Back to the future

LOOKING BACK

 

My fifth birthday party was too far away. Every day I asked my mother, or my father, or both, 'How much longer for my party? Can I invite Charlotte now? 'No, you can't even tell her about the party. You'll spoil it for everyone. Go play outside,' Mama tells me I'm smart because I can count to 100 without stopping. She tests me. ' This month is March. It has 31 days in it and today is the 11th day. Can you subtract 11 from 31?' 'No, Mama, I can only count up not back.' 'Sorry, Honey. Forget it, you have sixty two mornings to get up before your fifth birthday. So stop, please stop asking or Daddy and I won't give you a party at all.' I remember that scolding well. The days moved so slowly I thought they would never come. It was a great party. I had lots of presents and we played games. Daddy took moving pictures of us and a clown made balloon animals for everyone. And I became five!

 

The trouble with that was 6 barely moved. My childhood dragged, felt like I was pulling elephants on a string. The days, the years, went slowly until suddenly they moved fast, too fast. I was eighteen, didn't need a party. My best friend, Charlotte, had eloped to get married and had a baby before she was nineteen. My aim was higher than that. I was in college and would be a teacher in four years. A little war started here and there, I had a boyfriend but allowed no messing around. I was a virgin and intended staying one until I lost my will power, which was foolishly too soon. 'Everybody's doin' it!' Doin' what? I found out it wasn't 'The Turkey Trot.'

 

There were no brakes to slow the days down. Gary, with his MBA proudly in his pocket, decided to be a boss, eventually have stores galore. He added me, his work horse, to his assets. I was beside him, keeping records, going over inventory. Saying so myself is easy, I was also an excellent Mother Hen. Our three babes were out of high school before I could count to 100, backwards and forwards as I couldn't do on my milestone fifth birthday. My world began to spin. There was joy, sadness, trust, love. Every bite of life was a delicious cold Granny Smith apple, until a nasty green worm worked its way out and I bit into its slime.

 

Gary died of brain cancer only two months after it was first diagnosed. The big house is mine but I only use the kitchen, bathroom, what was our bedroom. A day worker comes in two mornings a week and that is plenty. I make no mess, leave no dishes on the sink.

 

It becomes my turn to check out some itchy, scaly places I have been feeling on my back for a few months. I drive myself to my dermatologist who performs what are three almost painless biopsies. His assistant actually does the scrapings and hands me a sheet of directions how to take care of the areas.

 

At home, I take a few minutes to read over what I must do for myself, happen to have the needed swabs, dressings, neosporen, peroxide in my medicine chest. I re-read the instructions that start about 24 hours after getting home.

 

I sit at my dressing table, trying to figure out how to do this simple task alone, twice a day. I can't see my back, can't feel the band aids. 'Gary, I need you,' I sob. I twist my neck as far as I can but can't see where the band aids are. I wrap my right arm around my back and grope up and down, feeling nothing but saggy skin. Ah! I do have a large magnifying glass on my dressing table and a wall mirror in front of my chair. On the first try, I drop the mirror on the carpet and a 'whew' comes out of my dry lips. It didn't break. I go at myself from another angle and see my back. It is flabby, doesn't look at all like my back should look. Trying to be less sorry for myself, I hold the mirror over my head and confirm that my back IS flabby, down right ugly. ..but it is an eighty eight year old back so why did I expect it to look like a twenty two year old one? I don't like what I see, don't like the outside of me. I am a fool, I tell myself, looking back at my back solves nothing. I lecture myself to face the now before there is none.

 

As I somehow manage, I think, to get each bandage on the spots that have to be covered, I hear Sharon's key in the front door. 'Sharon, I call,' 'Where are you, Mom,' she calls back. 'Come upstairs. I need you.'

 

Silver arrives with Tonto just in time for me let go of my aloneness. She'll be here every day to take care of my ointments, my band aids.

 

I'm a damn lucky old lady.