A Letter to Myself

It is a school reunion, twenty years after school. Ana is bored. She has a good job and a small flat. Then the headteacher says, “Every student gets a letter. You write it at sixteen.”

Ana keeps her letter carefully. She goes to the car park, sits on a low wall and opens it. The writing is round. “Dear Ana,” it says. “I think you are famous now. If not, I hope you are happy.”

There are ten wishes in the letter. Learn to sail. Visit a country with signs you cannot read. Have a dog with silly ears. Play the cello badly in public. Ana does none of them.

The last line is different: “Don’t wait. Nobody is ever ready.” Ana reads it three times. She takes her phone and looks for a sailing school. A beginners’ course starts in two weeks. Her thumb waits above the button.

“Ana! The group photo!” someone shouts. She presses the button. The confirmation email comes while she smiles for the camera. For the first time tonight, her smile is real.

On the way home, she buys a notebook. She writes a new letter for ten years from now: “Dear Ana, now you can sail.”