Sylvia.
Sylvia.
Sylvia.
Sylvia, where are you?
Sylvia, why didn’t you come back?
Sylvia, why did you stop returning my calls?
Sylvia, will you appear in front of me and make everything better?
Sylvia.
Sylvia.
Sylvia.
Gil’s thoughts moved aimlessly, his heartbeat audible in his ears, though it no longer sounded like a muted drum. No, the only sound he heard was the rise and fall of her name: Sylvia. Her name was a whisper, just out of reach: Sylvia. Sometimes Gil imagined that his train of thought was on a circular track, like the set from his childhood; even when it passed by the station it was only for an instant. In his mind, he could see Sylvia standing on the platform, waving as his train went by. He opens his mouth to shout her name at the instant the conductor blows the whistle. Still, despite the deafening trill, all he hears is Sylvia.
Gil looked down at his stack of half-graded tests.
