Trust Game

"All right, let's go swing," Nanna said. We'd been sitting at the park near my little sister Cindy's apartment, opening presents for her twenty-second birthday.

"Oh my God, I wasn't actually serious about that!" I laughed, though I felt a wistful pang when I thought about those swings, which were rigged so high that they probably violated safety code somehow. I'd been in a wheelchair for four months following a rail platform accident, and although I was well on my way to recovering, attempting to swing, especially on that swingset, probably wouldn't have been the safest bet.

"You a chicken?" she teased, smiling.

"No, just don't want to break my leg ... again."

"Bock!"

"Paula, you're not serious?" Grumps all but begged.

"This is suuuuch a bad idea," Cindy groaned at the same time.

"All right, all right ... I'll try it. Y'all will have to wheel me out there, though. I don't trust myself to navigate this place in the chair. It's been too long since I've been here."

With considerable misgivings, Grumps pushed my chair from the sidewalk into the tanbark, followed by Nanna and Cindy, who'd linked arms.

We parked and locked my chair underneath the swing, and then the three of them gave me space so I could figure out how to pull myself up onto the seat. I almost made it ... but only almost, and after a few attempts, I was getting tired. I was all arms and torso and right leg, and once my right leg was over the seat, I was powerless to lift myself any higher. If the swing had been just a few inches lower, I could have gotten it.

Nanna stepped in. We moved my chair back and to the side and, favoring my good leg, I leaned on her shoulder like a crutch until we approached the swing.

"Grab the chains," she instructed, moving to stand behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. "I'll lift you."

And so it was that, like some sort of trust game, a blind, fully grown woman lifted another blind, fully grown woman ... into a swing.

Once Nanna was safely out of kicking range, I set about figuring out how to move. The heavy air cast on my left leg clanged uselessly against my right tennis shoe, so I focused on moving just my right leg, plus my arms and torso. Soon enough, I was sailing high in the air, whooping and hollering with joy. The wind mussed my hair and sang past my ears. I found I could even move my left leg a bit, so I made a therapy exercise of it.

I paused for a short rest and sent victory texts to my boyfriend, best friend, and physical therapist that somehow I'd made it onto a coveted swingset at last. I hadn't gotten to swing since just days before my accident, so this was one more glimpse of my slow return to freedom. Grinning, I pocketed my phone and turned to see my family silhouetted under a streetlamp and talking amongst themselves.

"Aren't you gonna come swing, Cindy?" I called.

"Nah."

"Suit yourself." Maybe she felt this moment was sacred and didn't want to disturb it. It was like I was giving a performance, but I didn't mind one bit. I shifted my weight in the seat and started swinging again for a few more blissful minutes. "I'm flying! Thank you, Nanna!"

"You're welcome, baby."

Breathing in the cool October air, I reflected how my grandfather had been the one to teach me to swing when I was little. This time, my grandmother taught me at the ripe young age of twenty-four. And I know it was Cindy's birthday, but with a gift like this, I felt like the world was mine.