and gravity hurl me towards my fate.
Then, my feet the ground.
I look up, expecting to have flown half way around the world.
Huh?! I’ve made it two feet from the swing set. Seriously?
Two feet?
“Um, did I win?”
So All May Know,
Madeline Studebaker