Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

the jeweler to make it that way. Its size was supposed to be a symbol of his love. More rubies, more love. But I could not wear it comfortably. I could not wear it at all. So here is the point of everything I have been trying to say. If I were to give a bracelet to you, now, I would measure your wrist twice.
    With love,
    Your grandmother
    I had a letter from everyone I knew. I laid them out on my bedroom floor, and organized them by what they shared. One hundred letters.
    I was always moving them around, trying to make connections. I wanted to understand.
    Seven years later, a childhood friend reappeared at the moment I most needed him. I had been in America for only two months. An agency was supporting me, but soon I would have to support myself. I did not know how to support myself. I read newspapers and magazines all day long. I wanted to learn idioms. I wanted to become a real American. Chew the fat. Blow off some steam. Close but no cigar. Rings a bell. I must have sounded ridiculous. I only wanted to be natural. I gave up on that.
    I had not seen him since I lost everything. I had not thought of him. He and my older sister, Anna, were friends. I came upon them kissing one afternoon in the field behind the shed behind our house. It made me so excited. I felt as if I were kissing someone. I had never kissed anyone. I was more excited than if it had been me. Our house was small. Anna and I shared a bed. That night I told her what I had seen. She made me promise never to speak a word about it. I promised her.
    She said, Why should I believe you?
    I wanted to tell her, Because what I saw would no longer be mine if I talked about it. I said, Because I am your sister.
    Thank you.
    Can I watch you kiss?
    Can you watch us kiss?
    You could tell me where you are going to kiss, and I could hide and watch.
    She laughed enough to migrate an entire flock of birds. That was how she said yes.
    Sometimes it was in the field behind the shed behind our house. Sometimes it was behind the brick wall in the schoolyard. It was always behind something.
    I wondered if she told him. I wondered if she could feel me watching them, if that made it more exciting for her.
    Why did I ask to watch? Why did she agree?
    I had gone to him when I was trying to learn more about the forced laborer. I had gone to everyone.
    To Anna's sweet little sister,
    Here is the letter you asked for. I am almost two meters in height. My eyes are brown. I have been told that my hands are big. I want to be a sculptor, and I want to marry your sister. Those are my only dreams. I could write more, but that is all that matters.
    Your friend,
    Thomas
    I walked into a bakery seven years later and there he was. He had dogs at his feet and a bird in a cage beside him. The seven years were not seven years. They were not seven hundred years. Their length could not be measured in years, just as an ocean could not explain the distance we had traveled, just as the dead can never be counted. I wanted to run away from him, and I wanted to go right up next to him.
    I went right up next to him.
    Are you Thomas? I asked.
    He shook his head no. You are, I said. I know you are.
    He shook his head no.
    From Dresden.
    He opened his right hand, which had NO tattooed on it.
    I remember you. I used to watch you kiss my sister.
    He took out a little book and wrote, I don't speak. I'm sorry.
    That made me cry. He wiped away my tears. But he did not admit to being who he was. He never did.
    We spent the afternoon together. The whole time I wanted to touch him. I felt so deeply for this person that I had not seen in so long. Seven years before, he had been a giant, and now he seemed small. I wanted to give him the money that the agency had given me. I did not need to tell him my story, but I needed to listen to his. I wanted to protect him, which I was sure I could do, even if I could not protect myself.
    I asked, Did you become a sculptor, like you dreamed?
    He showed me his right hand and there was silence.
    We had everything to say to each other, but no ways to say it.
    He wrote, Are you OK?
    I told him, My eyes are crummy.
    He wrote, But are you OK?
    I told him, That's a very complicated question.
    He wrote, That's a very simple answer.
    I asked, Are you OK?
    He wrote, Some mornings I wake up feeling grateful.
    We talked for hours, but we just kept repeating those same things over and over.
    Our cups emptied.
    The day emptied.
    I was more alone than if I had been alone. We were about to