The girl's fingers fiddle with the radio knob, switching from channel to channel like a pro. Finally, she stops, closes her eyes contentedly, and leans back. The wicker chair creaks hesitantly, as if not sure whether to obey its user. I lean forward, eager to hear what this girl listens to when she has the time; such a special person must have a special ear, knowing the best kinds of music.

A bee buzzes near my nose and I jerk my head back to ward it away. As I do, I catch sight of the sun playing games with my eyes, landing just right on the girl's hair. In a way unfamiliar to me, my five senses desert my body, leaving me lost. All I know is that an emotion few men have felt before is taking over my mind and body. I watch the girl listening to the music that never manages to reach my ears. After what seems like ten wondrous, amazing years, she gets up and says in her soft voice, "I'd best get inside. You should go, too."

I went home thinking that if my ears could see her smile, how they would sing with joy.