Melissa stood at the crosswalk waiting on the light to change.  It had been long enough now that she was concerned the button wasn’t working.  When for the second time, the north-south traffic lights turned green she was certain of it. 

She wondered again where her strict adherence to rules came from.  The thought of crossing against the light without a walk sign gave her the jitters.  She was close to sweat popping out on her forehead.  She stopped, channeled her yoga instructor of thirty years earlier, and breathed three long slow inhalations and exhalations.  Elaine’s voice popped into her mind, “Three deep breaths at times of stress will almost always relax you enough to cope. “

Melissa needed all the coping mechanisms she could get. 

On the other side of Third Avenue, she headed right towards her office.  The sun was warm on her back and the thought of confining herself to her office on this lovely lovely birthday eve day was anathema. 

She stopped suddenly.  The person behind her nearly ran into her and gave Melissa a nasty look.

She stood there oblivious to the fact that she was impeding pedestrians trying to get back to their office after lunch.

“No,”  Melissa said.  Aloud.

“I won’t,” and she turned left onto 10^th Street instead of continuing to her office to dive into spreadsheets and databases.  Riverfront Park was calling to her.  She hadn’t been there even once this summer and now it was August. 

Past time.

She would sit in the sun at the amphitheater and reminisce about birthdays past.  Perhaps she would sketch.  Though she kept a pad and pencils in her bag, it had been months since she’d had them out.  Too busy. 

It seemed impossible to her that tomorrow would have her on her 64th rotation of the sun.  Of course, the Beatles came to mind.  She smiled.  It had been eons since she had listened to the Beatles.  She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her music.  Yes, there they were.  Of course, she had them.  How could she not?

With the sun boring into her back, the breeze rippling her hair, and the weeping willow saplings the city had planted along the riverbank that year taking shape on her sketch pad, it occurred to Melissa that she was happy.

She had not been happy for some time.  Far too much of a worker bee lately.  She was born to be a queen.

Sixty-four.  Melissa had to face it.  Not a whole lot of life left.  Certainly not another 64 years.  20?  30? Maybe. 

Is this how she wanted to spend it?  Stealing moments to do what she wanted to do instead of doing what she was supposed to do?  Waiting for cross lights?  Obeying all the rules and never having fun?

She took out her earbuds.

“I’m not going back.”

Laying her sketchpad on the concrete step, she leaned back and took another three breaths. 

“Ever.”

Melissa sat there for hours.  She thought about how many people were unhappy.  Stressed.  Hurried.

She took off her shoes deciding to walk across the soft grass to the swing set.

When was the last time she’d had her butt in a swing?  Forty years?

Travesty.

It was time to play.