Chapter 2, Rear View Mirror’s Reflection
I'm old, not in spirit but old none the less.
I grew up, married, and became a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother. Oh God, great-grandmother! It's true. It can’t be denied, I'm old. Great grandmother, it’s an old woman.
When did it become so? Was it when pop culture figures were unfamiliar, more dead than living were known, none my age were present at an event? Or was it when a seat was offered, a door was opened, the senior discount given? Was it when I preferred to sit than stand?
Young, it was so short a time ago. Then young was forever. Being old never seemed to happen but then so quickly did.
Who wants an old woman? Some lewdly flirt, thinking they still attract interest. I don't debase myself such. I accept being old. That's me, another inconspicuous passerby a grey shadow among the pedestrian throng, a little old lady (LOL). If there’s a second glance it’s from an old man. Our fleeting smiles sigh.
If young again we would?
Instead we shuffle on and reminisce of when we could.
Makeup art no longer conceals the mirror’s reflected claims of my age, even in dimmed light. Fashion’s forsaken me, no gloves for age spotted hands or hats for gray thinned hair. Keeping a little retrograde lace to shade a wrinkled face and a scarf to hide neck’s creases would have been nice too. Instead, even a fur wrap to ward off winter’s chill, is now taboo.
It matters not, I’m old. I accept it.
