You recognized her immediately. Blue Harrison was waiting at a table in the corner, hunched and self-conscious, so very sixteen as she fiddled with a plastic straw. The sight of her was visceral, astounding. Until you saw Blue Harrison, you did not realize how constant that sound had been. A silence settled in the darkest cave of your head, the place where the baby had been softly mewling for years—the relief was nearly crippling in its totality.
