“I call them glimpses,” she said. “The things I see. Like a picture focused on one bit at a time,” she said. “Places or events or sometimes they’re just words, and it’s like someone talking in another room. I can only barely hear it if I’m perfectly still and listen hard. But it’s not like hearing really. It’s more like … remembering.”
She laughed and rubbed her arm.
“My mood seems to matter,” she said. “I don’t like what the glimpses say when I’m sad. I find something else to listen to.”
“Are you sad now?” he said.
She looked down and nodded.
“Would you like me to talk?”
She closed her eyes and nodded again.
He smiled at her and took a breath. “Once upon a time,” he began and drowned the sad glimpses in story.