The Way Home
Copyright© 2013 by BarBar
Chapter 7
(snap) (thunk) (click-click) (snick) (traffic) (voices) (birds)
"I came early again."
"Apparently so. How did your receptionist react?"
"She didn't say anything. I wish she would speak. She has such a melodic voice."
"Sound is important to you, is it not?"
"Oh, yes indeed. My daughter sings almost constantly. Even when she speaks, she does so with rhythm and melody in her voice. She uses her voice to mimic the sounds around us. It has made me so much more aware of how we are constantly surrounded by sound."
I feel a tinge of sadness.
"It seems like such an age since I heard her voice."
"How long has it been – since you heard her voice?"
"It seems so long ... but ... it must only have been since breakfast. Yes, breakfast."
"Tell me about breakfast. What did you eat?"
It seems like a strange thing to ask. The funny thing is, I can't remember. I can remember the sound of her voice – her trilling laugh, her extended yawn, her animated description of a horse seen in a movie – complete with sound effects. But I can't remember what I ate. Breakfast seems like such a long time ago.
"Well, never mind. I'd like to do more work on my drawing."
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