Doctor Peach brings me music. He needs to show me only once. He plays for me. Then I play. My room is filled with sound. Doctor Peach brings musicians too with other instruments. I listen. I play my recorder with them. I no longer need to read the music like letters and words and sentences on a page. I speak it, I put the notes together into patterns.

Doctor Beck says my room is not a good place to make music. She asks people to come and make a quiet room in the house for me to play. The sound of my music upsets Shay. It upsets everyone who sleeps here. I don’t want to upset Shay. But I am so full of music.

Justin takes me away from the classwork and the music and the time with the doctors. He plays games with me like basketball and soccer. We play in the walled yard behind our house and run through the bright sunlight all the way to Case Gymnasium, where the swimming pool is, and he makes me laugh and jump and run and stretch and kick and fly across the floor, chasing balls, chasing him. It is very good. But he does not change. He does not want to be touched. It is too hard to play with him the way the dolphins play, so full of joy, so full of movement, without the touching.

My music is not like Mozart. It is not like the music in the radio. But it is like the sound I know from the sea. I make a long song, all night, one song. Like the whale who is looking for a mate, I make a song that grows and changes and grows longer. The story becomes different stories, different patterns, making one big pattern. By the morning the song is not the same as I started in the night, but it is the same song. It has grown and changed. Justin brings his blanket and sits in the chair by the window and listens. Others come in to listen.

I forget that I am Mila. I forget everything. It is only the singing I hear. It is my singing.