Heyman 1

Nicole Heyman
nh12d@my.fsu.edu

about 1,700 words

WOOD AND THICK PLASTIC

By Nicole Heyman

During my short five-year-old life I had spent years begging my parents for a friend to play with,
and it wasnt until year three, of begging, that they finally decided to listen to me. It was my birthday
party and my home smelled of cake and hot dogs, as members of my family, that I barely recognized,
trotted through the kitchen wondering where theyd go for dinner after they got the hell out of my
house. I, instead of basking in the glory that was the throne made of presents sitting in my living room,
was with my parents out on the balcony, overlooking a backyard that looked different that the day
before, probably because of the newly installed, giant swing-set erected in the corner of the grass.
It was grand: A rock wall that led to a tree house, a slide, for those daring afternoons, a simple
little tire swing hanging from the post behind the hoisted house, and three little swings that could be
home to three small butts. The most noteworthy part of the swing-set was the baby seat, fastened
tightly and securely away from all of the other swings.
My parents smiled awkwardly as they attempted to hide, from the entire party, that the reason
behind the swing-set was not to celebrate my coming of age, but to distract me from the lack of

Heyman 2
attention I would be getting in the next upcoming years. It proved to be a difficult task in later months,
the secret got bigger and bigger; and by secret, I mean my mothers stomach.
#
Tyler was born in June of 2000. The swing-set had only been mine for nine months, and I
preferred it to the newest addition to my family, anyway. With all of my affections pouring into the tire
swing, rock wall and slide, there was nothing left to give the drooling, soft-skinned demon that kept me
up at night. His cries would start around 11:00 pm; waking me from the sleep I craved so much after my
busy kindergarten days. My parents would wake up, open my door and ask if I needed anything and
every night I would decline. Once they were preoccupied with Tylers needs, I would crawl down the
stairs and slip into the backyard. The tire swing was hung by ropes that were just long enough that I
could prop myself up without needing assistance; an aspect I was thankful for, because if I had to wait
for my parents help, Id probably still be waiting.
The motion of the tire would lull me into the perfect balance of exhaustion and bliss, making it
effortless for me to sneak back into my house, back up the stairs and into my room before anyone even
noticed I was gone.
#
Before my grandmother got sick, she used to take me outside and teach me how to swing by
myself, without anyone having to push me. My grandmother died in August of 2003. I was nine years
old. My father met me at the top of the stairs, shielding me from my sobbing mother, and told me that I
would never see her again. He hugged me and held me close. I thought the walls were closing in on me,
and then a small voice interrupted. Tyler was confused; my father let go of me and walked over to him. I
wiped my tears and walked into my backyard. I placed my butt on the blue swing, the one I always sat
in. It was here that I began to understand the concept of mortality. I liked the solitude that came with

Heyman 3
the swing-set. My parents rarely went out into the backyard; I was able to cry when I needed to, breathe
when I needed to, and swing like my grandmother taught me how.
#

Fourth grade was a challenge for me. I used to struggle with vocabulary tests; becoming a writer
is Gods form of irony, I guess. Writing and rewriting the words and definitions worked for just about
everyone else in my class; I later learned that my brain works in an entirely different way, but in fourth
grade I thought I was stupid. Tyler was still a toddler, so asking my parents to help me study seemed a
bit selfish to me. My teacher suggested using flashcards, I could take them with me everywhere and test
myself all the time. I liked this idea; I could take the cards to my backyard; that is exactly what I did. I
started studying while I was swinging, losing a couple cards to the wind, but memorizing a good portion
of them. It became a routine: school, make vocabulary cards, swing and study, and pass the test.
#
By the time I got to middle school, vocabulary tests were a piece of cake; making friends, not so
much. I had gotten used to spending time by myself, abandoning all innate outgoing abilities. In
Language Arts I was assigned to work with another girl, Samie. I was surprised at the level of interest she
showed in pursuing a friendship with me, mostly because I was awkward and too afraid to bring it up
myself. Nevertheless, we became exceptionally close and by sixth grade logic, it meant I finally had
someone to share all of my secrets with. We were always up to something, whether it was talking about
our crushes or planning to TP a neighbors house. Our talks never lasted more than a few minutes when
we were in the public eye, but we would spend hours on the swings discussing nail polish, boys and
where we thought our parents were hiding the Hanukkah presents. Every day after school we would
walk to my house, stroll passed the table where I usually did my homework and sat on the swings for
hours. I told her about my grandmother and she told me about her secret boyfriend, he was in eighth

Heyman 4
grade. Our secrets were kept between the wood and the plastic, and some of them will die with us, and
the swing-set. To this day I thank the swings for helping me find my maid of honor.
#
The swing-set was sold in November of 2008 and I watched as my entire childhood was taken
away in bits and pieces. The men moving it out of my backyard were nice, but only because they were
being paid. I didnt like the family that the swing-set was going to; the daughter was fat, shed probably
never get the swing off of the ground. The father wore barge frame glasses and I could tell he enjoyed
doing the Saturday morning crossword. I couldnt figure out what I disliked about the mother, she just
seemed sort of off. She drank herself to death two years later.
The slide was loaded into the truck and I recalled all of the times I slid down, surprised that my
father was waiting for me at the bottom. He used to pick me up and swing me around, and Id climb the
rock wall, find my way over to the slide and hope that he met me down there one more time. Often
times he had already gone back inside to help Tyler do his homework.
The rock wall was in parts. All of the rocks collected in a bag. The wall was unscrewed into
boards of wood, making them look like nothing of value to anyone. The tire swing was thrown into the
truck, roughly handled. I angrily held my tongue because my mother wanted the sale to finalize, but I
didnt think these people deserved the swing-set after watching them throw its parts all over the place.
The mover men were just about done when the mother of the family handed my mother the
money. It was done. The swing-set was no longer mine; I was uncomfortable with how upset this made
me, a ninth grade epitome of emotional maturity. I turned my body away from the other family, only to
find that the blue swing and its ropes were left behind in my garage. I waited calmly as the family
walked back to the truck, hoping they would leave without a problem; but that fat little girl wasnt only
greedy with her food. She marched loudly back into he garage and hissed we forgot the boy swing,
picking up the only thing I had ever considered a part of my happiness. I hated her. Not only did she take

Heyman 5
away my home, but she unknowingly insulted me in the process. She pressed it to her core and I
watched as her rolls poked out around it. As fast as her chubby little legs would let her, she ran back to
the truck, tossed my swing into the bed, and the family drove away.
#
I returned from my first year of college in May of 2013. Shortly after my homecoming, I was
caught in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong possessions in my car. Several
embarrassing phones calls and $300 in bail later, my parents picked me up from the County Jail. I had
traded my parents trust for an alarmingly terrible mug shot and there was no hope of renewed trust
anytime in the future. I lay on the couch the morning after I came home from jail and I felt empty. My
parents focused on calling a lawyer; this was the first time they spearheaded helping me solve a
problem, I waited for Tyler to interrupt them, but he never did. While my father called every lawyer in
the phone book and my mom cried to her wine glass, I crept outside. It had been a while since I had
been in my backyard, but I never forgot how perfect the cold grass felt on my tiny, bare feet. I walked
deeper into the grass and sat down where the blue swing once hung; for the first time in years I was
truly back home.