Teeth in the Fridge

Daily writing prompt

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

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Dear future me,

Our hundredth year is mere minutes away, and still, I know where to find us amidst an intimate gathering of friends. Surrounded by the night sky and lights that flutter the room, we hum along and tap our toes to a timeworn Ballerini tune. Squeals of excitement brighten the room as a cat and two children zip through—those who have shared wishes well chatter between cookies and chews. The sight coaxes a smile from our withered lips at the gift life has granted—unconditional love to call our own. As family and animals join in tuneless harmony, we grin, our gaze bright with tears. “Happy Birthday,” they cheer while water goes down our crinkled cheeks.

Coming to terms with the many roads we walked along loneliness, each a stilt to ensure you were sturdy enough to stand alone. The times colleagues turned us away became a lighthouse for the moment you would build a kingdom. In our twenties, we believed that the worst feeling in life was being alone—it’s not. That heavy emptiness—as though a Hoovervac has drained all emotion—comes from people who make us feel alone.

In a century of life, I dream that all the above is true for you—for us. And above all, keep smiling, even when your great-granddaughter asks why your teeth are in the fridge.

— R. Rehy