Rope Swing

By Mitch Crosskill

The path used to be so clear. Leave school. Start your career. Get married. Buy a house. Have a family. These were the milestones that defined what it meant to be a grown-up. No longer. Now, those responsibilities can be bypassed indefinitely. A new generation has arrived, free from the old rules and expectations. It’s a liberating time to be an “adult.” Can someone please tell Cal that?

Rope Swing is Mitch Crosskill’s second novel. He lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, with his wife Kathleen. He has swung on rope swings in the past, and expects to do so again in the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mitch Crosskill
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9780463491492

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Rope Swing

By Mitch Crosskill

Copyright © 2014 Mitch Crosskill

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

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For Kathleen, whose stories fill my days.

Special thanks to Chuck. Nothing slips by him. Nothing!

Table of Contents

Chapter One: To Begin a Search

Chapter Two: And If You Lose Your Way

Chapter Three: The Start of Something Great

Chapter Four: Pleased to Make Your Reacquaintance

Chapter Five: Doubts Are Not For the Devout

Chapter Six: Your Subconscious Is Not Your Friend

Chapter Seven: Party Down

Chapter Eight: When Your Memory Fails You

Chapter Nine: Journey's End

Chapter Ten: Wedding Night

Chapter Eleven: A Blueprint of Sorts

Chapter Twelve: Holding On Is the Hardest Part

Chapter Thirteen: Return to the Grind

Chapter One

To Begin a Search

I'm sorry, what'd you say Cal?

I need to leave this afternoon and take next week off. Is that cool?

It still didn't register. The iPhone was up to Jeff's ear and he was caught between the conversation there and the conversation in front of him. He had waved me into his office after I knocked, and walking in I had expected the phone to be there, a constant reminder that being in one place would never suffice for a man in his position. You knew when you had him on the phone that he was otherwise occupied, and you knew when you had him in person that his phone was a second away from interrupting. I had ceased to consider it an inanimate object—it represented twenty other people impatiently waiting for their turn with the boss.

I didn't blame Jeff—I understood the burden he had levied on himself. A never-ending cycle of voices to be momentarily satiated, a constant juggling act fine-tuned to ensure everyone got just enough to keep them at bay. His was a remarkably evolved persona, perfectly adapted to handle the rapidly changing set of priorities he was faced with daily. Solve one problem, immediately attack another, taking a look at the bigger picture just long enough to inform his next decision.

But what happened when that phone stopped ringing? When the inexorable march forward was halted? Not something he could afford to consider. Unlike my request, which he now decided demanded a few moments of his time.

Hey Jamie we'll have to sync up later—I'll call you in 5 minutes ok? Five minutes meant an hour, but I'm sure Jamie knew that. The phone was placed face down on his desk and Jeff's eyes regained their focus.

So what's the deal? Are you ok?

My mom just called—my father died. It was quick. Blood clot went to his brain.

Oh man. Cal, I'm so sorry. That's horrible.

Yeah. He moved out to California a few years back, so I haven't gotten to see him much, but the whole family is going out there and I have to help out with the funeral arrangements. Figured it just made sense to take the whole week off.

Of course, of course. His phone buzzed in front of him, but Jeff, with a clear exertion of will, ignored it as he moved from behind his desk to embrace me. It was a brief hug, punctuated by a firm handshake that he maintained even as he pulled back and let his steadfast gaze emphasize his words.

Life comes first. Take as much time as you need.

Understood. Should only be a week though. Then I'll be back, ready to go.

Ok, well if you need more time let me know. Although, I don't know how long this place can function without you.

Sweet of him to say, and it gave me a little satisfaction to know he was at least partially right. If I could take any one solace from the four years I had spent pouring myself into my work, it's that I would be missed. Sometimes, that was the only reason I kept trying, just to make myself a little more indispensable. If that seemed trivial, consider the alternative.

Thanks. Don't you worry though—after I get all this stuff sorted out I'll be back better than ever.

Ok. Well, have a safe trip, and if you give me the address to the funeral home I'll send flowers. Oh, and please send your mother my condolences.

Thanks, she'll appreciate it. I'll email the address when I know.

Jeff nodded his head sympathetically, but didn't respond. That was the cue for me to address the practicalities of my departure. I knew those considerations had never left Jeff's mind. He might have felt for my loss, but he was also gauging its impact on next week's workflow. I wasn't offended—Jeff's success was predicated on his ability to rapidly absorb and process sudden changes. Having ascertained my emotional stability, what had to be handled was the impact of my absence.

So, as far as work next week, I can have Tom edit the Kirk proposal, Reed handle the Yarmouth site content, and Claire do the blogger outreach for Redstone. There was a brief silence where Jeff considered each of those individuals and their ability to handle the task I had planned for them.

I don't trust Reed to handle Yarmouth. Put Josie on that.

I think we need to start testing Reed. I'd like to see how he does with Yarmouth.

Fine—your call. But I want you to take ownership and make sure it's client-ready. It was a measure of Jeff's confidence in me that he let Reed tackle the Yarmouth site. To be honest, I didn't know if Reed could handle it either, but I liked the kid and I thought his time had come.

Of course. I'll have it ready to go the Monday after next.

Jeff's phone rang again, drawing his eyes away from mine. Glancing at the number, he gave me a solemn pat on the shoulder to reaffirm his sympathy. Then he put the phone up his ear, spun around and began walking to his seat. My time was up.

Andy, what's the status on that site redesign... I closed the door and turned around. Reed, the subject of our conversation, was standing outside, an anxious look on his face. I wondered if he had heard his name. He had just graduated that spring and he looked it, still more a boy than a man, gangly frame topped with a head of shaggy brown hair.

Is he busy? Reed's expression showed he already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

Yeah, sorry man. Hey, you got time this afternoon to talk about Yarmouth?

Of course, Cal. He gave me a look of guarded enthusiasm.

Awesome. I'll stop by your desk after lunch. As Reed returned to his cube, another coworker—this one had just started last week and I kept forgetting her name—approached Jeff's office. A shake of my head told her everything she needed to know, and, defeated, she returned back the way she had come. She could have no resolution as long as she lacked an audience with the man behind that door. Jeff was truly indispensable, in a way I could never be. The cost was his freedom, but I don't think he considered that such a great sacrifice.

Speaking of sacrifices, I had just surrendered my get out of jail free card. My father died in a car crash when I was 5, and I had few memories of him beyond his deep baritone. It still rang as a distant rumble in my memories, and I had accepted that was all I would ever have from him in this life.

In death though, he continued to give. I saved the my father died card for the most extreme circumstances. When I was in danger of failing out of college, he succumbed to cancer, which got me a month-long extension on a few term papers. While at my previous job, I had fallen for a diehard fan of my favorite band while at their concert. Convinced I would spend the rest of my days regretting a missed opportunity, I decided to drive out to California to see her, making sure to first call my boss and inform him that I needed time to recover from my father's tragic hunting accident. Four thousand miles and one venereal disease later, I felt like I had earned karma's payment.

Those previous instances appeared trivial in hindsight, especially compared with the sense of urgency I now felt.

####

There it was. Hanging off the giant oak branch, suspended above the bay, waiting to be enjoyed.

The rope swing, even the following afternoon in Jeff's office, remained clearly defined in my mind, relentlessly urging me onward. It might have been composed of fibers that would fray and unravel, and for all I knew it had been taken down long ago, but nothing seemed more real.

The night before, sleep wouldn't come to me. I had lay there, eyes wide, staring at my ceiling for what felt like forever and wondering how it was that I remained conscious. This had been a recurring event the last few months and, while I suspected the aftermath of the breakup was at fault, my thoughts were never about her. In fact, they were never about anything—just shapeless feelings of unnerving anticipation. For what, I had no idea.

I felt intruded upon. This winding down period before sleep had traditionally been the time where I asserted control over my life and regained my sense of self. Once the stress of that previous day dissipated, I could lay down on my bed, listen to some music and quickly drift off. But not before I had reaffirmed my place in the world.

No longer. Something I had taken for granted for so long now had abandoned me, leaving me exposed to a deep, abiding apprehension that, while vague, still cut to the bone. I could find no solace, and that unease had begun to seep into my dreams.

I could never quite make them out—they were frenzied events filled with violence, terror and chaos that left me shaken the next morning. My jaw also ached, which indicated my teeth were grinding during these nightmares. Sleeping worse at night, I also began to slip during the day, staring off into space for minutes at a time with fuzzy discomfort.

But last night, everything came into focus.

####

Another branch swiped my face, but I didn't mind. Running barefoot to catch up, neither the leaves nor the rocky ground bothered my progress.

Are you sure it's here?

Jeremy turned around, brushed some of his long, almost black hair out of his eyes, and smiled that mischievous half-smile of his.

Oh yeah, it's definitely here.

I looked back at Kim and she shrugged.

When were you here last again?

A few years ago, right after graduation. Jeremy's lithe, shirtless body slipped seamlessly through the trees, his assertive steps backing up his assured attitude. A bunch of us had heard this place existed for a while, and one day we were bored enough to go looking. You just wait Cal—you'll love it.

Air whispered through the trees, perceptively cooler than it would have been even a few weeks ago. Before long, the three of us would be back at school, our senior years upon us. The way the summer had swallowed us up, it seemed like there was a mile-wide gulf between what we had left behind and the year ahead of us. Which was fine by me.

Ahead, all the trees bled away to the periphery, showcasing a clearing where one remnant of the forest remained. Its trunk was improbably rooted on a ten-foot outcrop jutting out into the small beach below. In front of that sandy shore was a freshwater bay which wound its way in the distance to the waiting expanse of salty ocean. Both the tree, separated from its bark-covered comrades and rising up into the open sky above the water, and the bay, glistening in the late afternoon sun, seemed like eternal companions. But it was what bound them that drew our eyes.

There, tied by to its largest branch, hung the frayed cluster of fibers, moving slightly in response to the breeze. It swung between the water and the wood, humanity's attempt to illustrate that connection, to show our appreciation for what nature had provided.

We wasted no time. Stripping down to our bathing suits, the three of us rushed down to the shore. Jeremy grabbed hold of the swing and began dragging it up to where a large boulder lay. He scaled the rock and braced himself before looking over at Kim and me, his anticipation palpable as he took a few deep breaths.

Then, off into space. At the height of the swing's arc, he loosed himself and launched high into the open space. There he stayed, suspended, before gravity finally decided to shepherd him into the tranquil liquid below. Kim was next, shrieking as she let go and spread her arms out to embrace the air that surrounded her. Another splash and she joined Jeremy, wading in the water and shouting encouragement to the shore.

The rope, when I first held it, didn't feel like it would hold. But ropes like this were meant to hold, and a couple quick tugs confirmed that fact. I had always been wary of heights, and that anxiety caused my heart to race now, but a couple of taunts from Jeremy and Kim got my knees bent and my body airborne.

Once it was, the rest was history. No one moment could better define the liberation of youth, the feeling of endless possibility. I soared, I splashed and I repeated the ritual alongside two of my best friends.

That day was ours, and I was reliving it on this night almost 10 years later. My dream wasn't as fully formed as reality, but it didn't take long for my memories of the actual event to fuse with my subconscious interpretation. In my mind, it happened, and the laughter of my 21-year-old self still rung in my ears as I lay in bed the following morning.

Now, remembering it, a smile creased my face. The rope swing was still there. Last night it was calling out to me, reminding me that it still lingered. I planned on answering its plea, on seeing what still remained. But in order to do that, I had to, at least temporarily, escape from the office.

Ordinarily, it was next to impossible to disengage from the frenetic work life that dominated my days. There was always a new fire to put out or a new client to pitch, in addition to the constant docket of tasks that my position demanded. Vacations were typically just long weekends, and it was a dangerous game to let the emails pile up even then.

Something had shifted though, and all of a sudden it all didn't seem so daunting. It was just a job, a set of responsibilities that now paled in importance to the new sense of purpose I felt bestowed upon me. That purpose was still nebulous, but that didn't make it feel any less urgent. At some point this week there would be a trip to see Jeremy, Kim and the swing itself, but I wasn't ready for that yet. First, I planned on using my newfound free time to see if I could reconnect with some other old friends and, by extension, myself.

Chapter Two

And If You Lose Your Way

Hey dude, what's up? Been a long time. There was a couple seconds of silence where Wyatt tried to identify the voice on the other end of the line, and I was pleased when recognition dawned.

Cal man, what's up? Wyatt's tone was disconcertingly casual, especially considering it had been several years since we last talked. There was curiosity in his response, but not excitement. Considering excitement had always been Wyatt's trademark, I was caught flat-footed.

Um, not much I guess. You still in Westwood?

That I am.

Still living with the fam?

Yep. Still working from home.

How's that going? Making bank?

Yeah, I'm doing alright for myself. No complaints. Every second of this conversation made me increasingly uncomfortable.

Well I want to catch up a little more. It feels like it's been forever.

Another pause. Yeah, I guess it has, hasn't it? What did you have in mind?

A hike? Up Baldface? Remember when we climbed it the summer after graduation? With Hannah and Xavier?

Ha, yeah man. Xavier shouldn't have brought the flask. I only remember some of that trip. Probably not a good thing when you're climbing at 4,000 feet. I turned my face away from the phone and let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Finally, a response that identified Wyatt as Wyatt.

Haha yeah, he's toned it down a bit since then. Crazy that he's in Chicago now. No response. So yeah, how about tomorrow morning? You work Saturdays? Supposed to be beautiful.

Tomorrow? Yeah, I can swing it. I have dinner plans at 7 though. You think we can be back by then?

Depends. You still in shape?

Me? Nah.

Me neither. We'll be fine though.

Ok, so 11?

11 works for me. I'll pick you up at your place.

Aight. See you then dude.

Later.

After I hung up, a tightness quickly gripped my chest. I stared for a few hard seconds at my phone, almost deciding to pick it up again. With great effort, I walked away, out of my room and into the kitchen. It was a large kitchen, with a large fridge. A fridge I would never be able to properly fill by myself. It did have plenty of beer though. I grabbed a few and made my way out to the porch.

I hadn't eaten since lunch at the office, and after quickly polishing off the first two bottles I nursed the third, letting the fuzz from the alcohol slowly seep behind my eyes. Those eyes took in the day that was slowly disappearing around me, giving just enough light to make out those on the street below.

This was cheap beer, its sour, watery bite distinctive in a way that made me shiver on first gulp. When I went out I would always order the good stuff, but here, alone, I savored the taste of the past. Because, when I first frantically gulped from a can of this beer long ago, I had been as unrefined as what I was drinking. That knowledge comforted me, years later.

Summer was ending. I hadn't considered that until just now—all it took was one cool gust of air slicing through the formerly humid haze to raise goose bumps and remind me that I was leaving another season behind. I instantly felt profound bitterness, surprising in its intensity. I shouldn't have been caught off-guard by the coming of fall, but the past summer had been spent exclusively indoors, unaware of time's inexorable advance.

The groups of young people walking below my porch had a more acute understanding of the passing of time. Immersed in the virility of their remaining adolescence, still immune to the second-guessing which would eventually settle over their decision-making, the energy emanating from these kids was palpable. I liked to imagine their passion was tempered by an understanding that their self-indulgent existence had a shelf life, but I wasn't confident this was the case. After all, who else was I living for but myself? The difference with me was that, somewhere along the way, carefree hedonism started having diminishing returns, and nothing had emerged to replace it.

My attention was drawn by a girl's shriek. She had just been picked up and slung over her friend's shoulder—now she pounded her fists on his back as she laughed. The one doing the lifting grinned widely and, looking up, caught my eyes with his own. Something he saw caused his smile to briefly falter, but he quickly recovered and