The Rope

The Rope

“I can’t let go!” she cried, squeezing even harder with her knees, calves and crossed ankles. “I don’t know how!” The rope was scratching the insides of her legs but the pain went unnoticed as her legs clasped themselves even tighter to each other while the trees around her swung by. There was a sudden realization at the corner of her awareness that this must be what the world looked like to daddy when he was drinking. Her fingers hurt. They’d been squeezing too, up against her chest and around the rope that was smooth there, worn down by decades of young hands like hers having the rope in their grip.