Old

I had just arrived home from the bar, thinking of one of my very good friends and I thought, "I can't imagine her old". Old in the sense of a withered crone, sitting in a chair, looking for her grandchildren to fetch her another highball. I just didn't see it across her face. As if, she'd never make it to old age; and that had me worried.

My poor friend. My beautiful friend, so battered by the life she's led. If only she knew how much we cared and how much we want her life to be better than it is.

I see the resilience in her, the desire to stay young; but I just didn't see her rocking in a rocking chair. That made me sad. Angry too, at life's little and constant injustices. No matter how you play your cards, sometimes the dealer always takes your money.

I see a lot of my friends as old. I imagine us together, thinking about the old days, sharing a pint of nostalgia. I see us trying to put together our past, our collective past, into a neat package to hand down to those less experienced. But some friends, I see no old age at all.

I worry that they won't make it and miss out on the blessings of hindsight. I fear for them and the lives they lead and wish for them a better chance. That the dealer will finally give them a winning hand and they can leave life's casino better than they entered.

I know too many people that love too much and get so little in return. It's hard to watch their unrequited love and pretend it isn't happening. I'm ashamed I let myself do that. But I have no control over the whims of their hearts and can only comment briefly on the sidelines.

I only hope their hearts lead them to better pastures and easier times. I only hope, ultimately, that they have the opportunity to get old and we dodder and wither together.