Everyone in my family has a different voice. My father’s voice is like a terrible storm, thunderous and intense. And me, my voice is soft. It is calm, and gentle. My sister’s voice is irritating and loud. It is the sound of finger nails scratching on a chalkboard. Grandma’s voice is sharp-speaks out about her opinions more than necessary. And Danny, who is the youngest in my family, has a high-pitched voice like a train whistle.
But my aunts voice, my aunt’s voice, like the breeze, like a choir of songbirds because her tune is never out of pitch, sweet to listen to when she is singing to you, singing to you and you feel at ease, is the taste of a batch of brownies after you bake them, is the aroma she gives off after spraying perfume on her skin, and you stand near her, the wind outside blowing, and Danny laughing. The wind, the laughing, and my aunt’s voice that sounds like a choir of songbirds.