David

“The morning Julia found the phone, my parents were over for brunch. Everything was falling apart around Benjy, although I'll never know what he knew at the time, and neither will he. The adults were talking when he reentered the kitchen and said, "The sound of time. What happened to it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know," he said, waving his tiny hand about, "the sound of time."

It took time - about five frustrating minutes - to figure out what he was getting at. Our refigerator was being repaired, so the kitchen lacked its omnipresent, nearly imperceptible buzzing sound. He spent virtually all his home life within reach of that sound, and so had come to associate it with life happening.

I loved his misunderstanding, because it wasn't a misunderstanding.
My grandfather heard the cries of his dead brothers. That was the sound of his time.
My father heard attacks.
Julia heard the boys' voices.
I heard silences.
Sam heard betrayals and the sounds of Apple products turning on.
Max heard Argus's whining.
Benjy was the only one still young enough to hear home.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Here I Am