Gravity.

             There are always parts of our own weaving of which we are ashamed, embarrassed or simply afraid to pull at, in case, like the Emperor, we would be revealed in our true clothes. So instead I found a thread which in itself may seem little more than a childish naivety. A single thread that is part of the garment I now wear. This thread is one from those times when mounds were mountains, when back gardens were entire worlds, when we were kings or queens of the very universe we constructed around ourselves.

            I was four years old and a constant crying bundle of pink skin demanded attention from my mother. Due to my nature of destroying most things when left alone, I was put out into the garden, like a dog, so I didn’t get in the way and my mother’s attention could be focused on my new brother.  I didn’t mind this too much though as, although it was a small garden, it seemed to myself to be a great expanse of land which stretched for miles and miles. I was ushered out the kitchen door, its red paint peeling off, onto the top paved part of the garden; onto the grey slabs of stone flecked with white lichen and told to “go play!”.  I walked across the slabs, careful not to place my feet on the spaces between; the spaces in which persistant weeds attempted to push themselves through. I carefully walked past the dog poo that had been forgotten, (turning white which only childhood dog poo ever did). Past the rabbit cage, sticking my fingers in the cage to feel the soft fur and stroke the velveteen ears, smelling the cocktail of straw and rabbit, and then squeezing the water bottle to scare the rabbit. I went down the concrete stairs, the last one slightly loose and moving as I stepped on it. I continued down to the green, green lawn, ringed by the flowerbeds of thorn stemmed roses and contained by towering creosoted fences which promised painful splinters if you dared touched them. Further down the garden was the wooden shed with the dark creosoted planks and a green felt roof which was peeling up at the edges. From uncomfortable experiences, I knew that the shed was inhabited by spiders, rusty tools and forgotten bicycles. A big shiny lock hung on the outside, keeping the things locked in their sanctuary and me locked outside.      

            My sanctuary was the once green framed swing that sat next to the shed, the green paint having peeled off in places where the sun hadn’t bleached it yellow, exposing the metal beneath which had rusted over time. A yellow plastic seat hung from stainless steel chains, the shiny brilliance long lost and now a dull grey. The dull chains creaked as I pushed myself into the hypnotic monotony of the swing. When I swung too hard the legs of the swing would lift out of the grass, the long metal pegs pulling free from the soil scaring me to slow down. The green framed swing was mine. No one else used it, too small for my parents, too big for that thing which had entered my life and did nothing but shit and scream. It was mine, my world. Within the peeling metal frame and creaking plastic I could be whatever, whoever I wanted. Mine. All mine.

             I loved cartoons and my favourite was Popeye the sailor man. I liked the funny way he talked. I liked how he could squeeze a can of spinach into his mouth and grow enormous muscles, able to beat up anyone. I too wanted the magical strength, but I had no spinach. But I did know that spinach was green. I sat on the swing with the bundles of grass I had pulled from the garden, having picked only the most vibrant green and avoiding the yellowing blades. I started slowly forcing myself to chew on what was bound to make me strong. I knew it would work just as well as spinach, maybe even better.  I was a little sick at first, but I carried on, wanting the same powers that the cartoon sailor got from his green stuff. I persevered, thinking the dizziness I got from being sick was all part of the process. But I didn’t get stronger; my biceps didn’t suddenly expand no matter how hard I clenched my teeth and tried to force my will to materialize a transformation. Maybe the power was something else.

             A thin red bar ran, with a slight bend in the middle, between the rusting green legs of the frame, half way up the frame, just above my head. By standing on the plastic seat of the swing I was, after numerous efforts, able to get onto the bar. I had done this before. I looked around from my viewpoint; I thought I could see for miles. It seemed like I could feel the very winds that blew on top of mountains blowing on my face as I peered into the neighbour’s gardens. From here I felt like one of those explorers who climbed those mountains in the sky. I loved standing up here, but this time my intentions were not to drift off into the world of explorers of mountains, this time I was exploring bigger ideas. I do not know where the idea came from, how the transition from muscles to what I now believed to be the essence of my ingested green stuff, but no one intervened to tell me otherwise. My make believe world was all mine. My rules of the world existed now.

 The grass below seemed far away. I pulled out the grass I had stuffed into my pocket before and slowly chewed as I regarded the expanse before me. I resisted the urge to vomit now. I was getting used to it. That must mean it was doing its work. I finished what I had, what I had considered a suitable amount for the task at hand. It did look far down to the lawn. My feet were unsteady on the red bar and every time I moved, the swing shuddered, threatening to lift its feet out of the ground and send me spiralling down to the ground. I had to do it now. If I concentrated hard enough, it would work. I closed my eyes so I could push my mind’s power into the ground. I clenched my teeth as my eyes scrunched harder; trying to force the power I had ingested to manifest itself. I could hear the rushing blood vessels pounding in my ears. It was time, now or never. And so I jumped from my unstable platform. I jumped from my sanctuary. I had nothing to fear, I would not hit the ground. I would levitate. I had willed this. My mind knew in its entirety that it would work. I trusted that whatever you wanted would happen if you just put all your heart into it. I had put everything I possessed in myself into this, every bone, every thought, every breath.  

Gravity is one of many of life’s teachers of reality. I learnt that it is hard to escape its rules.

END