The echo of the church bells rang through the distance. Sobbing resonated off of each tree, each rock, each blade of grass. The soul of the town, G.G. Sparrow, was dead. Of all the people, the one who was expected to make noise made none: Randy Garrity. He was always close to his grandmother, and now she had died, he was lost.

"Hey Randy?" a tender voice crooned, soothing the grief-stricken boy's tears.

"Hmm?" he replied, glancing up at Olivia.

"You should probably go and sort G.G's things. If you put it off, you'll only feel worse."

He nodded, and shuffled his way to his grandmother's mouse. Opening the door, he broke down in tears. The sights brought back memories. The feel of the sofa brought back memories. Even the smell of her perfume brought back memories. He traipsed himself to her bedroom, and threw himself onto her bed. He wrapped himself in the sheets, and cried. The deluge of salinity coming from his eyes stung, but he bared the pain, knowing that his grandma had done for so very, very long. Stretching out, he felt the jab of one of G.G's meticulously folded letters. He stretched a tad further, and grasped it with the tips of his fingers. He pulled it gently down, and saw the curled, oblique script of his late grandma. His fingers moved to the fold, and he opened it, and read.

"To my dearest grandson Randy,

Now you're readin' this, I'm up in Heaven right now, unless I left this lying around, then stop readin' here.

Where was I? Oh, right. So as you know, I've been battlin' with cancer for a while now. It's funny, isn't it? I've wanted my voice to be remembered all my life, and now it will be. The tumour really did one on my vocal chords. If you go over to my dresser, and open the top drawer on the left, you'll see a CD. Play that now. My CD player is by the dressing table."

Randy walked over to the table, CD in hand, tears streaming down his face. He knew G.G. was doing something incredible, but he had no idea what. He clicked open the CD player, and placed the CD gently in. He delicately tapped the 'Play' button, and a familiar tune started chorusing around the room. He couldn't hear much of it over the mix of his crying and the rain beating against the windows. Only one part of the CD was plainly audible to him:

To hear your voice again

Saying all the things you do

In case you're wondering

Somebody's missing you

You'd better listen

Somebody's missing you

Longs to be kissing you

You mean all the world to me

You're on somebody's mind

Just almost all the time

I hope you miss me too

Somebody's missing you

The corners of his mouth flicked gently upwards. Dolly Parton was the artist of his grandma and himself. Whenever he was young, and a tornado was tearing through Georgia, she would sing "Here You Come Again", and he would stop crying and sit tight, praying. He clambered back onto the bed, and picked up the letter again.

"Did you listen to that? Good boy. You're always so good to me. I'm saying 'are', not 'were'. Did you notice? Prob'ly not. Well, it's because I'm always with you. If you ever miss me, just hold the crucifix I gave you as a baby, and remember that I'm watchin' you. And I mean always. Every time you break a rule, every time you say a curse, every time you shout at a woman, I know. But I don't need to worry. I knows you'd never do anythin' like that to a woman. Your mama raised you right, didn't she?

I want to tell you though, Randy, that though it was a bit of drag sometimes, St. Peregrine was with me. I could always feel him watchin' me. He knew. And I hope you did too. I noticed the little things you did. Restockin' the refrigerator, hooverin' the floors, washin' the dishes.

I'm gonna say goodbye to y'all now. I just want you to know that I am really thankful for what you'd did for me, Randy. Thank you. I love you, and I always will. I'm always in your heart.

And Randy? Don't cry. I know you have been. Remember what I said at Church?

'The only thing to ever leave your mouth ought to be joyful noise.' "