Situational Tour: The Good Old Days.

Pulling Up. Stopped. Vast emptiness.
Searching for fragments of my past.
I miss naivety.
Decades later, much is the same.
But not that slide. Where is my slide?

Signs excluding us.
The grown-ups.
Is that me? Am I trespassing?
This was once all mine.
Here, where we played wall-ball.
That's MY wall, MY sign.

I can name all 50 states in alphabetical order.
Used to jump on Alaska.
Wish it was that easy. To hop from one place to the next.
I'm stuck.
Bouncing between two homes, going nowhere.

Still looking up. Haven't grown much.
It was so hard to use this basket.
To be part of the game.
THEN to score a point.
At least I control my own success now, not the 6th graders.

The rainbow.
'Cause that's what it looks like.
Here before my time, and now after.
The only play thing of MINE that is left.
Plain, cold metal. Blisters. Bruises.
The way it's s'posed to be.
Just up now, and down later.

Now it's only up. Or "success" is lost.

This is new.
Sure, it's pretty, but it's too easy.
Plastic, steps, smooth surfaces.
Where is the BIG slide? Where Tyler broke his arm.
Kids sure have it easy these days.

Time stops.
I jumped. I was so high.
I was flying.
OW!
My hand, blood.
Great. Another trip to the nurse.
Swings are the best.
I got hurt a lot. But nothing bothered ME.
Easy. Multiplication, snack time, kickball.
Not anymore. Research, running, wasted nights.
I'd rather play kickball.

Tweeeet.
Line up kids. Take roll. You must be here.
What happens if I'm not?
Nothing.
Now, don't need to be here. But if not: Failure.
Funny how that works.

Ding!
The worst sound ever.
Recess is over.
Move on kids, it's another grade's turn to play.
I want to play. I don't want to leave.
Let me play.

The trailers.
My home for four years.
Freeze your tail off if you have to pee.
Bring a buddy. Outside is dangerous.
I think outside is beautiful.
Inside. Chaos.
Josh threw a chair. Ryan puked. We had a meeting about David.
"Be nice kids." No way!
He called me a name. I called HIM a weirdo.
It's true.
Later, I found out he had issues at home.
I should learn to keep my mouth shut.
I still hate the kid.

Some things never change.

I have to get out. I don't belong in this empty school.
There should be smiles and basketballs and Berenstein Bear books.
Driving by in my car.
Damn, people that drive are ginormous, I used to think.
The baseball field. The blue sky.
Can't remember much.
All I think about in this space is my job.
It's only a few yards away from this field.
We used to sing there. Walk over. Make the old people happy.
Did it 'cause they made me.
Now I serve them liver and onions.
I drive. I do it for the money. I do it because I like it.
I guess I'm still making their day.

I zoom by faster.
I want to go back.
SO bad.
They don't want me.
I know I can't anyway.
I used to get hurt so much. Cuts, scrapes, pencil wounds.
That doesn't happen anymore.
It's a different pain.
My mind is cluttered.
It's not even about the recess or easy classes.
I just want to swing for a while to clear my head.