A Playdate Unkept

Lucy said she'd meet me at the blue swing "tomorrow." Then tomorrow came, and she didn't. I checked all the other hotspots of the park - the sandbox, monkey bars, and tunnel slide but no Lucy. I even stayed extra long at the playground, hoping she just got held up somehow. Eventually, I had to accept the fact I'd been stood up.

The neighborhood park held a lot of joy for me in an otherwise mundane life that summer. When Lucy was there, the hours just flew by. Her laugh was infectious and her spirit contagious. She viewed life as one big playground, never bogged down with sadness or worry, always a smile ready and energy abounding. I, being the quieter and more introspective one, could live my alter ego through Lucy.

When we met early that summer, it was because we were the only two there. Sure, we had noticed each other before. Only a handful of regular park-goers frequented Hillside Park, so we were attuned to one another. That particular morning, the heat was almost stifling in the early morning sunshine, but the need to expend energy prevailed. We both showed up, eager to run, hop, climb, swing, and slide. Since no others were present, we circled each other, wondering who would make the first move. Of course, Lucy did.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Wanna swing?"

"K."

And off we went. It was the start of a best friendship that lasted a whole summer. While we swung, we'd talk about the future: I would be a famous author; she'd be a star. On the monkey bars I'd challenge her to skip a bar (she was tiny and couldn't reach) and puff with pride when I was the only one who could.

Day after day we played. I shed my self-consciousness that usually kept my nose buried in a book in social outings. I wasn't unnaturally shy, just quiet until I got my footing with new people. Reading let me be other types of people in my head. Lucy, on the other hand, instantly commanded an arena of people. She blended in with whatever type of person was around. If someone loved jumping, she'd produce a jump rope; if anyone twirled and leaped, she'd bring music to sing and dance. She was everyone's muse, everyone's blankie. Every single summer day brought fun and memories. It was like the playground was her stage, and we were her audience. Not for any kind of a show, just for ... life. Something powerful and uplifting emanated from her and seeped into my being then. Every day was a day of happiness. She was a force, a magnetic field that pulled the best out of everyone and towards everyone. No one could NOT like her. And I reveled in the fact that I was her best friend. I was never jealous of other kids, nor they of me. We all accepted our roles in this little society.

The day before our Meet You at the Swings date, she was subdued. It's only now, looking back that I can apply that term. At the time I just thought she was getting a cold, or mad at her parents or something. I wasn't receptive, still aren't, to subtle emotional hints. I greeted her with my usual chatting and peppered her with daily activities, the latest book I was reading, and my ideas for playground games. She agreed with all my suggestions, which in retrospect is suspicious, - she always took initiative - and I had a ball that day. I never thought anything would be or could be different. My friend Lucy was a permanent fixture in my mind.

Then "tomorrow" resulted in no Lucy. Not that day, not the next, nor any other summer day after. Nothing felt right at Hillside Park anymore. The swings creaked too much, the slide stuck in spots, and the sand was too clumpy and dirt-like. Other kids ventured over and played near me, but not really with me. I retreated into my usual quiet self, preferring a book under the tree once Lucy was gone. The summer felt unreal by the time school started. I hoped she'd be in my class, a distant hope that got me through the remaining couple weeks of summer, thinking we'd be in school together. I never saw Lucy again.

I was seven years old then, same as Lucy. I never knew her last name and never knew where she lived. But she brought out the silly in me all those years ago, and no one has matched her style. She might even be a star today; I wouldn't know what she looked like if she was a famous celebrity. The only bad memory that follows me from that summer is the devestating let-down I felt when Lucy didn't show up that day. I tried out so many theories in my head for her disappearance - she was kidnapped by aliens, she was a secret princess and had to return to her homeland, and even that she desperately tried to reach me but didn't know how. In all honesty, I hold that last one still. She mattered in a way few friends do now. She was truly a free spirit, but didn't expect anyone else to conform to her standard. Where can you find that today?

I know that she most likely moved away, but the doubts linger, and my creative juices invent fantastic scenarios of her whereabouts. Lucy makes for good book-writing.

Anytime I go to a playground, I still check the swingset for a blue swing and a girl sitting atop it.