Crazy Quilt: (memoir) stitching life's tales together any which way

Forest Geometry

"I'll launch first," my older brother said. He adjusted his grip on the handlebars that hung by a single long chain from high in the evergreens.

I don't know how my uncle got a cross-beam way up there, but he'd secured the sturdy pole between two Douglas firs that towered over a sunken stream bed on his hilly, forested property.

Three chains hung down from the heights. Besides the one attached to a set of handlebars, two went to the swing I was set to use, its plank seat bumping against my back as I clung to the chains. I stood at the edge of the launch platform, up one side of the gulch. I'd already taken a few exhilarating swings out across the stream, swooping in a long arc down, down, down, then up above the far bank and back.

From my vantage point -- and biased by a fear of heights -- the creek bed below looked awfully far down. But I was willing to take another swoop. In company this time.

"Me first," my brother repeated. "Then you jump when I tell you, okay?"

My brother had dreamed up this new twist. Sounded like fun. Scary fun. I nodded.

He leaped. Dangling from the handlebars, he sailed out across the wide gully. With an arch of the back and a flailing of legs he executed a half-turn at the far end of the arc. "Now!" he yelled.

I jumped high enough to get the plank under my rump, and flew out into the void.

Passing each other was the idea.

We both realized in the same instant the flaw in our plan. Our trajectories would intersect.

My eyes must have widened and whitened just like his did. In self-protective instinct I brought my legs up to take the impact. My feet hit home.

He lost his grip, of course, and plunged to the ground -- not landing badly, thank goodness -- while I clung to the spinning swing, in shock. My sister retrieved my tennis shoes, one from each side of the creek. A younger brother ran for our parents.

My older brother went to the doctor and got his fractured ribs taped tight. We bound my feet with Ace bandages. For the longest time, I limped and he wheezed, each aching in our own way.

When we recovered, we both went back to climbing trees, but we didn't try that stunt again.

Oh yeah. My uncle took down the handlebar chain.

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Prompt: aching