The Listener

When I was a little girl, after supper (that's what we called it), I would go to the swing on Mrs. McCall's front porch. She was always there, our next door neighbor, silently swinging back and forth on her porch. I would sit beside her and then download everything that happened to me that day--at school, with friends. I could say anything to her without fear of reprimand or belittling. I must have chattered away, filling all the time and space, because I do not remember one word Mrs. McCall ever said to me. Yet, I will never forget her for letting me do all the talking. When I was a child, I needed that. Sometimes, I still do.

You write it: Who was a listener for you? For whom are you a listener?