Icon by Buzz Mauro Originally published by Adirondack Review I never worshipped Judy Garland but she graced a dream of mine anyway, signing her autobiography in a cozy little bookstore we both loved. She gleamed the grateful smile of her youth and her complexion was flawless except for a large purple burn on her forehead and left eye. She was reminiscing with a friend who sometimes was me and when it was she looked into me with more love than was due any fan and I realized that was how she looked at all of us. I said, you’ve had a dreadful life. She lifted her eyes to think how to describe her awful Oz, then came back to say yes, a rough life. You (she meant her friend, a Hazel or Maureen, who wore a sharp forties suit and hat like her, but was also me), you didn’t, did you? The friend lifted a finger to retort then stopped. Judy smiled forgivingly. I crossed over into pain one day, she said to us, and you crossed the other way, you lovely thing you.