It’s been six years, and I have not forgotten the sound of my daughter’s voice. I admit that whenever there’s a chirpy bird flitting about outside the kitchen window, I often ask, “Is that you, Sal?” Or when the bedroom light flickers, or when I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye. These are just little games I play with myself. But yesterday was different. I wasn’t playing games or trying to read into the sights and sounds around me. I hadn’t even been thinking about Nicole.
I’d come in from work and sat on the sofa with my legs curled under me. Judge Judy was working over a contemptuous, young blowhard. As I drifted into a comfortable sleep, I heard a sound deep in my ear near the eardrum. I awoke with a start but was clueless to where the sound had come from. If sound could be described as color, I’d say it was a glistening white sound, clear vibrating, and angular. I settled on the idea that I had simply stumbled toward the fringes of a crazy dream.
I let myself sink back down into sleep. Right at sleep’s threshold, between complete control and utter abandon, the sound returned, only this time the sound was words, two beautiful words. I woke up instantly and completely. I sat stunned for a few seconds, and then I cried for half an hour.
I imagine Nicole being taken in hand and cared for by someone much wiser, someone who would remind her how things work on that side, how sometimes messages do get through. I imagine this wiser person asking her, “If that infinitesimal moment presents itself and you could get a message through to your mother, what would you say?” And then I think on those two bright, vibrating words, “Thank you!”, and my whole spirit is set ablaze.