Small Steps (Holes 2)

I don’t know who I am,

There’s little that I can

Fully recognize. . . .

Her voice sounded fragile, like fine crystal that might break at any moment, but each note was true and clear. There weren’t any backup singers or elaborate instrumentation; just the gentle plinkity-plank of a piano.

But I’m taking small steps,

’Cause I don’t know where I’m going.

I’m taking small steps

And I don’t know what to say.

Small steps,

Trying to pull myself together,

And maybe I’ll discover

A clue along the way. . . .

Armpit smiled despite the lump in his throat.

Just to make it through the day and not to get hurt,

Seems about the best that I can hope.

Like coffee stains splattered on your sweatshirt,

There isn’t any pattern.

Everything’s uncertain.

It’s difficult to cope. . . .

The lump in his throat turned into tears.

But I’m taking small steps,

’Cause I don’t know where I’m going.

I’m taking small steps,

And I’ve forgotten how to play.

Small steps,

Trying to pull myself together,

And maybe I’ll discover,

A clue along the way. . . .

The coffee stains were still on his sweatshirt. His mother had tried washing them out, but they were permanently set.

And if someday my small steps bring me near you,