Are you nervous? I say.
Malia scratches her arms through her shirt,
opens a cough drop.
Yes! Duh!
Do you want to practice?
Yes! But we need to take the long way
down to our place
so Lola doesn’t see us
going through the yard.
We get our bikes,
walk the long way
through paths I haven’t seen before.
The October forest is warmer than I’ve ever felt,
like the smell of my grandfather’s shop
in the morning before the air comes in.
Malia stops.
I can’t hear the trees, Etan.
Something is happening.
I stop, look around,
Try to listen, too.
The stones wait for us
near the pool,
where the water
is a sheet of glass,
a mirror, perfectly flat.
We sit on the stones,
face each other,
staring quietly
in a long and nervous silence.
I think of my grandfather.
What would he say?
Okay, Malia, are you ready?
Show me what you’re made of.
Slowly she takes off her sunglasses,
her eyes wrinkle together.
What? Wait, what are you talking about? She looks confused.
I look down,
my legs nervously shaking.
Never mind, I say. So are you ready?
No! she shouts. How could I ever be?
We try to stop shaking,
and eventually
she breathes,
listens,
her body shifts,
and in the stillness
of the strange afternoon air
her voice fills the forest.
Maybe, I think,
the trees are quiet
because today
they are listening
to her.