"I saw a piece like this at an art exhibit last year," Ada said to her grandmother as they walked. "Some artist dumped snow all over a space inside and had people walk a path across most of it, except at one point a set of footprints veered away from the main path."
"And what was the message of that one? Wait, let me guess," said Mrs. Alvarez. "The melting snow represented all the money the museum was pissing away on stuff it called 'modern art.' Eh?" She bared her dentures in a smile. "Am I right?"
Ada patted her shoulder. "It was the artist suggesting that it doesn't matter whether or not you do something different from everyone else--we all fade and die in the end."
Mrs. Alvarez frowned, trying to shoo away the thought with a wave of her hand. "Ah, you always remember the ones who break away from the crowd," she said. "Did I ever tell you about Jack Derany, from summer camp? We took quite a few of our own hikes apart from the group, if you know what I mean." And Ada's eyes widened and the snow crunched under her boots as the two continued down a path traveled by many people before, the one along which people learn that their family members are human after all.
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