Magical Swish

All day the sun hibernated in the gray clouds. In its absence, a winter wind had woven the corners of the kitchen window with tiny patterns of ice—four small frost spider webs. I stared at them, recalling the words my husband and I exchanged before breakfast. It wasn’t a big argument—just silly, angry words. But they hurt, nonetheless. Soup simmered on the stove, and I turned to give it a stir, replaying his last cutting remark before he left. Even now something ugly inside me wanted to retaliate…insult for insult. My niece plopped down on the floor with her “Magic Slate” while I paced about preparing dinner. She scribbled on the tablet, then in one quick, clean movement, swished the plastic page up, making the marks disappear. Pausing to watch, I wished it could be as simple and easy as that to erase the wounding words and angry graffiti Bill and I had scribbled that morning. I didn’t know why it was so hard to forgive, why lifting the page and erasing the wrong from my mind, determining to no longer focus on it, required such a Herculean effort. What was this need I had to be right? How important was it really to cling to my pride when compared to the happiness of a clean page? When my husband breezed in through the door on a wave of frigid air, he looked more uncertain than angry. “About this morning,” he began. “I’m sor—” “I’m sorry, too!” I said. We stood in the kitchen hugging each other, the faint magical swish somewhere in the room. I’m sorry. Two simple and magical words that allowed us to let go of our anger and our need to be right. How forgiving and free saying ‘I’m sorry is.’ swish, lift up the page erase hurtful words, one’s pride with freshness start new