Midway between here and there, Mindy got a splinter in her foot.

"I'm not sure where I got it," she said. "And I'm not sure I want to get rid of it."

"Won't it get infected?" asked Eyeleen.

"Doesn't it hurt?" asked Trey.

Mindy sat and examined the strange bit of something that pierced her skin. It glittered in the sun like bright foil, but was unyielding to her gentle fingers. It seemed to move of its own volition, digging itself deeper into her foot.

"It's afraid of the world," said Mindy. "I don't want to leave it alone, but I can't keep

walking on it."

"Maybe we could lure it out with a song," suggested Trey. He inhaled deeply and let out a string of melody that he'd learned back in his home swamp. It was a song of rusted biohazard cans and the strange journey from there to here.

Eyeleen joined in, harmonizing with words in her home language. She wiggled her fingers, imagining the pipe organ sounds that would go well with the song. Miraculously, the song from the tent mixed with theirs almost perfectly.

Mindy adored the singing, and tried to coax the sliver of glittering metal out of her foot.

Instead, it swam deeper, dissipating into her bloodstream. Mindy was silent, waiting for the song to end.

Midway between here and there, sometime in between the beginning of the song and the end of it, Mindy learned an important lesson: some things never leave you.

leslie powell

23 july 2005

minnetonka, mn