When Vocals Fold.

    This is when it starts to happen.
When I get quiet and my eyes start to water.
When my throat tries to resonate any sort of vibration from my larynx up through my lips.
This is what happens when I can no longer speak.
This is what I like to call, "The Depressing Pause."
The Department of Health and Human Services describes this as, when vocal folds no longer produce a vibration, causing nothing but air to slowly fall out of my open mouth.
After a moment of silence, I make a grunting noise, bringing to life the muscles that have recently failed me.
"Sorry..." I say
"About what?" River asks.
"Sorry for getting so Emo, for a moment." I say.
Where I am is laying down in my bedroom, talking to Ms. River.
Where I am is getting out of my "Good times bus" after taking a drive down memory lane, doing my best to walk a straight line and speak a straight word.
The funny thing about all of this is, you never know when that unexpected teardrop is about to form from the corner of your eye.
Three minutes ago, all I was doing was asking about a simple raspberry plant.
A raspberry plant that was purchased from a simple Low's Home and Garden with a simple twenty dollar bill.
Now I lay here and rub my Adams Apple, feeling like an extra from a Charlie Chaplin film.
"It's okay." Ms. River says. "I understand."
I take a moment and breathe, letting go a thick cloud of nostalgia, letting it pass through my vocal folds and into the air.
Three minutes ago it was a simple raspberry plant, reminding me of simple sunshine and generous offerings that make all the difference.
"What where you thinking about?" Ms. River asks
"Raspberries", I say "I was thinking about raspberries."

On Saturday's, the Lowe's Home and Garden in Henderson is open from 10 AM to 8 PM.
The digital clock on my phone tells me it's a quarter to one when we pull in the parking lot.
Ms. River and Ms. River's  Mother,-or "moms" as we both call her, have decided to stop and take a look at few seasonal plants and flowers and more importantly, a raspberry plant.
Ms. River and I had been fighting for what felt like several weeks.
After a few days of silence, sometimes the only thing to do is to argue.
When you go so long without noise, sometimes the best thing to do is just turn on the power, and turn up the volume.
Inside the open air garden, Ms. River and moms wheel a shopping cart around the corner of grass seed and insecticides.
I hand the cashier a twenty dollar bill and he hands me back $1.72 in change.
Afterwards, I turn around and walk back towards garden hoses and lawn furnishings.
What I have in my hand is a raspberry plant.
A simple plant with nothing but a short stem, sprouting from a gallon of soil, inside of a black plastic bucket.
River and moms stop in front of Jasmine flowers and whisper something back and forth in Russian.
"Rita," I say, "Here". I extend both my arms and hand over the plastic bucket with the sprouting stem.
"What's this for?" Moms asks.
"It's for you." I say, and place my arm around moms, giving her a smile and a hug.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ms. River's look, it tells me she's happy but still wants to be mad at me.
I move over to Ms. River and place my arm around her waist.
She tells me, "I'm happy but I still want to be mad you." She says.
"Sorry." I say. "Would you prefer if I were a dick?" I ask.
This is the first time I see a genuine smile in over a week.

So this is when it happens.
This is when tears form from the corner of my eye and my vocal folds, fold.
Something simple I know.
I miss times like these. Times when something so simple can make a world of difference.
I ask Ms. River about the raspberry plant, how it looks now.
"You should see it." She says. "It's crazy. It's grown from the ground up to the top of the patio."
I take a deep breath and attempt to say something.
Anything.
"Are you okay?" River asks.

Where I am right now is inside a Lowe's Home and Garden.
Watching a smile I haven't seen for weeks.
Watching my love continue to grow from the ground up to a patio.
From my larynx to my lips.