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ing was perfect, I arched hands down, arms stretched in the air and arched my back — as good as any gymnast.</p><p id="05c4">But something was different, it was unusually breezy for such a warm day. As the wind tickled my bare legs, the laughter from the other children tickled my ears. I looked back, and to my horror, hanging from the side of the swing where my shorts. I looked down to see Wonder Woman, smiling back at me on my underroos. In a fit of humiliation and shame, I ran toward the doors of the school then stopped, returned to retrieve my shorts, snatching them from that damned chain link, then ran again, towards shelter, as fast as my legs could carry me. Hysterical laughter and jeers hot on my back pushed me faster toward the doors. Some sore loser called me a fat ass. I ran all the way to the classroom, with a tear-streaked face, clutching my ruined shorts and a growing resentment for swing sets in my heart.</p><p id="80e4">The teacher must’ve seen the whole thing from the window, she didn’t seem shocked to see me pantless, then again, as a teacher she could’ve just been jaded. I don’t know, but she walked me to the school nurse. Able to add seamstress to her job description that day, she proceeded to use about one million safety pins to secure my pants on either side. They came off of me, at the seams, the way a diaper would. I stood there, statue-like, and refused to look at her, as she worked for what seemed like forever. She let me see her handy work, in a mirror, I cried again, knowing I’d face all kinds of bullshit teasing for the duration of the day.</p><p id="0292">Finally, I made it back to class, it was dead ass silent, no one looked at me. I imagined that the teacher warned them not to tease me, but who knows now. Humiliated, and sedate, I finished out my day, went home with my ruined pants and cried again.</p><p id="42d5">Looking back, thinking about those shorts, I now know that they would be metal as fuck! ✊🏾 🩳</p><p id="f8b3">©️KS Hernandez 2021 All Rights Reserved</p><p id="31c8"><b>Author’s Note: This is a true story.</b></p><p id="f1f5">If you enjoyed this story and wish to support me as a writer, click <a href="https://ko-fi.com/khernandez">here</a>. ☕🙏🏾</p><p id="c231">Let’s connect, join Medium today!</p><div id="ab23" class="link-block"> <a href="https://kshernandez.medium.com/membership"> <div> <div> <h2>Join Medium with my referral link - KSHernandez<

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/h2> <div><h3>As a Medium member, a portion of your membership fee goes to writers you read, and you get full access to every story…</h3></div> <div><p>kshernandez.medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*O0oc1entdI4UjPA8)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="34a6"><b>Other works you may enjoy:</b></p><p id="ed07"><a href="undefined">Suma Narayan</a> wrote: Check out the whole series on <a href="https://medium.com/not-for-bedtime-stories">Not for Bedtime Stories</a>:</p><div id="96e0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/chapter-7-the-tv-interview-518ba1db3a05"> <div> <div> <h2>Chapter 7 : THE TV INTERVIEW</h2> <div><h3>SERIAL FICTION: ALL MY SISTERS</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*h1jQ5I5MfjcsRe-p)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="40a0"><a href="undefined">Nada Chehade</a> wrote:</p><div id="d358" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/6-gift-ideas-to-sweep-someone-off-their-feet-16f6a349a816"> <div> <div> <h2>6 Gift Ideas To Sweep Someone Off Their Feet</h2> <div><h3>Spread some real love this season</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*C9HvJPE35uJOrE1EshvC0w.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="ee4e">A special thanks to a few folks who encourage me to write: <a href="undefined">Teressa P.</a> <a href="undefined">Allison Gaines</a> <a href="undefined">Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她)</a> <a href="undefined">Hal H. Harris</a> <a href="undefined">Dr. Mary Marshall</a> <a href="undefined">Suma Narayan</a> <a href="undefined">Vidya Sury, Collecting</a> <a href="undefined">Quinn94</a> <a href="undefined">Cholia 'Lia' Johnson</a> <a href="undefined">Michele Jones</a> <a href="undefined">brian g gilmore (bumpyjonas)</a> <a href="undefined">Michael Hall</a> 🙏🏾</p></article></body>

Writing + Humor

The Time I Found Myself Suddenly Pantless

The tale of how a schoolyard swing stole my shorts

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Anyone else ever play that schoolyard game that was a cross between an Olympic tryout and a call to death? Didn’t have a name, I don’t think, but it went like this…

You get on a swing, works best if there’s someone to compete with, and pump your legs as hard as you can — to get as high as you can, then at the peak of the swing, jump and stick the landing like Simone Biles, with all of the enthusiasm.

We did this, many times, and I was damn good at it; for if there were an award for this game, I’d surely have one.

On this fine and sunny school day, recess time, we raced to the swings— it was time to again taunt death with childish, reckless games. Four of us lined up — that was the max for one swing.

The sand beneath our feet abundantly hollowed as evidence of the many power kickstarts.

We were off! I was chubby little girl and I’d learned to use that to my advantage, this time was no different. I used my weight to propel myself forward and back, forward and back until my height was parallel to the top bar of the swing bar. I took my time, at that level, enjoying the feeling of being so high above the ground, the intoxicating moments when I’d see my opponents fly pass me, watching them plummet, rise again and repeat. The musical creaks and squeals our respective swings made under each wild pendulous motion was electrifying.

It was an exhilarating few moments but the anticipation of being free, in the air, to take on invisible wings, shifted my mind in preparation for the jump. A few more power-kicks, accelerating my speed, stabilizing, fixing my mouth in that determined way.

Then I jumped, a split second after my butt left the swing, the sound of fabric ripping cut through the wind pulsating past my ears. I didn’t care, I was in the air, where I wished I could’ve stayed forever. The landing was perfect, I arched hands down, arms stretched in the air and arched my back — as good as any gymnast.

But something was different, it was unusually breezy for such a warm day. As the wind tickled my bare legs, the laughter from the other children tickled my ears. I looked back, and to my horror, hanging from the side of the swing where my shorts. I looked down to see Wonder Woman, smiling back at me on my underroos. In a fit of humiliation and shame, I ran toward the doors of the school then stopped, returned to retrieve my shorts, snatching them from that damned chain link, then ran again, towards shelter, as fast as my legs could carry me. Hysterical laughter and jeers hot on my back pushed me faster toward the doors. Some sore loser called me a fat ass. I ran all the way to the classroom, with a tear-streaked face, clutching my ruined shorts and a growing resentment for swing sets in my heart.

The teacher must’ve seen the whole thing from the window, she didn’t seem shocked to see me pantless, then again, as a teacher she could’ve just been jaded. I don’t know, but she walked me to the school nurse. Able to add seamstress to her job description that day, she proceeded to use about one million safety pins to secure my pants on either side. They came off of me, at the seams, the way a diaper would. I stood there, statue-like, and refused to look at her, as she worked for what seemed like forever. She let me see her handy work, in a mirror, I cried again, knowing I’d face all kinds of bullshit teasing for the duration of the day.

Finally, I made it back to class, it was dead ass silent, no one looked at me. I imagined that the teacher warned them not to tease me, but who knows now. Humiliated, and sedate, I finished out my day, went home with my ruined pants and cried again.

Looking back, thinking about those shorts, I now know that they would be metal as fuck! ✊🏾 🩳

©️KS Hernandez 2021 All Rights Reserved

Author’s Note: This is a true story.

If you enjoyed this story and wish to support me as a writer, click here. ☕🙏🏾

Let’s connect, join Medium today!

Other works you may enjoy:

Suma Narayan wrote: Check out the whole series on Not for Bedtime Stories:

Nada Chehade wrote:

A special thanks to a few folks who encourage me to write: Teressa P. Allison Gaines Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) Hal H. Harris Dr. Mary Marshall Suma Narayan Vidya Sury, Collecting Quinn94 Cholia 'Lia' Johnson Michele Jones brian g gilmore (bumpyjonas) Michael Hall 🙏🏾

Childhood Memories
Humor
Writing
Playground
True Story
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