On My Porch Steps

I sat down on my porch steps with my computer. I needed to finish some work, and the weather was beautiful. This seemed like the perfect place.

A woman’s voice started rapid, angry conversation somewhere on the street in a nearby house. I couldn’t understand a word, but the mood was clear. Angry, agonized, pained. Continuous. Maybe it was less than two minutes. I was sure it was going on forever.

I never heard another voice. Maybe she was on the phone. Should I go back in the house?

Cars continued to drive down the street, not braking or speeding up, just moving on to wherever they intended to go.

Birds kept on singing, clear. Pure. Beautiful.

Nothing seemed to be affected by the unhappiness of the woman except her—and me. I gritted my teeth and sat on. And prayed for her. I don’t know what words I said, but I meant it. I prayed with anguish and sincerity.