I found a cassette tape with no label in a box my father left me. No handwriting. No sticker. Just the naked plastic.
His churchkey bottle opener is still on my keyring. I've carried it since he died three years ago.
The day the pool opens is my daughter's favorite day. But this year she's with her mother.
I slid the tape into the old deck he gave me. The reels turned.
Silence for a long moment. Then his voice, mid-sentence, like he'd been waiting.
He was talking to my mother, long before the divorce. Just ordinary kitchen talk. The sound of ice cubes in glasses.
I listened to the whole thing. The way he said her name. The way she laughed.
When it ended I rewound it and started over. The churchkey dug into my palm. I didn't want the tape to end.