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Adventures of a Ping Pong Ball |
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Frederico came out of the bucket, just before
he became part of a flat sheet of white plastic. He was joined
to a much larger family than any of you, but you couldn't tell
where one of them began and the next ended. They were rolling
on top of shiny metal rollers, several siblings wide.
As they came under a bright light, a tension
passed through them. A pull and a loud thumping that shook them,
right down to their family roots. Lying so flat he couldn't see
what was happening, except for the heavy metal thumpers that
rose a couple inches and came down, sending another wave of shock
up the conveyor belt, like the tension passing through a bucket
brigade.
They were like the smooth white surface of
peaceful water, flowing towards a dam, where the machines were
rising and thumping down. As Frederico squeezed the whites of
his eyes, trying to focus without an iris or cornea, he saw some
curves and sharp edges just above him. They dropped out of sight.
The thumpers were ready for him!
STAMP! He was tipped over the edge, going
to drown. He now had wide curves and brittle points. He was scared.
It felt so hot down here, just a few inches below where he'd
been leisurely rolling.
Hot? Yes, it WAS hot! So hot he was bringing
the sharp white edges up to defend himself. A metal ball was
stuck out, right over his belly. He grabbed it and hugged it
for dear life. It wasn't nearly as hot as whatever was pushing
him against it. His arms formed a perfect circle around it.
He clung to it like a drowning sailer... Just
as his legs half came up the ball was jerked out. He was falling,
in two pieces.
"Oh, where is my bottom half?"...
Lynnette looked all around the room, giving each of the kids
a quick eyeball stare... "Where are my leggggs?"...
She rocked, bending her knees like a puppet on a string.
Frederico was hardened by whatever had happened.
His smooth exterior formed half of a ball, like a bandshell.
He was bounding and tumbling on a track underneath, between two
metal handrails guiding him steadily along.
"There they are, right behind me... HEY!
LEGS!... Get dowwwwn here!"
As he spoke he was caught and flipped upside
down. His legs were right under him. He sure hoped they were
his. They were directly under him, under the curves of his arms.
There was something hot again. It was coming at him from all
sides, just as his legs and arms met.
"Ouch. Ohhh, hey... That's toooo HOT!"
Yes, so hot it sizzled. It melted him like
a metal belt right through the middle, sealing him together.
He was dropped again, and felt a slight bruise as he bounced
down an exit ramp... snick... tappa tappah snick.
That sound would become the sound of his heartbeat
for the rest of his life. The beating of light, airy plastic
against anything it touched. It paused for a second, as he was
grabbed and given a pat on the head. When he looked up, he could
see letters in a circle, but they were backwards, too many to
read. He was looking at them from the inside.
"Whooooaaahhh!"... snickt... "Whew!
That was a bit much."
He fell into a box, landing on top of a pile
of them, those that had gone before him. Another one flew in,
ricocheting off the top of his head. He scuttled to the side
of the box as another plummeted down, bouncing against the wall.
"Well, here we are... What a fit bunch
of airheads!"
"Airhead!... Who you callin an airhead?"
"Don't get all caught up in labels...
Okay, Butterfly 44mm, but you're still an airhead... Did you
feel them put powder inside, before you were sealed?... That's
not to load you like a bullet. It's to keep you from collecting
your thoughts."
"Why would anyone want to do that to
me?"
"Don't know Frederico, but that's the
rumor. Seems that some balls, the imperfect ones, don't bounce
properly. Of course there's always some player who will accuse
you of that, if he's not doing as well as he wants... 'Bad ball.
Replace!'... But I think it's because they don't want to feel
guilty about knocking us around."
What a life! Being in the melting pot wasn't
so bad. Even being flattened out wasn't so bad. He didn't like
the heat one bit... "Now you tell me that I'm to be knocked
around?"
"Well, what else?... That's the way of
it. You get a small toss up into the air, and the next thing...
SMACK!... Your face and one of your shoulders gets flattened
by a paddle made of wood, cushioned by a rubber waffle if you're
lucky."
"WHAT!... That can't be right."
"Uhh HUNNH!... When you get hit, you
roll against the paddle, so you go flying down the table with
your head spinning."
"Spinning? My head?"
"Right!... You get to bounce once, and
when you come up the enemy gets a swipe at you. He's usually
very aggressive, trying to send you into the corner, so he'll
get a point."
"I'll give him a point, alright... And
you say this is what my destiny is? To be knocked around for
the rest of my life?"
"That's the way of it. You go through
life, being bounced around by those who keep score. It's a thankless
job. Far better to be a pawn. At least then you get to guard
the king, if you're lucky."
"You can't do that to me... Knock me
around all my life!... It's not fair!"
"Qui, Messieur Butterfly!"
"Sorry, guys, I meant, 'Yes, Sir Butterfly.'...
Do you know I'm French?"
"Oh, Qui, Lynnette... Everybody knows
thaaat!... You talk pretty."
"Thank you... Do you know why the ping
pong ball doesn't want to be knocked around?"
"Is it because it hurts, because he doesn't
want to be hit?... No. No. Is it because he was called an airhead?...
I think I know. He doesn't want to be in the middle of the fight,
like in a war."
"You remember that, no?... You've been
paying attention from the beginning, Greg... And you're all right.
He doesn't want to be hit around, didn't like the insult, and
he doesn't want to be trapped in the middle... Do any of you
feel like Frederico?"
The orphans were with her in front of the
church, when she asked for all the Sunday School kids to come
up to join them. She had purposely told the orphans to leave
three feet between them, so the other kids could sit between
them. She had a plan.
When she was talking, they looked comfortable,
like they could forget all about the faces of their parents,
the church volunteers, and all the strangers, who were watching.
Now it got quiet.
"Strange question?... What I mean is
like this... Do you sometimes feel like your father says one
thing, and your mother another?... Or maybe the teachers don't
all treat you the same, so you don't know what to do, except
bounce back and forth, waiting for the game to end?... Or Annie
tells you to finish your soup first at the meal, but Theresa
doesn't care."
They nodded... "Yeah, the part about
my father and mother is right."... There was a brief giggle
from the pews, followed by a few more.
"Aha! So what about the rest?"...
She turned to one of the older boys, bending over, with her face
in front of his. He backed up in his Indian squat as she looked
him straight in the eyes... "Are YOU an AIRHEAD?"
"NO WAYYYY!"
"Good... But I AMMMMM!"... She put
her hands up and made her cheeks pop again. She noticed that
they were already forgetting who lived at the shelter and who
lived at home. They laughed as one. Their voices blended as melodically
as the notes when fingers slid up the organ keyboard. They were
playing the first instrument known to man.
"I might be an airhead... AND I'm most
certainly an ORPHAN!"
That was a word they didn't like. Some of
them looked down. You could pick out the kids with family who
still showed their faces... It was a loaded word, and one that
needed to be deflated, popped.
She was ready to speak when one of the congregation
girls said... "That's not so bad. So what if you are?...
You're funny and we like you... So you can't be an airhead, like
you said."
"That's sweet, but what if I am?"...
She wobbled on her mannequin legs, stumbling between them, making
them move just enough to bump each other.
"NEVER!... You're funny... NOT an airhead!...
Lynnette's just teasing!"
"I'm an orphan, and maybe I'm not...
I lost my family. Now I have a brand new family that's just as
good."... She waved her arms, like she was bestowing them
with some wonderful power... "And I have all of you for
brothers and sisters."
There were gasps from the congregation. Someone
said, "Amen."... Each month, she let out a little more
about herself, but had yet to tell the whole story, why she'd
been deserted or left alone.
She walked around the circle, messing with
each one's hair as she passed... "Airhead. Airhead. Airhead.
Airhead... I should stamp the top of your heads 'Butterfly 44mm.'...
You guys almost made me forget the story."
Frederico said, "That's not going to
be MY destiny!"
"You have no choice. One day you'll be
called. Picked out of the box. Bounced a few times and then given
the toss that begins your life of battering."
"YOU! YOU! YOU'RE THE AIRHEAD!... You
make it sound like I have NO CHOICE!"
"You don't... No sense being alarmed
by it. Unless someone gets clumsy and steps on you, you'll last
a long time... Well, there are some who burst at the seams when
they get hit just right."
"I won't do it. I do NOT intend to be
bounced around from one side to the other, back and forth, while
I've got any... What did you say they put the powder in for?"
"To cloud your thoughts... See?"
He often thought back to that conversation
in the box. They were right. He spent his life pivoting between
two sides. The most disturbing fact was that they never even
thought about him. They played their game, using him as a passive
participant. It never changed. They thought THEY were the game,
while he did all the work!
Frederico had almost lost his Butterfly name
from the top of his head. He had been served up, slammed down,
spun and almost dunked. He'd walked the net, tipped the net,
and gone head first into the net. During the night, while he
slept with a paddle for a leanto shelter, he sometimes thought
back to the factory, to when he had refused to play a part in
this game.
It had become his life. He couldn't imagine
more than a day or two without some action. One thing bothered
him. He was always alone. Sometimes they played doubles, and
if things got wild, they'd bring another Butterfly ball up, but
they kept them both so busy, there was no time for conversation.
Lynnette reached into her pocket and bounced
a ball on the floor, towards the older boy who'd denied being
an airhead. He caught it... "Keep it moving, airhead."
He bounced it to one of the other boys. She
pulled another out, and bounced it into the lap of one of the
orphan girls. She picked it up and handed it to the girl beside
her. By the time her pocket was empty she had six balls criss-crossing
amongst them.
She stood back and watched as they shared
them, getting up to run off the stage to retrieve those that
got away, chasing them under the pews... "Go catch Frederico.
He's trying to escape."
The congregation was clapping. She had managed
to get the entire group to relate to each other without any stigma.
It showed in the laughing faces of the orphans and the kindness
of the others. She hadn't asked anyone's permission for the next
volley. She knew she was taking a chance, but wanted to try.
"Frederico is wondering... I know I shouldn't
say this, since it's not my place, but I'm wondering too... I
like coming to tell you stories. I like the way you listen and
let me finish, making me feel important somehow... I have a favor
to ask?"
The kids were catching the balls, holding
them quietly, wondering why she was acting so serious all of
a sudden. She didn't usually say that much, unless it was part
of a story.
The smooth accent of her adoptive "uncle"
came from under one window... "Anything, Lynnette. Just
ask."
"Father, could I help fix some free meals
for the kids today?"
"Qui!... No trouble."
"I would like to take the children to
dinner after the service is over... And maybe next time I come...
I know I'm asking a lot... But next month... maybe... Could each
of you consider taking one of them home afterwards?... Home for
dinner?"
The kids looked at each other. Any distance
between them had been closed. They'd changed where they sat so
many times while chasing free balls that there was no net to
divide them. They were just a bunch of kids, looking up to the
dark-eyed girl who had lived in the orphanage. They all admired
her for who she was.
She stood quietly for a moment, remembering
how Brianna had come to her, when she spoke very few English
words. How she wanted to help... Her eyes watered as she thought
of her "sister." She missed her now that she was away
in prep school. She owed everything she had to her, her mother
and her older sister. They had given her life when things had
been so dark she thought she'd just disappear, but there were
no words to express how it felt.
She looked at the girl she felt closest to.
The little eight year old, who cried herself to sleep, according
to the volunteers... She went over and sat down beside her...
"You want to have dinner with me, Sara?"
Even the most solid of the men was moved,
when the little redhead clung to her, curling up in her wings
of love. Those gentle wings that had been given to her by Brianna,
nearly three years ago, when God had made their paths cross.
"Thank you, everyone... It's been my
pleasure."... She stood and bowed to the congregation...
"You too, Sara... Let's bow together, like two butterflies.
Say it with me."... She wiped her cheeks, and the blushing
Irish redhead bowed beside the dark-haired French girl.
"Thank you, everyone... Been my pleasure."
Though she didn't seem to know it, she was
teaching them more about true brotherhood than could be found
in shelves of books. She heard her new father's soft-spoken English...
"She's an angel, sent to us."
"Amen." |
