She wrote that although my final words had been cruel, they were also the first words anyone had spoken to her with genuine feeling in months. Even anger, she explained, reminded her that another human being had noticed her existence. She apologized for becoming a burden and for knocking too often. Most painfully, she apologized because she had never discovered a better way to ask someone to stay and talk with her for just a minute.

I lowered the letter and looked toward the silent house next door. Suddenly, every knock replayed differently in my memory. I could see her standing outside with a small cup or bag in her hands, pretending sugar was the reason she had crossed the few yards separating our homes. All those times, I thought she had been asking, “Can I borrow some sugar?” But underneath that simple request had been another question she could never bring herself to say aloud: “Will you notice me?” And every time I rushed her away, I had answered without realizing it. Click continue reading below