Sex and Swings

I promised, more to myself than anybody unfortunate enough to read this, to tell the story of the rickety swing set behind my friend's house.

I was in forth grade, and he was in third. This, of course, meant that I was ever so much more worldly than he and could explain things he'd never fathomed. He looked up to me unquestionably, and I valued him highly as a dear friend and protegee of sorts on all things regarding neighborhood children politics.

Any serious discussions we had occurred in one of two places: the miniature-sized trampoline enclosed in the fence in his backyard (which is where he confessed what his parents called his "puppy love" for me and the first and definitely not the last place I disregarded honest affection for superficial and unattainable attention) or the swing set.

This afternoon, we had ventured to the swing set. Neither of our parents knew it existed and it was a few houses down from his place, so naturally we felt rebellious and isolated. In the safety of the weeds and rust, we were free to talk about the most taboo of subjects.

His sister had just called that morning to announce she was pregnant. This was her second child, after what I now realize was a deeply controversial teenage pregnancy that caused great rift in the family. My friend was deeply curious and deeply conflicted.

At first, his eyes were wide with pride at getting to be called "uncle," a grown-up title. He had been too young to fully enjoy the event the first time around. Then his thought process turned the idea over slowly and horror crept into his face, which he looked to me to absolve.

"How does it happen?"

Of course, he meant makin' babies.

Like an actual parent, a moment of panic struck me. Should I lie? All I knew I had gleaned from television and the forth grade version of sex ed and the "Alice" books from the school library, but it would probably be enough to satisfy his curiosity. I gathered my thoughts and answered deliberately. I was never good at sugar-coating.

"They had to have sex."

The word only garnered a small glint of recognition in his face. His parents were pretty over-protective, which explains his sister's adolescent behavior. He'd probably only heard the word in a negative context. A swear word, a forbidden action. Something that caused his parents and sisters to fight.

"Does it-- hurt her?"

Even at that young age, I remember being touched by his deep concern for his sister's welfare. "Maybe," I replied, "but it musn't be too bad if people keep doing it." I thought this was a good balance between honest and reassuring.

He contemplated this for a moment and then switched to new kind of possible damage. At this, the methodical pumping of his feet and the creaks of the rusty swing both halted, and the only sound was his voice and the ubiquitous Texas wind.

"Did she have to... be naked?"

I answered this question with odd clarity. I explained which parts essentially had to be uncovered, and that it didn't actually need to take that long for it to work. I left out, what I considered mercifully, that all the parts were probably uncovered and the length of their marriage suggested it probably took longer than he'd like to think.

I could almost hear his brain processing the information. All at once, his feet began pumping again. They scraped the bone dry ground and a plume of gritty sand enveloped him for a few minutes, and then he swung through it as if it were the confusion that clouded his brain moments before. The smile had returned to his face.

"Maybe they'll name him after me."

I ignored the assumption that the baby was to be a boy, and started my own swing back up. The thing rocked back and forth dangerously in the ground, but our innocent confidences ensured us that it would never tip over while we were sitting in it.

And it never did.