10.04.2002 - 11:33 a.m.

I was nine the first time I heard the little voice. You know the one. The one you always wished you had done something about when you heard it.

That summer after fourth grade, my family had gone to Ocean City for the weekend. I had endured a three hour car drive with my brother, which I�d won because while he only got a rise out of me once, for pinching me while I was looking out the window, I had gotten him out twice, once with a retaliation pinch and once by flipping my retainer down and sticking my tongue out through it. (Actual squeals were one point, but only if a parent yelled at you for it. Gross-outs were half a point. Thus, it was me: 1.5, brother: 1.)

Anyway. My favorite thing about the beach is walking out into the waves, trying to jump them at their highest, just before they break. So as soon as we reached the beach, that�s what I did. I deposited my glasses with my Mom and ran into the surf.

I jumped a few waves, then got dunked by a good one. That�s when I heard the little voice. �You could lose your retainer this way,� it said, all in a split second too small to hold the words, but I was busy getting ready to jump the next wave, which I did. It was a ridiculous thought, anyway. All I had to do to keep it safe was close my mouth. Unfortunately, though, that wave was immediately followed by an even larger wave which caught me just as I was turning to face it, and when I regained my footing, my mouth was empty.

�See?� said the little voice.

It�s become somewhat of a fixture in my life. �Don�t let him hug you or you won�t stay broken up.� �Turn on the TV and you will never write the paper.� �This action will hurt someone.� But in fourteen years, I don�t think I have ever listened. I remember walking back up the beach to tell my parents that I�d lost another retainer, trying to think back to that fleeting thought. It was too quick, too quiet. It didn�t speak until I had already committed to the course of action. Why? Why couldn�t I take it seriously enough to turn around?

The little voice is much smarter than me. I�ve spent a lot of time and energy wishing I just could have paid close enough attention to make a different choice, trying to avoid paying those prices that seem to come with everything. It�s not the lost retainers I mind so much�it�s the lost and damaged relationships. The giving and receiving of indelible words and thoughts.

But after fourteen years of trying, I don�t think it is actually possible to listen to the little voice. I�ve come to the conclusion that it�s not there to warn you about what you should choose, because you never hear it when you�re still deciding. Its only job is to show up afterwards and count the consequences, just in case you were na�ve enough to think you could get away from them. You can never get away from them.

So why am I still, always, trying?

-stonebridge

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