I was thinking about all the summers of our life that were gone already. All the times we could have slept in the living room next to the open window, but didn’t. All the things we could have said, and almost did but then decided not to at the last minute. Afternoons that were missed, and meal replacement bars that were eaten. But the days should be spent like money that will disappear tomorrow, because they do, every night. This is the liquidation sale. What did reticence ever do for us anyway? Kept us alive maybe. I could tell you things, all the things that I’ve done, but I won’t, because these are the same transgressions of us all, but maybe a little louder on my part, and a little more graceful on yours. It’s not too late for any of us yet.
I waited on a deaf family of four in a restaurant where I used to work. They took up space, but I was always surprised to look up and see them there at the window, they didn’t make a sound, but gesticulated rapidly and smiled at silent jokes. They were wonderful, like a vacuum in the middle of the room. I couldn’t hear them. They had a baby. I was clearing off the table next to them and dropped a knife from my tray. It bounced of the table with a sharp clank, and I looked up to apologize, but they hadn’t even turned. They couldn’t hear me, but the baby started to scream.