You have nothing to say? he asked.   Where’s your voice? Something happened to it. You don’t sing anymore. Used to sound like a bird. That was years ago. Little by little, you lost it till you became silent. I don’t even think you clear your throat anymore. There’s nothing there. What’s that like? he lit a cigarette. Took another one out of his pack and offered it to her. The older black lady took it. He lit it for her. She sucked in its poison. 

You remember the time we went fishing? her son asked. I think that’s where it began. Dad told you to shut up. You were saying something about a child left behind. The old man said he didn’t want to hear about it. He said, be quiet several times. Huh. You kept on yacking. Could say he warned you. I guess. Then he struck you in the face. You were silent then. No more talking. You didn’t even cry. Just sat there. Momma. What happened to that child? Can you tell me?

She looked away. The old lady kept looking at the door to her hospital room. She kept looking over her son’s shoulder. A voice came over the speaker in the hallway. Fifteen minutes until visitors have to leave. Fifteen minutes.

Some said you couldn’t take care of him, he said. Said you just dropped him off at the fire station. Put the kid in a box. Opened a door and slid him through. Is that what happened, momma? Did you let that child go? She kept looking over his shoulder. 

I don’t blame you, mom. I heard he cried all the time when you brought him home. Said it sounded like a sheep. Some say he was really skinny, too. Under weight, they called it. No one thought he’d survive. You ever want to talk about it, let me know.

Visiting time is over, the voice said. Visiting time is over.

The son placed his arms around her and said goodbye. She did not respond. Momma just sat there in her chair, hands by her waist. Flowers standing in water. When he got to the door, he waved.

Visiting time is now over.