The tape clicks itself over and continues playing.
Without her voice, the slight static hum that constantly played beneath her
words sounds louder. Over seven tapes and thirteen stories, her voice was
kept at a slight distance by this steady hum in the background.
I let this sound wash over me as I hold onto the bars and close my eyes.
The bright moon disappears. The swaying treetops disappear. The breeze
against my skin, the fading pain in my fingers, the sound of this tape winding
from one spool to the next, reminds me of everything I've heard over the past
day.
My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax.
Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air.
I open my eyes to the bright moonlight.
And Hannah, with warmth.
Thank you.