My aunt Matilda laughs and tears immediately burn at the backs of my eyes. Across the bridge of my nose. It’s been so long since I heard that sound and my memory of it is watered down at best. Like looking through a frosted window or trying to see to the bottom of a lake. I have the impression of it, but the reality, the sound of her, here, in this place, it’s— It’s a gift. It’s a gift I thought I’d lost.
