After she died, I thought to myself: if only it could get silent enough, I might be able to hear her. If people stopped talking; if the wind died down; if the noise of traffic, the hum of wires, the sound of birds flying, cell phones, radios, the washer on spin cycle, someone clearing their throat—if only the sound of my own thoughts would die down, then maybe I would hear her and know where she had disappeared to.
