The Swing

I was seven when my great grandmother Ethel broke her leg. We were on the front porch of 235 Hawkins Avenue in Pittsburgh. It was a lazy afternoon and we talked about everything and nothing. We took in cars pausing at stop signs and then taking off again.

We were on the porch swing. Ever present was the metal on metal creak of the swing as it swayed. Twelve feet above us where the chain met the screwed in hook was that tiny bird chirp of a sound. The rhythmic lulling of a cradle.

Adult me just did an online search. I wanted to know the physics behind what creates a creak sound. Way up there at the ceiling of the porch. Looking at the rusted chain meeting the rusted catch anyone could tell that oil was needed. But I wanted to know what was happening at an atomic level. Are the metal atoms being so squished together and then rubbed in a certain way that they create a little yelp?

Seven year old me would magically have all of this inquisitiveness and brains. I’d tell Gran my sound fascination and want to know about its molecular origins. I can imagine Gran blinking at me and thinking, this kid is a genius. And I’d feel special for being adorable and brilliant.

I’d tell Gran that the sound of that squeak, that swing creak, went everywhere. That the vibrations are sent out in waves that disturb the air. And there was nowhere on the porch were the waves couldn’t flood, little me would yammer. I’d tell her that the waves enter our ears and disturb our ear mechanisms sending a message to the brain. Then I’d talk about the signal being complete gibberish when it enters the brain. It needs to be rearranged into something we can recognize. And in seconds we hear what we call, ‘creak.’

At this point Gran is completely flummoxed and wants to alert the newspapers. Her great grandchild is a savant and needs to start second grade at Yale. She gets up to make some phone calls.

In reality, however, Gran remains seated. The swing pulls loose from the ceiling and crashes to the floor. More sound waves going everywhere, vibrations disturbing the air. And Gran howling in pain and me scared screaming. I dashed safely off the swing leaving Gran pinned underneath. Her leg broken.

I guess her bone cracking sent a sound wave. I didn’t hear that.