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Chapter 17. The Swings

Chapter 17. The Swings

The memory has started. Auntie Ji An’s house is hot. I have to escape. My mother’s angry, sad silence is oppressive. I want to get away from it. I sneak out to the shed and get Auntie Ji An’s old bike. I test the tires. They have air in them. Without telling anyone where I am going, I climb on the bike and pedal away as fast as I can. At first I don’t know where I’m going. With tears streaming down my cheeks the sea and sky blend into a blur. I ride fast, aimlessly, until I see the park and the swings. I love to swing. It feels like flying. That will make me feel better. I stop, park the bike and run down the path to the swings. They move of their own accord. I grab one, and sit down facing the water. Tiny sandpipers skitter along the shore. I start to launch myself into the air, but there are people around. Do thirteen year olds play on swings alone? I don’t know. The terror of being in this foreign teenage world where I’m not sure what is appropriate behavior for my age paralyzes me. Instead of swinging, instead of soaring, I drop my eyes and stare at my dirty flip flops. My long hair hides my face. Anger and fear are crushing me.The warmth of my tears slip down my cheeks and my neck, but I don’t make a sound.

Behind me I hear someone approaching. I pray whoever it is does not want to swing. That someone takes hold of the chains of my swing. I don’t look up. I recognize their scent, they smell of fish and ice and I am humiliated. Could this day get any worse?

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Hae-in asks, “Do you want a push?”

I peek up at him and manage to whisper, “Yes.”

He slips behind me. With both chains in his hands, he pulls me back. We are so close I can hear his breathing. He releases the chains and I glide forward. My hair blows away from my face. The wind begins to dry the salt trails on my skin. I go as far as I can forward and then begin the journey backwards. His hands push the swing forward again. I begin to feel the weightlessness of flight. With each push from him, I feel a bit better, a bit stronger, a bit more like I might just survive this summer. We don’t speak. Not a single word passes between us, but we are communicating. And I am grateful.

Hae-in’s voice breaks into my memories. He asks, “Want to sit here?”

The table has a view of the swings and the water. I reply, “Yes, this would be good.”

We sit down side by side looking forward together. We eat our Tteobokki, not a single word passes between us, yet I feel like in some way we are communicating. And I am grateful.