Old

Tu eres mi otro yo...

I slipped on some tattered jeans and a holy t-shirt and was ready for my morning walk. I always walked briskly down the bike path for about the first block, then slowed to an amble. Normally there was not much to see, but this day was different. This was the day I saw her stretching on the path. She placed a long slender leg on a park bench, extended her arms straight out and cocked her head back, looking up at me just as I walked by.

Hoping my appearance would not scare her off, I waved and smiled, fully expecting to be ignored.

"Hi! Having a nice walk?" She smiled broadly, licked her lips provocatively then looked down at my feet.

Running in place and smiling sweetly, she took my hand and placed a five dollar bill in it.

"I know it's not much, but everything helps, right?" She ran down the path and disappeared before I could object.

I looked down at my shoes. One was a blue New Balance, the other a grey Nike. Whoops! I guessed I had mixed them up in the dark closet.

I made it to the coffee shop and was in line to order when I heard her cheery voice again. She was in a booth by herself, dreamily looking out the window and talking on her phone.

"I flirted with someone today. Aren't you jealous? Ya, it was an old homeless man. Ya, I know. I'm pathetic. Get this. He had mismatched shoes. I swear. OMG!"

I got out of line, walked briskly out the door and back to the path. For the first time in my life, I had been referred to as an old man. I was officially an old man. Anger gave me an adrenaline rush and I started to sprint down the path, remembering my high school track days and my first crush and asking Geraldine to the prom and being turned down. Not just turned down, but turned down with a dismissive chuckle. Why do bad memories persist and haunt?

Geraldine now wakes up every day to the smell of pig manure, puts on her rubber boots and does her chores. At least with me she could have lived in the suburbs.

Breathing heavily. Everything was sore. Had to rest. I wondered how far the rejection adrenaline had propelled me. I was guessing about a mile. There was a marker on the path. .25 miles. I looked behind me and the coffee shop was still in sight. I had run three blocks.

Leaning over with my hands on my knees, I looked up and directly into my reflection in a car window.

Stray grey hairs sprouted out at odd angles from my eyebrows and ears like grass out of sidewalk cracks. Three days of whisker growth completed the weed patch face staring back at me. I tried smiling ear to ear: I was now the spitting image of Freddy the Freeloader. The only thing I lacked was a cigar butt and a hat.

"Are you all right?" The same sweet voice said.

"Yes, yes. I am quite all right. I am great, fantastic just, just... old."

I watched her grin and bounce away and down the path.