Where is Danella?

Tain liked Danella because she talked in a whisper. This was her voice, her “handicap.” No one knew why she couldn’t speak. But he didn’t mind. Tain liked Danella. In fourth grade boyfriends and girlfriends hold hands. That’s all. But they never got to intertwine their fingers. Because he broke up with her. Again, he didn’t know why. (He didn’t know much of anything at that age.) Danella whispered, “I don’t care.” But she did. He knew it. He regretted it, even as a boy, and now that he’s a man. He doesn’t know her last name, or how to find her. Tain remembers she was in the band in a different high school. Drums. Like him. It would’ve been nice to play drums with her. Go on band trips with her. Hold her hand. She was one of the only nice girls he knew then. Where is Danella? How can Tain find her? It should be simple enough these days with all of the technology and social media stalking abilities. But he knows what we all know: things aren’t easy in 2013. Ease is an illusion. In his mind, Tain’s only hope was this: Maybe in eternity she would be with God. Maybe she’d be with him. Then he’d say he was sorry, though she would have a voice and not a whisper.