There was so much quietness. Better: noiselessness. The opposite of clamor, so many voices speaking soundlessly to the beautiful brashness of crockery, mother’s eyes pointing towards bread, hands dashing across the table. I can breathe easily, I can see myself saying, I can easily breathe. And then, someone leans back into the chair, let me tell you a joke, and then he would tell a joke, and the laughter, oh my, what a glorious mess, silencing the dishes and not much else.