The Sound + The Ineffable

I knew we’d meet one day, I confess. But I had this definitive idea of where I hoped to be when we did.

Laurie nods.

And though I’m closer to that place than I’ve ever been, I haven’t quite arrived yet—

But you’ve lived, she interrupts. You’ve traveled the world—and written a book! You’ve met famous people and skydived and swam with sharks! You’ve gone to Mardi Gras and seriously, she pauses, you live in New. York. City.

The sound that comes out of my throat is neither laugh nor sob.

The sound is entirely unfamiliar.

And takes a moment to identify:

It’s an audible response to the purest profession of love and acceptance that I’ve experienced.

Ever.

I was prepared to fall short of her expectation.

Prepared for the why-I gave-her-up-for-adoption conversation.

Prepared to concede that I haven’t exactly subscribed to a conventional life path.

I wasn’t prepared to not need to explain, concede or justify anything.

Wasn’t prepared for her to share my idea of a life well-lived.

She sees passport stamps as adequate stand-ins for a mortgage?

Accepts me for the widow in a party dress that I am?

Doesn’t judge me for preferring suitcases to safety nets?

She?

Gets?

Me?

Not even my Hollywood version of this reunion—the one I’ve hardly allowed myself to imagine—included the scene with a sound for which I don’t have words.