Write My Name Across the Sky

by Barbara O'Neal

The great tragedy of aging is not the loss of the supple body but the illusions we are forced to leave behind, one after the other, like a string of pearls from a necklace. That all will be well, that dreams can come true, that we can always do what we wish, that sacrifice and sorrow are not inevitable. For now, I carry the box to the music room and gently scatter a solid handful over the table, then zoom into the address from so long ago, Gloria Rose, 919 3rd Ave, #12, New York, New York, USA 10022.

Unlike the rest of them, I didn’t get any big gifts. I’m pretty good at a lot of things—the photos and my plants. I can sing passably well and dance well enough to get compliments, but mostly I am friendly. My gift has always been an ability to be happy. It sounds small until you live in the world for a while.