Later, I told Sylvia that I didn’t want to play with Arnau anymore. I said that we needed to focus on the package we were presenting to the audience. He wasn’t good enough, I claimed. She drained her drool from the trumpet and said, “No te vendas.” She didn’t want me to bring my Americanness, or wherever I was meant to claim, to our group. We would not sell ourselves.

You can choose a place. If you do, it will love you and not stop loving you even if you leave. I am telling you this is possible.

“Sophia's aunt is dying and dreaming of visiting the Grand Canyon, dying and dreaming at once. A person is big this way, as is a moment. A chest is big. A postcard is big. A 50-cent stamp with the strength to lift immensity and carry it to Portland, Oregon is incomprehensible. The math is strange indeed.”

I could see people around me, laughing, pouring water on each other. I wanted to act like them. But I couldn’t. What was the difference between us? Between me and the others -many of whom were younger than me - who were twisting like fish in the water.

Maybe the House Sparrow should form a support group for Birds Who Don’t Matter. Invite the pigeons, starlings, those seagulls that hang around grocery store parking lots. They’d invite the Canada goose, but he’s always too busy and secretly they’re all relieved because, come on, it’s a Canada Goose.