The Boy on the Swing

Beep… beep… beep, sounded the heart rate monitor, as the old man lay resting on his warm and snug mattress. This constant beeping noise irritated him to no end, despite understanding its purpose full well. His half-open eyes gazed at the slim space between the closed curtains through which the sunlight still faintly gleamed. He heard the quiet footsteps of the nurse as she entered to remove the bowl of soup which was still sitting in his lap.

“All finished?” she asked, to which he replied with a grunt of affirmation. She then proceeded to leave the room, before turning around at the door. “If you need anything,” she said, “just hit that button on your left and I’ll be here in a jiffy.”

The old man softly grunted again as he raised his shaking finger, pointing straight ahead at the cabinet by the floor. The nurse, unsure of what it was that he could possibly want from this cabinet, followed his direction and opened it. Out she pulled a basket of anciently old film reels, the contents of which were unknown to her. She read the dates aloud on each reel until he stopped her on the one he so desired with another grunt and an accompanying attempt to nod.

Darkness had rolled in by the time the old man had successfully instructed the nurse on how to set up the projector and unroll the screen. She had patience for the stubbornness of his challenging orders, as she knew any wish of his could very well be his last.

The beeping sound was partially flooded out by the crackling noises coming from the projector, which gave the old man a comforting sense of relief. He was soothed by the nostalgic home video he watched of a man pushing a young boy on a swing set. Although the film was devoid of any audio, the cheerful giggling of the child oozed through his gleefully innocent smile, as full of joy and love as he was ever to be in his entire life. The old man felt rich melancholy as he watched his prepubescent self and the somewhat blurred image of his father – ironically fitting as it was the only photographic evidence of the two together, both in reality and the old man’s own faded memory. He slowly fell asleep in total harmony, still listening to the projector over the beeping of the machine.

Suddenly, the old man found himself standing in an empty park, early in the afternoon. All was quiet, with no sign of civilization anywhere in sight. He did not question a thing, however, for he felt inexplicably present in this moment. As he absorbed the tranquility of the environment, he heard the laugh of a child somewhere behind him. He knew exactly what he would see as he turned around, yet it filled him with unfathomable wonder.

And there they were. There he was, hardly beyond toddler years, being pushed on a swing by the only man he would ever adore. He shrieked with laughs of pure ecstasy as his miniature body soared through the air. With every push releasing him from Papa’s arms, he took great comfort in knowing he would always return to them.

The old man observed them for several minutes, feeling as though he were actually on that swing set. He watched the man pushing the boy, and for the first time in years, he truly felt in his bones that he was somebody’s son. In this very moment, the old man saw his father rather than a man half his age whom he could barely recognize. Not even the beeping sound could interfere with this moment. Nothing in the world existed except for he and Papa.

He watched the boy and his father leave the park, walking hand-in-hand into the beaming sunlight. He felt utterly safe and protected, knowing deep down in his heart that wherever that young boy was going, Papa would be right there beside him. The old man shed a tear as a smile stretched across his face, and the beeping noise finally evaporated into peaceful silence.