Read This Without Crying

Go on.

I dare you

For four years, Pat cooooooed at Sarah, for 20 minutes a day, listening to Sarah's silent language, filling her patient with the kind of love that strangers reserve for people and things that cannot speak for themselves.

If Sarah made any sound, Pat would praise her, "Yes, that's right. You got it. I love you, Sarah. Do you love Pat?"

Sarah would blink.

The sessions were intense, with Pat looking deep into Sarah's eyes, trying to penetrate, break that lock on her voice.

"Are you glad to see me?" Pat would say. "Look at that smile. Now relax your arm. Relax, sweetheart. Say, my name is Sarah. Say, I'm hungry. Say, I'm thirsty. Say, I want to eat. I want to talk. Are you ready to talk? Yes, you are ready to talk."

Sarah would blink. And deep inside that face in which others saw only blank stares, Pat Rincon saw a flicker.