Auditor Emptor

A reminiscence. . .

Time: A couple of years ago

Place:  A deli

I was in the late lunch checkout line at the deli as three small cheesecakes went into a flat white box for the customer ahead of me.  I was next, with a Cubano.  A young girl stepped up behind my left shoulder …  closer than was necessary, under the circumstances.  Brunette. About 5’5″. Well dressed.  Mid-to-late teens.  So far, so good.  But she seemed to be emitting barely audible sounds –part humming, part murmur, part song.  Then, I heard –just barely– (or did I?) an urgent, plaintive imperative:  “Talk to me!”

Incredulous, almost flabbergasted, I didn’t say a word.  There’s something ferocious –even dangerous– about a girl who has trained herself to speak in a voice that can’t be heard.  How much else is bottled up inside?  Who or what is the focus of her pain and anger?  Is it focused at all?

I haven’t seen her since.  At least I don’t think so.  Certainly haven’t heard from her again.

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