stale marshmallows

 She is awaking in the middle of the comfort of her brothers’ bed playing minecraft and doesn’t know.  I am quite certain or I want to be certain that the tiny lifeless body of the quail I found this morning is not Peep but Esla later renamed Chance and then no one seemed to be able to remember her name at all.  The one over looked by the comings and goings of wild Oscar, of dainty Lily, and poor Peep.  I hope that Beach can join me in my belief that it is not Peep, that Peep had recovered from her strangeness yesterday and this other bird can be easily replaced.  And yet the possibility lingers, that I might quietly slip from the house with the evidence a tiny stiff body the weight of a stale marshmallow, lying out of sight in a zip lock bag, a number 4 coffee filter as a shroud, and replace it myself with a proxy.

That thought has always been there in the back of my heart how I might spare her a little of the pain given the right moment, the right slight of hand.   

It was there yesterday when her coach approached the parent bench.  I sat beside 2 other mothers I know well.  When the coach began explaining, “I made your daughter cry so hard she couldn’t even get up on the bars…” there were looks around but not ever did they fall on me and yet I asked, “Who are you talking to?”

“Beach,” She said just as shocked as the rest of us, “I made Beach cry.”  The heads of 2 nearby coaches turned in total surprise.  The coach explained the situation and in every way I am grateful to her. 

Beach is learning the level 6 dismount from the highbar called a flyaway to those of us who are not gymnasts: you swing big, you let go high, you flip, you land, & you salute the judges.  I was already well aware that Beach was having trouble, to me dangerous trouble she was hitting her feet on the bar as she flipped.  I know how little it takes to knock a bird out of the air all you need to do is clip it.  I had pictured Beach being knocked out of orbit and falling hard to the ground. 

Now what the exact trouble is, is there is a moment (as I understand it) when you do nothing- you swing big, you let go high, you wait in midair, and then you flip and land and salute.  Beach is not waiting.  The wait is important, the same as letting go high, it allows the safety of clear air space.  I have only seen her coach yell one time in our 3+ years and it was over safety.  If the whole gym was shocked to see Beach in tears, sobbing at bars know it was for her own good. 

So I have this delicate dead bird and I have Beach.  And I have somehow found my way to the highbar: IFA opens in a half hour.  Will I attempt to swing big, let go, and wait to see if I can find free air?  Or for her own good, perhaps even for mine, will I tell her what she needs to hear and let her cry from the safety of the ground?