We were nearing our gate and I heard my name. I didn’t turn at first. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone. I heard it agin so I turned. It was for me. A friend from a gallery life long ago. 

The city that held the gallery has almost completely changed , but not so for the sound of my name. 

There were two other girls in my high school that shared my name. But it was never confusing. Somehow you can hear it. I suppose I have my mom to thank you for that. She was the first to call me by name. The first to give it meaning. Because of her I will always hear it. 

And what a gift that is. I spoke with the woman at the airport. We remembered gallery openings and friends and wine. And with just the sound of my name I traveled to the familiar. The joy of my life in that time and that place. 

I have changed a lot since that time. Since that place. Everyone has. Continues to. And someday everyone will seem younger and smarter, but it won’t matter because you will remember the little things, like when summer days lasted forever and flowers weren’t so fragile, like the feel of a curved arm around your neck and the warm sound of the voice who first called you by name,and you’ll be happy.

I walked to my gate smiling. And woke up in Paris.