Hana and the Twelve-Cup Tower
At the after-school club, Hana watched a boy named Dario build a tower of twelve plastic cups and knock it flat again in less time than it takes to sneeze. Both of his hands moved at once, like two little birds.
Hana tried it, but her left hand grabbed three cups while her right hand sat there doing nothing, and the cups slid, wobbled, and tumbled over the edge of the table. Dario was kind about it. "Everybody's hands start out lazy," he said.
For a week Hana practiced at the kitchen table, staring at her fingers and feeling certain that they would behave if she watched them closely. They did not behave, and her tower fell down every single time.
On Friday, Dario gave her a different idea. "Stop looking at your hands," he said. "Look at the middle of the stack. Your eyes can see both sides at once if you let them."
Hana felt silly, but she tried it anyway, letting her eyes rest on the center of the table until her hands seemed to wake up. Left, right, left, right, the cups clicked into a neat pyramid, and then she swept them back down in one smooth motion.
The timer on the table said she was slow. Hana did not care. For the first time, both hands had worked together, and nothing had fallen over.