Runnner

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Maybe this is neither here nor there, but when Noah was 7 or 8, his parents put a trumpet in his hands. Maybe it made him love music, taught him to pay attention to sound, to how cardboard rubbed together can become an instrument, how an acoustic sound can be stretched out and turned to near liquid—a thing you could float in— how stacking delay pedals at random can scramble the smoothness of a song and make something known, unknown. The ordinary, cosmic. And maybe that trumpet had nothing to do with it at all. Probably not. It’s hard to know, really, what’s made us who we are now, and anyways, that was years and years ago.