The Principle of the Matter
Her cheeks, which moments earlier stung in the chilly mountain air, now flushed from the welcomed warmth of the ski lodge. She pulled off her hat and gloves and followed her family into the restaurant. The buckles on her loosened ski boots clanked as she walked. She smiled thinking how silly she looked, unable to fully straighten her knees. Or her left arm, for that matter. At eleven years old, Lori had broken her first bone during her very first snowboarding lesson. She wasn't going to let that ruin her vacation, however. She had spent the past two days skiing with one arm in a sling. It had proved rather difficult at first, but she quickly found her new equilibrium.
The hostess led the family to two tables. Lori and her younger brother James sat down at one while her parents took the other. The Martins, their family friends, would be joining shortly with their children.
Lori rubbed her cast absentmindedly. The pain no longer bothered her, aside from a dull throbbing that pulsed along with her heartbeat. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten about her injury, she thought, slightly disappointed. The three other kids had waited up for her the night she went to the hospital. They had examined the blue cast in excitement, eager to cover it in signatures and well-wishes. They even begged her to let them try on her sling, taking turns pretending to be the patient.
But now, a few days later, the novelty of a shiny cast and an awesome sling had faded along with the children's envy. Lori sighed and traced the lines of the fiberglass with her fingertip.
New voices alerted Lori to the arrival of the Martins. Eleven-year-old Marie and her eight-year-old brother Billy ran over to the kids' table and sat down with their friends.
"I had the best ski lesson!" Marie exclaimed. "We went to the summit!" Lori felt a pang of jealousy. Her parents refused to let her go on any difficult runs while she was skiing one-armed. She resented the fact that she was stuck with her slow-poke mom instead of taking on the black diamonds with her dad like she normally did.
"It must be sooo boring, going on all the easy runs!" continued Marie. "That really sucks for you!" The boys nodded earnestly in agreement.
"It's not that bad," mumbled Lori. The last thing she wanted was their pity. She was determined to have just as much fun as them, or at least make them think that she was.
The waitress arrived and set four glasses of water on the table.
"You guys ready to order?" she asked. Nodding, the kids told her what they would like to eat. The waitress then moved on to their parents' table.
Lori reached for her glass of water and took a sip from the straw.
"She accidentally gave me 7-Up!" Lori had no idea what caused the lie; the water had barely made it down her throat before the words popped out of her mouth. She took another sip. Definitely water. James stared at her with his puppy-like eyes.
"No fair!" he whined. "Lemme have some!"
Marie frowned skeptically and leaned across the table.
"Yeah right. Prove it!"
"No, it's my drink!" Lori exclaimed, protecting her glass.
"See?" Marie turned to the two younger boys. "It's just water like ours. Otherwise she'd prove it."
Lori felt her cheeks burn. Why didn't they believe her? It could have easily been 7-Up! She knew the buttons were right next to each other on the beverage thingamajig. How did they know that the waitress hadn't made an honest mistake? Lori straightened in her chair and stuck her chin out defiantly.
"It's definitely 7-Up," she said in her most authoritative voice.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is!"
Marie crossed her arms and smiled smugly. Lori glared at her. The boys followed Marie's lead and started chanting, "It's just water! It's just water!"
Lori shook her head and announced that she was going to enjoy her 7-Up whether they believed her or not. It was such a stupid fight. Why didn't they trust her? Why couldn't they just take her word for it? This was more than water and soda; this was a matter of dignity and honor. They were accusing her of lying! Her face grew hotter. Lori pushed the fact that she had fibbed out of her mind and focused on the very real possibility that what she claimed could have been true, in another place and time.
Lori's thoughts were interrupted by James, who had snuck over and was attempting to grab her glass from her hand. She squealed and held on as tightly as she could, using her cast as a shield. Marie leaped out of her chair and grabbed Lori's arms.
"I'll hold her down! You take the cup!" Marie called out.
"My arm!" Lori yelped, struggling to free herself as James pried the glass away from her. James took a big gulp.
"Water! It's water!" he exclaimed triumphantly. Billy and Marie cheered. Lori blinked back tears and rubbed her cast. How dare they gang up on her like that. Marie could have really hurt her injured arm. In reality, it felt fine, but Marie didn't know that.
"For all Marie knows, she could have re-broken the bone," Lori thought indignantly. She rose from her chair and stubbornly turned away before they could see her cry. She walked over to the adults' table and put her head on her mother's shoulder.
"What's wrong?" her mom asked, brushing loose strands of hair away from Lori's face. "Is your arm bothering you?"
"Yeah," Lori nodded, her lower lip trembling. "It hurts a lot."
Metamorphosis
I could defend the importance of
A mouse's squeak
A dog's bark
A duck's quack
A lion's growl
Purr
Hiss
Meow.
But is that really what they say?
Or is it our translation?
Our metamorphosis
Our transformation into words
Of what we call the sounds of nature
Of what we name, label, categorize
To make sense of our place and that of others.
To be human
To be humane
Is to share this earth.
Through the power of language
It is up to us
To defend our importance
To excuse our actions
To articulate our evolution
To ask for forgiveness.
But if I had to choose,
I would say the most important noise is the sound of a butterfly's wings as it flits away.
The sound of air
Mimicking each breath
Each heartbeat
Each peaceful moment of existence, light and free.