My Sister Said So

Picture this: It is late March in Nebraska. The Groundhog did not see his shadow in 1990 and the biting wind outside affirmed the meteorological skills we strange white people have chosen to attribute to him. “America’s Funniest Home Videos” was ending and Mom called into the living room for someone to go tell Stephen that it was time to leave soccer practice. Amy volunteered and I tagged along.

We bundled up and walked the four blocks to Peter Sarpy Elementary school. I wanted to cut through the yards and argued in my most convincing four-year-old voice that it’d be faster, but Amy wanted to stick to the sidewalks-she had no reason, or at least gave me none, she just wanted to do it that way so we did.

Once to the soccer fields, my big sister tenuously approached the herd of six and seven year olds running up and down the playground’s makeshift field lined with miniature orange cones. The coach told her practice was nearly over, so she and I retreated to the playground.

Amy swung around on the monkey bars in typical, active, Amy fashion, but one touch of the metal jungle gym to my ungloved hand persuaded me to reglove myself and sit in a lump on the ground. Amy continued swinging, athletic as ever, unphased by the cold, humid mid-Western wind. I can remember distinctly the sound of my voice vibrating in the plasticky hood of my waterproof coat-me humming and sitting, watching the boys run up and down on the field like a flock of birds changing direction. I can remember the wind interfering with my songs and the limited rotation my head had because of how tightly the hood was tied around my neck.

“I’m cold! Can’t we just tell him to come home when he’s done?!” I already regretted leaving the comforts of home to venture out into this: a desolate playground and cold wind. Blech.

“No, Mom said we need to walk home with him!” Amy, suddenly bored of swinging about and suddenly inspired with a spirit of motherly nuturing barked down something to me from the top of the monkey bars.

“What?!” I yelled back over the howling winds, annoyed that I had to strain my neck upward to try to read her lips, causing the wet hood tie I’d been chewing on to further chafe my chin.

“I learned in class that heat rises! Come up here! You’ll get warmer. I PROMISE!” If my big sister who was, in fact, in the 3rd grade had heard something in Science class that would aid in me getting warmer, then alright, sign me up.

I climbed onto the jungle gym and took her step-by-step instructions that would help me reach the top. She had to hoist me the last bit of the way but I made it. Safely to the top of the monkey bars where the wind seemed to blow harder and colder. I could certainly see more from my new perch than I could from the gravel on the ground below, but something seemed wrong about her postulation.

“I’m not feeling warmer!” I yelled in her direction.

“It’ll take some time, but trust me, HEAT RISES! I learned it in school. It’ll just take a minute, but we WILL get warmer.”

I clung for dear life, gripping tightly to the top side of the monkey bars that supported my big sister and I, and sat cold and tired all the while thinking, “This just doesn’t seem right.”