Nothing else matters

I've rediscovered a real delight in reading aloud, curled up in a warm blanket, in the privacy of my room, on a day like today—sunny, refreshing. Reading as though before an audience, listening to myself breathe, pause between words, listening for a voice that is calm and collected, deep, commanding, aware of each and every nuance of a word. I envision myself having a powerful presence, captivating my peers.

This afternoon I read Kingston’s “No Name Woman,” a short story I quickly read as an undergraduate during my last semester. In retrospect, it was a chaotic time of speed-reading, spinning through classes and juggling books—doubtless, the stories have become a lost memory. Now, however, listening to Kingston’s voice, something—her tone, perhaps—resonates in me. Familiar and entirely new.