When the recess bell rings, I open the double doors to the schoolyard and sprint to the monkey bars. I just love the monkey bars. They leave calluses on my hands and make my shoulders sore, but there’s something about them that makes them better than any other part of the playground.
I launch myself off of the platform, swing my arms over my head and hold on for dear life. I swing nervously and pump my legs desperately trying to get my little body to the next bar. Don’t look down, don’t look down I tell myself repeatedly, but I inevitably always look down and fear creeps up my body from my toes to my fingers, which are just barely hanging on. I see a crocodile below me, or rapids leading up to a gigantic waterfall. I see pirates standing on the deck of the ship waving their swords in my direction. I see an ocean of lava bubbling up or a witch stirring her sticky, steaming, gooey brew just waiting for me to fall in. I whimper and close my eyes tight collecting myself, trying to be brave. I take a deep breath and grab the next bar. When the crocodile snaps his teeth at me, I instinctively spread my legs into a straddle. When the lava rises, I fold my body in half sticking my feet into the bars in front of me. It continues to rise so I pull myself up with all of my might and push myself through the hole between the bars and sit on the top looking down at the dangers below.
A giant hawk flies just over my head trying to grab me and fly me to my doom so I duck quickly, curling my body up into a ball while simultaneously holding my balance on the bars. The hawk is gone but enemy bomber planes fly above so I lay my body flat across the top of the bars and pray that they won’t spot me. They drop the bombs and I place my hands over my head while explosions happen all around me.
Soon, I find myself atop a moving train and behind me a great train robber comes bounding, his box of stolen diamonds under his arm. I quickly but quietly scurry across the top of the bars to escape from his path. I reach the edge and desperately grab hold of the last bar, jump and find myself hanging off the ledge of a cliff. I slowly shuffle my hands from side to side and look for a place to safely plant my feet, but the only spot is all the way across the bars on the platform where I began. My fingers are slipping. Can’t. . . hold on. . . much. . . longer. My right hand falls to my side. My left fingertips throb under the pressure. Sweat rolls down my brow. Just as my left hand slips, I quickly switch my right hand back onto the bar. That was close. I shake out my arm and place it firmly next to its partner. With determination I gaze upon my destination and make the decision to survive. I’m swinging effortlessly from bar to bar. I’m Tarzan chasing the poacher whose hunting my family. With vengeance in my soul and fire in my eyes, I forget all about my throbbing forearms or my sweaty, slippery palms and barrel through the bars in a fury I’ve never known.
As I approach the last two bars - suddenly, they disappear! Can I make that jump? It’s pretty far. I reach out one leg, pointing my toe and extending as far as I can, trying to get it onto the platform but to no avail. I stretch the other leg, same result. I hear a bell and look over to see an evil super villain tapping her watch indicating that I’m running out of time. I feel something on my hand and jerk my head to look up at a goblin atop the bars, slowly plucking each of my fingers from the bar as he cackles obnoxiously. Frantically, I look to where those two bars should be, tempted to reach for them, but I don’t. It’s now or never. So, I pump my legs wildly, and get ready to make the leap. 1. . . 2 . . . 3 . . .Go! My feet land, my knees bend, and my arms fly forward blocking my fall. I’m on my hands and knees. My legs are scraped and my hands are calloused, but I’m safe.
I hear a distant voice call my name, “Pete! . . . Peter!” Who would know my name in this strange land? Is it an oracle or an angel? Is it my long lost friend come to finally rescue me from a God-forsaken desert island? I stand up and brush myself off. “Peter. I’m not going to tell you again. You’re always the last one to come in from recess!” Oh. It’s just Mrs. Thornton. I jump down from the platform, and notice a little smile as I high-five her with my dirty hands and skip through the doors. Another adventure awaits – the third grade!
