Father's hearing aid is on the dining table.The battery is dead and it gives a faint buzz.I fiddle with itand turn it toward the wall.The sound that hits the kitchen wall and comes backbecomes no words at all.
Father missed smaller and smaller sounds:the door opening, rain falling, my footsteps.But I only grew louder.I shouted, Why is it so noisy?and each time Father touched his hearing aidand looked out the window.
One night, Father collapsed.I called the ambulance and cried until my throat tore.Did he hear my voice then?Or did he only see the shape of my mouth?Since that day, the hearing aidhas carried no sound.
I write a letter to Father:I lowered my voice too late.But this letter cannot be read.I place it beside the hearing aid,as if Father might still be able to hear,and put in a new battery.