The Word in Pieces

"Ca—" The word stopped deep in Uta's throat. In the middle of the sandbox, his sand mountain crumbled — swish, swish — every time he dug at his tunnel. Beside him, Akane patted out firm little sand cakes with her red shovel. Pat, pat. Can I borrow it? The word he wanted to say was only that big. And he had never once managed to say it. Then — parin. With a small bright crack, the word broke.

The word had cracked, but the three pieces were not stones. They were thin light, with no weight, no sound, and no mark left in the sand. One quietly hid beside the red shovel, one by the tunnel, and one beside the sand cakes. Only you, on this side of the story, saw them. Uta did not. He only looked down at his sand mountain. Today of all days, he wanted to meet somebody's fingers — hello — through the tunnel. But under his bare hands, the sand only went swish, swish.

Uta tried, just once. "Ca… can I…" His voice came out smaller than an ant's, and the wind carried it away. Akane hummed a little tune — pat, pat — while her red shovel napped beside the blue bucket. Uta spun right around, turned his back, and said, "…I didn't even want it anyway." Deep in his chest, something prickled.

"Akane! Time to go soon!" called Akane's mom from the park gate. "Coming!" Akane brushed off the sand — pan, pan — and began to pack up. Uta's chest squeezed tight. She's leaving. And the word stayed curled up small, deep in his throat. Just then — out on the sand, something flashed with a tiny light.

The light was a piece of the broken word. Word-pieces hide close to the feelings that wanted to say them. Use your eyes — find all three, and tap each one! When they come together, the word can become a voice again. Hurry — before Akane goes home.

In Uta's hands, the pieces joined into one warm light. He drew in a slow, deep breath. But all alone, it was still a little scary. So — will you lend him your voice, too? Nice and big, so it reaches Akane.

"CAN I BORROW IT!" And over Uta's voice, one more small voice landed right on top. Akane turned around. "Sure!" Then, wiggling a little, she added, "You know what? I kept wanting to say 'let me in,' too. Your tunnel looked amazing." At the gate, her mom laughed. "All right — until the tunnel is finished, then." Sand dampened with bucket water doesn't crumble anymore. Uta reached in from this entrance. Akane reached in from the other. Somewhere in the dark middle, their fingertips went tap. Finger to finger: hello.