I hear the wind blowing in my ears. So forceful though softly brushes against my cheeks. Drowning out the innocent laughter of children around me I can recall the horns of taxis and pedestrian heels treading the pavement. The bell from the church nearby tolls fives times. Reminding me that it’s five p.m. Prepubescent feet swiftly stepping in tireless patterns followed by faint adult voices, as they engage in conversation with one another. And again the wind returns, silencing irrelevant noise, infusing me with serenity. The trees almost speak to me in melody, what it sees.
Tilting my head back, I open my eyes and take in the sky. Clear and blue with only green blocking my view. Between the spaces of the leaves on the trees, I get a full view of the sun without a single cloud in sight. Just the way I like it. Bringing my head back down to the center, the sidewalk is now at eye level. This metal fence in front of me is a barrier between me and strangers of the street. A silver sports car racing stop lights gets pulled over by flashing red and blue lights.
The smell of burnt rubber invades my nostrils. But it fades as I inhale the sweet aroma of Miss Dior, surprisingly after a man in a suit passes by her scent became stronger as if she still lingered on his collar. The closer I get to the trees I notice it rained earlier. The faded smell of freshly washed leaves had not yet evaporated in the sun. Strollers being pushed on the sidewalk bring an intoxicating yet familiar new baby smell. As I tilt my head back again, pointing my nose to the sky the aroma of oven baked pizza fills my lungs. To where I can almost taste it.
I never liked chewing gum as much as actually chewing food. It’s almost like a decoy. I can’t swallow it because it’s supposedly bad to do. Such a tease. But the taste is what always get me to come back. The sweet fruity taste of this gum reminds me of a blissful getaway on a tropical island. Which is probably the name of this gum I’ve been chewing for almost two hours. Tropical mango. Go figure, my favorite fruit. This ordinary, orange, rectangle has now become a masticated latex of sapodilla in my oral orifice. I always love the tingly feeling in the back of my jaw that I get at first bite.
I grab the metal chains on both sides of my arms, and pump my feet to get higher. Keeping me above the ground, I adjust my bottom on this rectangular seat, like a toddler rocking in a highchair. This space feels smaller than I remember but I adjust myself to be comfortable enough. The wind returns but now feels colder and hits me so violently like a snowball to the face. My head still tilted back as I feel invincible. I, who was afraid of heights, am now swinging higher than everyone else. I am not afraid to swing too high, where I feel connected to everything.