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Youth and Wisdom

She was stunning.  She made heads turn as she entered the restaurant.  She was completely confident, or at least she acted confidence flawlessly.  Her skin was an olive tone and her eyes were light as was her hair.  Her body was the epitome of a pear and she made pears seem like a delicacy that can only be desired.  Her simple V-neck tee-shirt teased people.  It came close but she was tasteful.  Her jeans were high wasted and hugged her all-encompassing hips.  I admired her for her confidence.  She and her boyfriend were in love.  They kissed while they were waiting for their food.   They smiled.

He loved her more than she loved him.  But she loved being adored and he loved the attention that he got while being out with her.  They ignored the fact that it wasn’t going to last.  They lived in this moment and in this moment they were eating good food and in that moment they were in love with each other.  They loved their Los Angeles cottage near the beach in Venice.  They owned a gorgeous golden retriever that matched their lifestyle.  They went roller blading on the strand every morning with their Golden.  They worked jobs that weren’t forever, but they were in the right direction of their passions.  They were creative people and so their home was quaint and magical all at once.  They allowed time to fool them into complacency and they allowed themselves to be happy even if she didn’t love him as much as he loved her and despite the fact that they both knew this well and even recognized it at times, they loved this moment when they had the luxury to ignore it for just a bit longer.

The woman sitting opposite these two young lovers drank her hot tea from a blue mug.  She watched and envied as she lost interest of what her two friends accompanying her were saying.  She remembers when time was not her enemy, but her ally.  When each moment was new.  Each emotion intriguing.  Each experience educating.  Each day mesmerizing. She remembered when her body was vibrant and strong rather than crumpling beneath her and she remembered planning her trips to Rome and Paris and Istanbul and Budapest.  The possibility of each day of finding a new passion or lover or friend.  The days when she got up in the morning and felt the need to be lavish so she drew on some red lipstick and wore a slim silk dress.  She was beautiful and intelligent and sophisticated.

But now, she had a caretaker.  Her friends treated her differently.  They had inane conversations, as though her physical incapabilities affected her conversational skills.  People spoke to her slowly.  It was the same thing every day.  She craved controversy. Excitement.  A love story, cultures, people.  If they would just listen, she would think to herself.  But rather than listening, people just assumed her opinion archaic and her reasoning senile.  I watched as her friends left in a hurry as she sat and watched.  She did not want them to see the process that was necessary for her mobility. Her caretaker was kind and patient, but the woman wanted more than anything not to need her.

She wanted to put on some red lipstick and go for a walk on the cobble stone streets of London in her silk dress and high heels.


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