I fell in love with a woman who couldn’t speak. I slowly walked to her through a crowded room, forming a path between dozens of dancing bodies, until her pale skin and blond hair came into complete focus, and her eyes, blue, as if connecting the sky to the sea, were now wide and never blinking.
“I’m Cole,” I said. “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”
She seemed to fully exhale and then raised her left hand, pale with freckles, holding index cards organized by bright colors.
“I’m mute,” the top index card read. “I can hear, so please don’t shout.” The words were handwritten in beautiful cursive, the kind people often comment is vanishing with the growth of our technology. She then turned the card over and I read the name “Clare.”
I smiled, she smiled, and a tear filled my eye. Now I was unable to speak.
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