RemembeRED: Rhythm, Or The Lack Thereof

Prompt: Write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.” Maybe it’s a time that you danced to a special song. Maybe it’s a period of your life during which the days were marked by a distinct pattern. Or maybe it’s a time that you couldn’t catch your breath because life just kept coming at your randomly. This is not fiction. Unfortunately for my tail bone.


Up.

Down.

Up.

My head bobbed nervously as my eyes tried to stay attuned to the movement of the jump rope.

Focus on the tempo, I told myself.

Up.

Down.

Up.

The girl before me was already jumping, her pigtails keeping time. Soon she would be jumping out, and it would be my turn.

Up.

Down.

Up.

I usually volunteered to hold the rope for everyone. There was a reason for that.

I had never "jumped in" before.

Up.

Down.

Up.

I had watched other people "jump in", and it looked so simple. Effortless and graceful, a bit like dancing.

Focus on the tempo, I told myself.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Occasionally,someone's foot didn't quite get the cadence.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Occasionally someone got smacked on the head by the rope as it descended as the result of a misstep, a break in the pattern.

Up.

Down.

Up.

It was now my turn. I psyched myself up. Deep breath.

Focus on the tempo of the rope!

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

I threw myself under the arc of the rope and I began to jump.

I felt a sense of triumph--I did it!

I was too slow, and I was facing the wrong way. I did not see the rope coming.

It caught the back of my ankles and the momentum of the turn sent my legs skyward.

I looked straight up into the blue sky of a summer day.

Then the arms of gravity threw me back to earth, and I landed very, very hard.

There were suddenly stars in my blue sky.



I was also not breathing.



A ring of shocked kid faces appeared above me, obscuring the blue sky. Then someone's father leaned over me. He reached down and touched my hand. With that touch came the pain, the pain that stalks your brain and pounces, claws and teeth bared.

That racing pain releases my lungs from their stillness.

I take a breath, a huge gulping breath, as if air were water and I had just spent the day in the desert.

It hurt to breathe, but at least I was breathing, still.

I had to sit on pillows for a week.

It was worth it.