Marco had a drum. It was old and battered, with a deep, rolling sound.
The new girl across the street, Jin, had a drum too. Smaller, higher, quick like raindrops.
They didn't speak the same language. Marco spoke Spanish. Jin spoke Korean.
But one afternoon, sitting on their doorsteps, Marco began to beat a slow rhythm.
Boom. Boom-boom. Boom.
Jin listened. Then she tapped back on her drum.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Marco changed his beat. Jin followed. Jin changed hers. Marco followed.
Back and forth, call and answer, getting faster and slower and louder and soft.
After an hour, they stopped, both breathing hard, both grinning.
They didn't need the same words.
They already had the same language.