BEING YOUNG

BEING YOUNG?

Margaret sat on the couch waiting. Her hands folded in her lap as
though she was waiting for a grade on a final exam. The glass of wine
positioned directly in front of her on the coffee table was half gone.
She fluffed up her hair. Silvery hair carefully trimmed, slightly
curving around her heart shaped face. Her sapphire blue eyes still
sparkled, and, as always, discreetly observed everything passing.
"I will be calm. I will not be nervous," she said aloud as she got up
and walked to the mirror. "Ten times, I've looked in the mirror ten
times. Nothing has changed. The same gray hair. The same aging lines.
The same hanging jowls. They're all still there revealing what cannot
be avoided. Will he look the same? Will he notice? Will it matter?"
Tearfully she sat down again and finished the wine.
"I remember . . . when I was young. I never had to look in the mirror.
Everything was okay. Everything was in place."
The doorbell rang. She hesitated. She looked in the mirror one more
time before going to the door.
"Damn, damn."
She opened the door.
"Frank, how nice. It's been too long." He handed her a large bunch of
flowers. She was too nervous to notice what kind of flowers. When she
was young, it mattered what kind of flowers they brought. Daisies were
of least importance. Daisies meant that either he was on the rebound or
you hadn't yet been placed in the "significant other" category. A
lovely dozen red roses showed a passionate obsession. Now it was
heavenly to just receive flowers at all. It had been such a long time
since she had had to get the crystal vase out from the cupboard.
"Being young isn't everything," she thought, trying to augment the
slight surge of fearlessness she felt after finishing the wine.
"Margaret, you look wonderful," he said. "You haven't changed a
bit."
"You're too kind, Frank. Glass of wine? Please sit down."
As she moved to the kitchen she was aware of his eyes following her.
Making note of the changes in her body. The larger than narrow waist,
widening hips, slightly bent shoulders.
"And, you, you're handsome as ever. The years have certainly been
complimentary to you," she shouted from the kitchen. A glass fell into
the sink. It shattered. Suddenly Frank was standing behind her.
"Don't worry, Margaret. I'll clean it up for you." He touched her arm
gently . . . reconfirming the past.
"These things begin to happen more often as we grow older. But, then
again, being young isn't everything."
She smiled up at him. No more running to the mirror, she thought.