A woman is screaming

A woman is screaming.

I go to the balcony, looking down at the cars parked in a jagged line below. No, she is not there.

You can hear her through the walls, from the next building.

It does not feel like she is in an argument. No, this is the sound of loss, raw and pure. I have no idea what she is actually saying, but is almost does not matter. Loss is loss. You could say she lost a husband, a sister, a brother or even a child. Anything is possible.

I sit at the dining room table staring at the wall she is behind, eavesdropping without knowing anything specific. She speaks in bursts, words jangling into avalanches, rising and rising. I cannot imagine her face, if she is short or tall, older or younger, because all I can grasp is that full throated wail. It becomes a world, both blind and complete.

The only thing to do is sit, and witness with my ears.

Her voice bounces from the ceilings to the floor, sobbing and babbling, and I cannot hear anyone else’s voice with hers. They either speak quietly, or she is alone, maybe on the phone. No one can ever know, just know that she is there right now, and this is that night when it all happened.

Tomorrow, or the next day I might pass her downstairs, going to throw out the garbage and have no idea she is the same woman. I will not recognize her.

But right now, I hear it all.