Was it the rush for the last dive or just the deep blue sky that suddenly knew no bounds, she wondered.
The last breath of sugary orange ice danced in her tongue, or was that the crisp marigold petals that blew through the sky.
A cry broke out at the back, “Hey you, what do you think you’re up to. There are little kids waitin……” Swoosh, woosh, she made these sounds louder to her ear, everything else could wait today. The feet rose higher and she pushed harder. She could almost hear the swing loosen up a bit, a screw or two racing to leave. After all it could not hold 100 pounds for that long, the limit was 85 pounds, children only, no adults.
But not today, it was none of her concern.The hair was all over her face twisted in sand, her handbag at a solitary bench somewhere facing the heap, her phone would already have buzzed a hundred times, her pile at her desk was too huge to even stare at . Ah! All of it could not swap her attention from the blissful evening. She was all by herself and the wind continued its foreplay. And Zenab was still in the mood for more chases. Clink, her silver bangles would clap against each other, and air will make its way through the little spaces beneath the tuck in, there were no disappointments no judgments here. The little whims and the tears amidst the little people she was surrounded with blended with her joy, the laughter of contentment.
For once she was deaf, the only sound she heard now did not need to make any sense, she laughed throwing her head back, and even the awful glances had no intention of holding her back today. No sweat, no worries. Thud!, , her face fell flat on the heap, the particles of sand fighting to drop inside the shirt.The swing aiming for sideways now, she was no longer on the seat, she realised. “Are you all right…, God!, can you hear me?” a hand over her head, she slowly raised herself.
It was fun, but certainly not to those sturdy arms that helped her up. He had clean flexed up muscles, the full sleeved black T-shirt did not do justice. The nose had fine crook, thick eyebrows and a thin line for lips that frowned at her. His eyes were soft, hazel brown origins, a kid holding his shirt. Married, she presumed. She pushed her hair back, with a gentle smile to a disappointed whim, started towards the other end. The long queue at the swings dispersed and the annoyance faded at the back. What is with these hitched ones anyway, that pulls me, she said to herself. The flat screen on her phone with 6 missed calls reminded her why.
Unfolding her now sand washed denims, she breathed in the aroma for one last time. The smell of freedom wafting in the sidelines, she sat in her little blue cardilac, Rusty she called it. Agony bequeathed on her back seat, her way home and ahead.
She probably will not return those unanswered calls, talk to her mother right back, and maybe even finish the manuscript she once was so agitated to start, 6 years ago. But one thing was definite, she would come back.
To kiss the memories of the times when she did not check before parting out her lips for a grin, to sway in the madness of nothingness, the engine roared. One last glance, and the sun prepared for the next shift, beaming she leaped into the golden road.
