Page 65 of Too Old for This
—
Sheila bangs her spoon against the coffee cup. “Are you even listening?”
“Yes,” I say. “But I haven’t made any decisions yet, so we’re just going around in circles. If I decide to sell the house and move, you two will be the first to know.”
Bonnie and Sheila exchange a look.
Apparently, I hadn’t been listening. I’d missed something.
“We were talking about your sudden change in appearance,” Sheila says. “And how sometimes that can be a sign of depression.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“It would be completely understandable,” Bonnie says. “With everything going on with Archie and the wedding and the grandbaby…I would feel overwhelmed, too.”
“I just got tired of putting on makeup and wearing uncomfortable clothes. And at my age, I don’t have to.”
Sheila mashes her lips together, biting back whatever bad words are floating through her mind. I think she takes it as a personal insult that one of her friends has decided to be so unfashionable.
“This is coming from a place of love,” Bonnie says.
“It feels more like judgment.”
“The world does judge based on appearances,” Sheila says. “So we aren’t the ones judging you. Everybody else is.”
I shove a big omelet bite into my mouth. This conversation has taken a turn I wasn’t expecting. Nor do I appreciate it.
“We just want you to be happy,” Bonnie says.
When I’m done chewing, I ask what their plan is. “You have a doctor or therapist you want me to see?”
“Yes,” Sheila says.
Bonnie takes out her phone. “I got a few referrals, so I’ll send them to you. No pressure, just something to think about.”
As if I need someone digging through my mind.
This is one of the many difficult things about friendship. On the one hand, friends are supposed to look out for you. To let you know when you make bad decisions or stray down an unhealthy path. All well and good, assuming they know the good path from the bad one.
On the other hand, they’re looking out for their self-interest as much as anyone else. Sheila and Bonnie see their future in me. They see their own fears about physical and mental decline, and they don’t like the reflection in the mirror.
I’m not the only one who might end up rotting alone in my house.
CHAPTER 36
Sixty years ago, I was a teenager. Young and dumb, and anxious to go anywhere.
I grew up on the eastern side of California, in a small town somewhere between the Mojave Desert and Death Valley. My father’s behavior never improved—it only got worse—and I had one real friend. Janet was more of an outcast than I was. She got pregnant in our freshman year and disappeared until after the baby was born and adopted.
When we were juniors, Janet and I had two goals. The first was to leave that little town as soon as we graduated. But until then, we would settle for a trip to Las Vegas. The city was just a few hours away. It was a rite of passage for every teenager in the area. Neither of us had a car, so we begged some older girls to take us with them.
They sneered at us, but they agreed to give us a ride if we paid for the gas. I worked as a cashier at our five-and-dime. Janet did some babysitting. It took us a couple of months to save up enough, because the older girls added in food as well.
Finally, we arrived in Las Vegas on a hot Saturday.
Janet and I didn’t look old enough to gamble, much less be in a casino, so most of our time was spent walking around the Strip, dreaming about what our lives would be like when we were old enough to live them. We would be glamorous, of course, with beautiful clothes and boyfriends. Life would be one big party.
I didn’t believe in those dreams, and I don’t think Janet did, either. We weren’tthatdumb.
