Tipping the Balance

An empty wooden seesaw tilted high into the air was too tempting to pass up. The high end pointed straight up, practically daring me to scale it. I broke into a dead sprint across the packed dirt, aligned my sneakers with the narrow timber plank, and tore right up the steep grade. The instant I crossed the central steel pivot, my momentum tipped the balance. The board swung downward in a rapid arc, slamming hard into the half-buried rubber tire stopper with a solid clack. Before the recoil could settle, I kicked off the front lip and launched clean onto the grass.