The Talker. Mary Sojourner

once had an old-fashioned Walkman, headphones, and a couple boxes of old tapes. I wasn’t sure what was on the tapes, but I had a hunch.

      The kids and I started making tacos for dinner. I was slicing lettuce when my mom came in the back door. I waited till we were at the table eating to ask her about the tapes.

      “I’m not sure,” she said. “Start in the garage. That old backpack might be the place. It’s up on top of the trunks. Take all of it if you want. I’d eventually have to do something with it.” She turned away. I started to say something, but I knew she didn’t like to have us kids see her upset.

      It was twilight by the time I walked into the garage. The trunks were stacked in a corner with the backpack on top. I climbed on the stepladder and hauled it down. It was lighter than I expected.

      I took it outside to the backyard picnic table. My heart started beating fast. It was the closest I’d felt to my dad since he’d died. “Dad,” I said, “I know that if you’d had time you would have left this to me. You’re going to love what comes next.”

      I opened the backpack. The Walkman was on top, wrapped in a black paisley bandana. I carefully lifted it out, dug down and found a bunch of bootleg tapes: The Clash, Sex Pistols, Ian Dury, The Animals, The Who, Led Zep and somebody named Roky Erickson. I’d never heard of the guy, but later when I was in my room and had put in fresh batteries and listened to his song, “If You Have Ghosts,” I thought how perfect it was for my dad now. But, right that moment, in the garage oven, with sunset burning in the dust that had drifted up, all I cared about was what was on the Zep tape.