I sit and listen to him talk for hours. As he speaks, I focus on the sound of his words and the way his mouth makes those sounds. I know I'm not meeting his eyes, and he can tell I'm staring, but he humors me, and we pretend we are having a normal conversation.

The percussion of lips and teeth, the piano strings of his tongue, the squeek of woodwinds escaping the corners of his mouth, and the hidden brass section in his throat... they take their turns sounding out, and somehow their music turns into thoughts and ideas and feelings.

The wild score that he's conducting in his mind, half composed and half improvised, takes me with it on gentle waves of challenge and reassurance. Occasionally I speak, but my akward responses always fail to do his sound justice, and eventually I learn to appreciate and listen more carefully.

It's all so right.

Because I am tired of having to listen to things that make sense all day, you know. David knows and is so obliging and silly. Jangle Jungle Bangle Bungle. Mangle Mingle Tangle Tingle. We are making a game of this nonsense and it flows well, once we have shut down the data processing center. Off Duty. Are just stringing sounds together.

Then it is David, telling me about his day. It was long, easy. It was like a boat ride, he says. Smooth sailing taking me slowly where I needed to go, steadily. Not like your mad racing train barreling down the tracks day, he says. Not at all like that. Do you want hear more about it? Yes, I say. Yes please. I want to hear about your very smooth day. Take me on the boat with you. What did you see. Who. Where did you go.



Tonight, he does not say never. Does not say love. Does not say forever. (Does not know, but I do not want to hear them). Says yes and now and just this moment, as is, in the present. Yes. Takes me sailing. Tells me what I wanted to hear.

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