I'm standing in the empty hallway of the elementary school my twin teaches at.
It's summer break. The only sound is the hum of the air conditioner.
I reach for my wallet to get money for lunch. I feel the corner of a boarding pass.
It's from last month, when I finally flew to meet my pen pal. We'd been writing since we were eight.
She lived near a delta too, but hers was different. More salt, more boats.
I told her about this town, about the church where I play the organ. In her town, I played for her at her small church.
She said it was like hearing all my letters come alive.
Now, in this silent hallway, I realize that's what I'm still doing. Playing for someone who truly listens.
That's the worth I was looking for.