Nothing louder had ever happened in my life before. Thinking back, remembering the loudest noise I could remember… The full amplifier buzz of the Don Henley concert my father took me to when the Eagles broke up. The ringing bang of the car bomb exploding at the Governorate building intersection in Bahr al Mihl. The crack of the shotgun when I was shot in the backside.

Not one of these was as loud as the shovel. Now, somehow, my memory had twisted, like smoke untangling in the wind of time. Now, there was a volume issue. Now, purely loudest was the sound of the door, a Subaru door, shutting softly. The sound of what was not said. “Goodbye,” and not “I love you,” uttered as we parted, arguing over nothing. Simply nothing. That clunk of the door shutting was as loud as the first shovelful. Overpowering all I can remember.

Deafened, I sit, cooling on the bench, listening to the whir of the fans, shaking, spinning.