Read Online The View From Who I Was by Heather Sappenfield - Free Book Online Page B

video’s drop being spit back out, bouncing on air, until that eerie stillness.
    During our lab on capillary action, Ash had surreptitiously checked Facebook and whispered gossip, but we couldn’t stop watching how water crawled up the glass tube till it was higher than the beaker’s water it stood in. That afternoon we started seeing water migrating up every plant stem, up every tree trunk. We wondered where they stored water for the winter, imagined their long, cold thirst.
    After we studied evaporation, we’d picture water rising off those plants and trees, off Crystal Creek and the pond behind Chateau Antunes, off the bodies in the golf carts. The clouds seemed comprised of swirling bits of all these things. When it rained, we’d stand in those cool drops and feel everything around us touch our skin. Then we realized that rain held parts of things from far away, maybe even lingering bits from other continents, and we felt touched by the world. We wondered if events were washed from the air, and even felt history’s touch.
    Water murmured an answer. An answer to why we were wheeling apart. Just softly enough that we couldn’t make out its words. It sucked, that whispering. Once you start sensing water, really sensing it, you can’t stop.
    We’d been unable to pull away from our last water lab too, amoebas from Crystal Creek, gathered behind school, wriggling between slides. When the bell had rung, Ash had rolled her eyes, said “You’re such a geek,” and left.
    â€œIt’s my planning period next,” Mr. Bonstuber had said. “Take your time, Oona. I’ll write you a pass to your next class. I hate to hinder a fascinated student.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” we’d said. “I have the next period free.”
    â€œThen take all the time you like.” He grinned. “You like biology?”
    â€œI like water. It’s so cool.”
    â€œIcy, tepid, steaming,” he said, that grin twisting on his pun.
    We talked about water. He seemed as fascinated with it as we were. We started thinking how he probably needed to get work done, so we started cleaning up. Mr. Bonstuber walked to his desk and, from a shelf behind it, pulled out a soft-cover book.
    â€œYou might enjoy this.” He handed it to us. “This author explains the life and work of a scientist named Viktor Schauberger. He was born in the late 1800s, and he was unconventional. He believed that water was best studied outside a lab, in its natural environment. Personally, I think both modes are helpful. He’s still considered unorthodox, yet his insights are brilliant, profound, and gaining more acceptance as they’re being proven true over time. If you like this book, read it and tell me what you think.”
    That night, after we’d finished our homework, we opened the book and didn’t close it till after midnight, copying Schauberger’s ideas and words into our journal. Water must be treated as something alive , we read, and we leaned close to the page, could see the paper’s pores as we said, “Yes.” We traced the edges of Schauberger’s words and ideas, sensing pieces of ourself defined there. All we knew for sure was we understood that bouncing drop’s despair as it diminished, sucked down toward that motionless pool.

Nine
    From Oona’s journal:
    Where water and air meet, the hydrogen molecules bond to one another. This makes the water seem to be protected by an invisible film. This is surface tension. It can be observed when water stands just above the rim of an over-full drinking glass or when a raindrop holds its shape.
    â€”Biology: Life’s Course
    Mom waited in the Range Rover, sparse snow whirling down, the clouds too cold to let loose. Corpse climbed in, settled back against the heated leather seat, closed her eyes, and sighed. Mom pulled out, not saying anything. Not even Buckle your seat belt .
    When we turned