Narcissus

Christine O’Donnell
Cosmic Daffodil Journal
February 2, 2024

When I was eight years old, I fell face-first off a swing on the school playground. What I remember most about this incident is not the pain of picking gravel out of my face, after having scraped it against the rocky ground below. Nor the embarrassment of being carried to the nurse's office by the handsome fifth grade teacher Mr. Lind. After all, I was his favorite student. Not even the fear of how irritated my mother was – having to call a neighbor to drive her to pick me up just a few short hours after she’d been rid of me. What I remember is the feeling of my stomach rising into my chest as I reached the highest peak of my swinging. Surely higher than anyone had ever gone before. I remember the still air at the top, that split second between pumping up and swooping back down, in perfect suspension. 

After extending my arms straight and leaning back, I felt the weight of my body careening through the air. I pointed my feet, my toes reaching for the horizon, my hair swaying behind me, and I imagined myself flying. My mother warned that my daredevil playground antics would earn me permanent damage one day but what kind of adventurer would I be if I always listened to my mother?  On the way down, the swing chains rested inside the crook of my elbows. Slightly leaning forward, the sensation was thrilling, watching the ground pass beneath me. A recent rainfall had left a puddle in the dirt dugout below, formed by feet dragging to slow momentum. I could see my reflection only briefly and tried to catch a longer glimpse with each passing. I had heard the superstition that if a person stared too long into a mirror, it would eventually break, causing years of bad luck but I kept swinging and swinging. The next time I came upon my face, I had the same slow-motion sensation as at the height of my swinging. And sheer happiness. That’s what I choose to believe I felt that split second before my arms gave out behind me and I went head-first into the puddle, my face raking me to a halt the way my feet should have done. What do they say – pride goeth before a fall? 

Ultimately, the hubris was worth it. The memory of mid-air freedom far outlived any pain from that day. And the long-term fall-out was manageable, just a small scar on my left cheek that darkens quickly when I sit in the sun. An occasional reminder in my reflection – no risk, no reward.