Internal Thoughts of Being Old
Another day goes by and yet I still don't know who I am. I look into the mirror and see a fleshy face and the eyes dart back and forth, but the receding hairline, wrinkly forehead, and blotchy hairy skin don't look recognizable to me anymore. What is this thing that I have become? I remember when my head was full of hair, and my forehead wasn't wrinkly, but looking at myself now, I can't even say for sure that I know the person staring back at me. Could this be it? I've hit second puberty?
I remember when I hit first puberty. I can remember the time not so long ago when I was still having my grandmother powder my butthole after taking a bath. I don't really know the reason for the baby powder, but it made a dusty mushroom cloud that was fun to look at. I remember to when I first masturbated to completion and I was scared that something was wrong with my body and that my pecker was going to shrivel up and fall off like a dying plant. Why then, if I can remember these events, am I not sure who is in the mirror?
I can remember when this stomach wasn't lumped over my waist line. I remember when I was rollerblading at a rollerblading rink with some friends. I remember falling down and being told by bystanders that my body did twists and turns that they didn't believe a body could do without breaking any bones. I remember taking down my wrestling partner to the ground and pinning him beneath me, only later to be thrown across the mat like I was weightless. I remember lying in bed unable to move without spiking pain due to a fractured back. It was worse than the time that I almost had my arm bone break through the skin surrounding it after falling off my scooter. Now my body is old and worn. Everything aches more than a broken bone. Each step wears my brittle bones down even more. Soon I will succumb to a wheelchair.
Looking at my wife, I can remember when her body wasn't plump. She used to be able to fit into my arms, but without extra an elastic band or rope, I can't wrap my arms around her. I used to carry her up and down the stairs when she would fall asleep on the couch, but now I would be crushed by her if I tried to pick her up. She used to be full of joy like me, but after the passing time, we both are disgusted in what we've become.
My children left us years ago. Not a single one has come back to visit us. Were we hard on them that they want nothing to do with us anymore? I don't know anything about them anymore and that scares the hell out of me. I can understand if they wouldn't want me in my life, but I would still like to know that they are alive.
I am old now. I know this, but I don't like it. I want to still have the strength and endurance to carry my wife to our old secret getaway place. I want to see the smiles of my children. I want to make sure that I see all that I can before my time ends. Could I at least do all that before everything goes black and I wish that I could see the man on the other side of the mirror?