Ponderings at 85

I knock on her door, more as a greeting than an invitation. I have been letting myself into her small apartment for years now. She meets me at the entryway with a cup of coffee, her own already on the side table. If I know her, it's spiked with a shot of whiskey. She smiles when she tells me "It's what has kept me around for so long." 

I also notice her journal and pen lying next to her coffee. I know this means today I will be silent as she speaks. I love days like this, gleaning a wisdom from her that only her age could afford. 

"I was just looking through old pictures. I was quite the looker in my day. I never saw it, though. I don't think we ever do. That's the saddest part of looking back, knowing how much we missed." 

"You're still the looker", I tell her.

"Oh, don't flatter an old lady. My beauty has faded. I'm okay with that. I had it once, that's enough. I was such a late bloomer, at least that's how I saw it. I spent my youth hiding: behind too much mascara and eyeliner, behind books, big words, fear. Oh, I was so scared when I was young. Scared of falling in love, not being loved, failing. Damn, I wasted so much time, fearing life. I lived on the edges, barely dipping my toes in, feeling the cold and running away." 

She lets out a big sigh and goes quiet. I know I need to stay quiet, let her get lost in her thoughts. 

She takes a drink of her coffee and takes a deep breath.

"It's amazing what we remember when we look back. I remember always being the rebel. I hated the idea of having to fit in, to mold myself. I ran from that. Even as a wife, it was so uncomfortable to try to fit into the mold that seemed laid out for me. I never wanted my wings clipped; I wanted to fly. He hated that, always trying to put me in a cage. So frustrating it had to be for him, trying to keep me grounded while I was fighting so hard to find my own path. One of the hazards of marrying young, I guess. I was so idealistic. Thinking marriage would solve everything, put me where I felt I truly belonged. Instead, it caged me in, dampened my passion. That was the worst part: how dead I felt inside. I never felt alive until I was free: free of expectations and others dreams. I had to go alone and find my own. Boy, did I cause an upset when I discovered myself and made the reveal. But I tell you, I never felt more amazing that day."

I nod at her and sip on my coffee, understanding completely, knowing I was now in that place she had already been. Knowing how scary painful and amazing it felt to shed expectations and stand bare, become a blank canvas. 

"I remember the first time I fell in love. So many assume it was my ex-husband. How sad it wasn't. He was more of a roomate. We were never comfortable with each other. Goodness, I was with him almost twelve years and the man never saw me pee. How can two people be such strangers? But love, oh, what an exciting Spring that was. I still remember that day, in a hotel. I had just come from a hospital, devastated at the news of my Mom's cancer diagnosis. He opened the hotel room and I fell into his arms. I fell in love in that moment. All I remember is the sound of his heart beating against my cheek as I laid on his chest and sobbed and he wrapped his arms around me. But as usual, it ended. I was never quite the same after that. But not in a bad way. I got to experience, once, something good. But love blinds us to the bad and over time, reality crashes in, revealing truths that were hidden before. But I don't regret it, not the beginning nor the end. I never understand why people spend so much time regretting things. You never learn anything that way, except how to be angry."

She pauses and I get up to refill our coffees. I notice a postcard on the kitchen counter, next to the coffee maker. I understand the conversation now.

I take a chance and ask her a question "The postcard, I'm sorry, it was out. The one you loved, is he the one who died?"

A tear falls down her cheek and she takes a deep breath "It's amazing. I stopped loving him so many, many years ago. It feels like another lifetime. But to know someone is gone you once loved, it still hurts."

I place my hand gently on hers and she squeezes it. She pulls her shoulders back and smiles, "Enough talk of ghosts. There is plenty of time for that after. Thank you for humoring an old woman."

"I enjoy these talks. I learn so much from you. Your life, your views, you've had a wonderful life; you're having a wonderful life."

She laughs, a soft chuckle. "Oh sweety, I have lived. So many disagreed with how I did it. But I don't. I don't regret the lovers, the risks, the words, so intimate, that I put on paper for others to read. I wonder how many of them knew how much of myself I was revealing in those stories. I guess it doesn't matter now. As long as people were reading them, I didn't fuss much over what they meant to them. That's for them to decide: what the story is."

"After we broke up, I never really did a serious relationship again. I wanted to, sometimes, but I was a lot to handle I assume, not following the rules. But how boring that would be. What man in his right mind wants a well-mannered woman? I know the type, a boring one. But I had fun, regardless. Even if I was a handful. Who knows, I still have some life in me, maybe I'll still meet a man with big enough hands"

I laugh, hoping to have even a small part of the mischeviousness she still holds onto. 

"You know, I was still scared, even as I got older, So scared of all of the same things. I don't know if we ever get past that. But I decided one day to do it anyway. To take those risks. And sometimes, it hurt so bad when it all came crashing down around me. But one day, I decided I would rather be scared and do it anyway and feel something than to miss out. And you know, honestly, those things I was so scared of, those things that almost broke me, looking back, they were never as big as I thought they were. It's like waiting for the monster to come out from under the bed and one day, deciding to grab a light, look under there yourself, beg him to reveal himself and realizing, he was nothing more than a mouse. That's a good day."

She stands up, grabs my face and gives me a kiss on the cheek, "I always love when you come by. You make me feel young again."

I smile, knowing we both know it is she who makes me feel young, feel alive. How I hope to have her spirit when I am older. How much I want her spirit now.

"Are you rushing me off?" I laugh.

"Of course I am. I have a date. I told you, I'm still searching for that man with the big enough hands and strong enough shoulders. That's what keeps me young: hope. Once you lose that, you lose everything."

With that, I put our now-empty coffee cups in the sink and say my good-byes. 

As I'm leaving, I catch her looking at herself in the mirror and know, at that moment, she still sees herself as a young woman wanting to take on the world . . . 

 . . . and I have no doubt she will.