Do You Hear?
Do I have more minutes to finish? There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight. In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish. Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room.
I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed. Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked. I am ready for you to choose. Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep? And I waited. Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made. Patiently, again, what will it be?
His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory. I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape. I knew it well. It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming. I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming. So because of those reprimanding voices, I knew to wait.
He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices. He knowed that song!
What song is that? I wondered. There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard. Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his Gllloooooooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaa and I knew. Unbelievably I knew. The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.
When did you ever hear me sing that? I asked. Before I came to you, he said. Before I came. I heard you singed and my heart singed with you. I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it. I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again. I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it. And you do! he said, you do!
And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born. I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered. And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine. And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it? Who?????? Except the many someones who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.
Those are the who. . . .