Becca was the kind of girl to have mono recordings on vinyl. She had a massive collection from all genres which she bought with whatever money she had left over from her paychecks and student loans. A music history major I met in professor Bell’s algebra class freshman year. She had better taste than me and that was unusual. I was the resident music guru in high school and her passion for it dwarfed mine. I wish I could say I talked to the pretty girl with the dangly earrings first, but she had heard Dylan through my headphones and sat next to me in an almost empty classroom. We would talk before and after every class. I’d walk with her to her next one since I was done with classes after algebra. I thought about making her a mix tape, but I couldn’t think of any bands I mentioned that she didn’t already know. She saved me from myself and asked me out first to this cool little Italian place no one knew about.

It was spring semester now and we’d been dating for a few months. We both lived off campus in the same complex but different buildings. There had already been talk about moving in with each other when the leases were up at the end of this semester. We were happy. We were connected. I started to believe in destiny.

She worked at a coffee shop that let her pick the music. I was going over to visit her. Then it happened.

There was a loud ringing deep in my skull, in the primitive part of my brain that echoed almost louder than my worried emotions. Still I stood as best I could and ran into fleeing people. I had to find her. She was outside already but through a glass wall that shattered when her body was thrown against it. People had trampled her and some were dead. I could tell she had the ringing too. She had blood on her, not all of it hers and some of it mine. I dragged her away best I could. That’s all I really remember clearly. Everything else was background to the ringing in my ears. At the hospital I was told the bomb was meant for the abortion clinic two blocks over. At least that’s what the news people said. Who stops in to get coffee with a bomb in their backpack? I wasn’t hurt as bad as her. My ringing would go away, a few more minutes or hours. They said hers might too, but she might never hear again either. All of this was confusing to me and all of it was done on paper. I couldn’t hear people over the ringing.

The ringing went away after a few hours but hers never did. It was all she could hear. We made it work though. At first we’d write notes to each other and it was like being in professor Bell’s algebra class again. We had happy times even though she was tired and miserable. She couldn’t sleep because of the ringing and she couldn’t deal with what happened without her music. I started staying at her place to help her get accustomed. I became the kettle monitor for her morning cup of tea and listener for all kind of buzzes and dings to know when things were done. I met her parents and they approved. They were happy I was in their daughter’s life. When I didn’t have class I’d go to hers and help her take notes even though she didn’t need me too. She was such a kind person everyone offered up theirs to her. The professors were good to her too, especially Bell. She switched her major to mathematics. I could tell she was just going through the motions though. She lost her soul that day. She was putting on a show for everyone. A big one for me and she knew that I knew. She thanked me every day, more than once usually, for being with her. I told her it was no problem but of course that was a lie. She was changing and everything about her that I loved was faked now.

I thought too much about it one night while we were in bed. She couldn’t hear me crying, but she could feel the slight shaking in the bed and she asked me what was wrong in a voice that wasn’t hers. I broke down.

“You’re leaving me aren’t you?”

I shook my head no.

She started to cry too and we held each other. We both knew it was over. We couldn’t let go of each other and it almost felt like it would work out but it didn’t.

It was the worst thing I ever done. I wish could understand better. I wish that my life would have changed as much as hers. I wish I would have kept the ringing. All I had were nightmares of that day and an irrational fear that everywhere I tried to go would explode. I missed her waking me up from my nightmares.

There was a knock at my door early, a loud banging knock that woke me up from a nightmare but scared me even more. I opened the door and I could smell her, but there were nothing but boxes, too many boxes, with a note attached that read:

“We have changed, I know that, but I’ll always love you, who you were before the terrible thing. I hope you will always love who I was and I hope that this will let you get to know that person I was better and hold onto her forever.”

It was her vinyl collection and I did come to know her better.

I listened to those records non-stop for the rest of the semester, for the rest of my life really. It’s how I grieved for her. It’s how I stayed in love with her.