A Spare Whistle

I climbed down from the bleachers and walked toward the quiet lockers, following the gentle echo of morning light across the polished floor. Beside a gym bag left on a cedar bench, a small silver whistle caught my eye, resting tangled in a braided lanyard. I stepped close, took hold of the woven cord, and tested the knot with both hands. It gave way with a soft slip, untangling smoothly. I lifted the cold metal piece to inspect the narrow air slot, feeling its solid, balanced weight. It seemed ready for practice, so I laid it neatly aligned along the wooden slats, where anyone looking for it could easily spot it.