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“I knew Louis first. He was the kind of kid I had such fun with. The kind who’d take me so high his mom would shout to be careful, just to have him promise he would and then go higher still. Harry was my other kind of favorite – nervous at first, but excited enough to try anyway, especially with encouragement from a new friend like Louis. The kind who’d feel so brave when he finally soared. Who’d giggle loud and wild, like he’d never experienced such freedom. And the best thing about Harry’s giggle, it made Louis look so proud.”
“Lots of tire swings, they hang by a single rope, perpendicular to the ground. Some of them tease me. Because my ropes hold me up in three places instead, safe and sturdy, parallel to the ground. But that’s how Louis and Harry were able to sit on me at the same time. To face each other as they swung, higher and higher. Or as they spun, knees brushing. Or just sat, quietly or talking, smiling or serious. Biting their own lips or capturing the other’s. All while sitting on me. And all because I’m not like those other tire swings.”
“I’ve been at this riverbank longer than I know how to say. Launching rowdy teens into the water below. I live for the electricity that flows from their gripping hands and thighs into my strong, intertwined fibers. The shouts of fear mingled with glee. The cheers of friends nearby. And, when I’m lucky, like when a Louis brings his Harry to meet me, the triumphant splash is followed by a hurried swim, by arms and legs wrapped around their person just like they’d been wrapped around me. And it's exciting in a different way. I can tell it’s something more.”
“When they brought me home, we were all new to this. I’d twist unexpectedly and they’d fall, while I could only wince. I always hurt along with them. Sometimes the pain felt good, somehow. I didn’t question it. Just like I never questioned when they laughed. Even when seconds before they’d been so serious. Those were my favorite times. Slick with their sweat. Overheated and overwhelmed by their gasped breaths. Strained and creaking under their weight. But underneath it all, a playful lightness. A certainty that might have felt heavy with other people, but always felt like freedom with them.”
“The weight of them is everything. The familiarity sublime. I sense when Louis’ head is in Harry’s lap. When Harry’s cuddled into Louis’ side. When one of them straddles the other, and whether that straddling will end in tickling and giggles and returns to their own sides or (rarer now) with me creaking so loudly that they’ll stand with urgency, whispering to each other words I don’t understand, but that I know mean they won’t return ’til morning, coffee in hand, the predictable weight of them lulling me to a peaceful haze as I offer them the same in return.”