She wondered if he had even existed. Had her memories only been dreams? Could a spirit have impregnated her? In a blind dash because tears were now streaming, she ran for the wardrobe in her bedroom. As soon as she opened the door, the stale scent of Old Spice rushed through her nose, and she was relieved. Several of Billy’s suits were hanging; some of them had not been worn since the first few months after Billy had come home. His derby hats were lined on top of the wardrobe’s only shelf, and she suddenly recalled the feeling she used to get whenever he tipped one of those hats toward her after they had first met. His work and play shoes were scattered randomly in a corner pile; the familiar odor that emanated from them proved they had, in fact, been worn.

Hopeful now, she remembered the top drawer of her dresser. Through her dreams, she had often seen Billy open it late at night. She opened the drawer frantically as if she had found a dead relative’s treasure chest. Loose change was inside. A tarnished silver necklace was neatly laid out, as well as a watch that had ceased ticking. His father’s Mason ring was also there. Then closer, she noticed one of the imitation-gold hoop earrings Billy bought her jammed between the imitation wood that made up the drawer’s base. She pulled it out and fingered it, thinking of her man and the father she had wanted her children to have. She had another one on the way, she knew, after finally realizing that it wasn’t grief staving off menstruation for two months.

Tawana was furious. Why why why had this happened to her, to them? Why had they played it safe all this time, done it all right, made everybody proud, got off to a good start in life only for life to end before they could cash in? For what? It was a furor so strong it closed her mouth rather than opened it. She would have to wait nearly a year for Blacks to rise up in Harlem and riot, and then she would be one of those in the streets screaming, fighting, cursing, chanting, breaking glass, acting out, celebrating the small victory of causing a small threat. Then, she would release the sound that welled up inside of her now and caused her head to pound all the time. That’s what the inside sounds that have nowhere to go do. Her throat would be hoarse from screaming so loud. Her tongue would dry out. Her lungs would shrink from the release. Then, and only then, would she move on. For now, she let the sound become her until she was silenced.