Weird

FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

 

What dear friends I have! 'Joyce, you look so well tonight. I love your new outfit.' 'Where did you get those super shoes? They make your feet look tiny.' 'Do you have a new hairdresser? You're cut is really becoming.  Give me her name and shop. I'll call you tomorrow. OK?' I smile from ear to ear but don't believe any of the kind remarks they throw at me.

 

I see me, the real 82 year old lady who can still put her key in the keyhole without dropping it. I can glue on false eyelashes without gluing my lids together. What I can't do is read small print without my bifocals. Carrie often asks  how I stay so slim and trim but never stays still long enough for me to answer. In case you want to know, I'll tell you. 'I don't do anything purposely. At my age I have learned that taste buds lose their power. Nothing has much flavor anymore unless I over-load already loaded foods with salt.

 

My three way mirror shows me my flat behind, sagging breasts, wrinkled arms and varicose veins, thriving big brown spots. At my dressing table my large magnifying mirror surprises me daily. Thick eyebrows that have always needed plucking are only slivers of what they were and my lashes have silently fallen out so I look dead. Hair is growing places it never grew before and I intend to soon buy a razor and shave daily.

 

Yesterday was different. I can find no sensible answer for what happened. After sharpening my blond eye brow pencil, ready to draw thicker ones, they didn't need my pencil. All the lost hair was miraculously back. I accept this with great pleasure, tell no one since no one ever mentioned the loss to me. Exactly one week later my eyebrows have company. My eye lashes  re-appear, long and curled.
This time Gretchen and Flo notice. They question me wanting to know if I have been using the wondrous new eyelash product that truly restores one's lashes. My simple, strong, 'NO,' makes Flo's eyes roll in her head. She does not believe me.

 

Janet joins Flo, Gretchen and me for lunch at Macy's. I really am not hungry but the smell of vegetable soup as soon as we step off the escalator whets my appetite. My stomach growls silently. They order first and I decide on a large bowl of clam chowder, a double decker club sandwich with turkey and lots of mayo, large order of fries. I am more surprised at myself than my lady friends are. When my order comes, I devour it like a lion eating his fresh kill. The ladies eat slowly, politely, have English tea, while I order a marshmallow sundae. Every bite is heavenly. The girls surely must believe I flipped, am getting senile. What that think is immaterial to me.

 

Another week passes and I am acutely aware that almost all of the liver spots on my arms and legs are fading fast, some are gone completely. Each day new, better things are happening to me. On Tuesday the varicose veins on my right leg have disappeared and Wednesday the left is smooth as glass. I don't have to shave either leg.

 

'Joyce,' I tell myself, 'this is insane, impossible. It's time to see Dr. Helman but he isn't going to believe me.' The idea evaporates and I let things go the way they are going. An idea sparks in my fresh brain. I will take a three month cruise and not have to discuss my position with anyone. They wouldn't believe me anyhow or else they'd be jealous.

 

Gretchen offers to shop with me as she compliments me on looking so healthy and young again. 'Joyce, you need an entire new wardrobe.' 'Thanks, but I've taken care of my own needs. How come you've never asked me about my rejuvenation? Nobody has and that is fine. Don't ask now.' I'm happy, thrilled and ready to sail. I leave her hanging on a limb, angry and upset with me.

 

By the time I board Treasure of the Seas my breasts are firm, my slight belly is flat, my eyes are bluer, clearer and I can read the menu without my bifocals. I look no more than 25 and feel even younger. There is no god, no angel, no leprechaun , no witch to thank so I just roll along enjoying my good fortune.

 

The lovely, friendly companions for 3 daily meals have finally stopped complimenting me. It is a blessing in disguise. Dr. Smithson, who usually sits to my left, constantly warns me I am getting too much sun and should use more lotions. I buy three kinds at the ship's shop. Weeks one and two have flown too fast. The very first day of week three and fear stalks me. My real eyelashes have disappeared and I have no false ones with me. I feign an upset stomach and have dinner in my cabin. I am retrogressing rapidly.

 

Debarking instructions are loud and clear several times a day. I can not pack or walk. I manage to put tips for the steward and stewardess on the table, envelopes for my waiter and fall asleep until I hear the tug boats bringing us into the wharf. My eyes are cloudy. I seem to be in jail but realize it is a crib.  I call out for help, yelling only, 'Ma, Ma, Ma.'
The stewardess comes in and screams. She rings an alarm. My cabin fills quickly. 'Everyone is yelling the same thing. 'Whose baby is this?'

 

I roll over, feel my diaper is wet and cry louder.