the_voice tender_square your father was talking in his sleep last night, mom said. he must’ve done it for twenty minutes. every time i nudged him, he’d stop for a few seconds and start all over again. she looked over at him. huh, stu? my dad made this faux-exasperated face as he held his pint of blonde beer. he was muttering and whimpering. ‘no you can’t put that there!’ and then he started speaking in a gibberish language—maybe it was klingon! she laughed. i was trying to talk to kenny, he said. kenny was my dad’s childhood best friend, i grew up calling him uncle; he died seven or eight years ago from emphysema. my parents and i stood around his death bed as he cried out for elaine, his wife, when she left momentarily to speak with a nurse about his morphine—he didn’t want to be without her, he was scared to let go. she had to assure him she’d be okay before he finally did. i never smoked another cigarette again after hearing that river flood his lungs, taking him under. that’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever heard, dad. i nearly cried. my father just slipped that bit into conversation so casually, reminding me of his wind telephone in the garage i’d written about before. oh! i had a dream about you too, cassie! mom laughed as she recalled it. there was context we needed to know first: the dream was about a contestant on “the voice,” a guy she said looked like where’s waldo?, he was incredibly dorky looking. i don’t really care for the way he sings, but the judges are all about him, she said. mom thought he was too dramatic and operatic. last episode he sang freddie mercury but she didn’t care for it, even though she’s a fan of his songs. anyway, in the dream you told me that you were leaving michael for this guy on “the voice” and it shocked me! i kept thinking, ‘noooooo! not him!’ and you were so insistent and sure saying ‘mom, i love his voice!’ it was a good thing i wasn’t in the midst of eating my veggie wrap because i probably would’ve choked on it. i laughed along with her. luckily, michael was seated next to me and not across from me; i couldn’t tell if my face was suddenly burning up. beneath the table my feet gyrated restlessly. don’t the jungians say that when someone annoys you it means they possess a quality you don’t like in yourself? i turned to michael with this question, hoping to redirect the conversation. something like that, he said, meeting my eyes. what is it about this guy you don’t like? i pressed. i have nothing in common with that singer at all! she said. i rubbed at michael’s back assuredly for a few seconds and thought about how badly i wanted to pull my mother aside and say that her dream was not as outrageous as she believed. but i know it’s not the time. right now, the only thing that matters is that i’m listening to that voice, the one within me that says i’m meant to harmonize with the man who sings to me so lovingly. it's a song that's not meant to be judged by anyone else's ears. 211125 what's it to you? who go blather from