cherry blossom

cherry blossom candy

Something about the way she carried herself. Dignified, elegant... Shoulders pulled back, cane in hand.

Ready to face the world head on.

We waited together for the bus on a cool Sunday morning. I sat down on the long wood bench, in my fishnet tights, high heeled shoes, scarf thrown over my neck. She stood beside me, wearing navy blue stockings, a wool dress coat, and little black pumps with pointy toes. Hair? Coiffed just so. Dressed to kill at 80 years old.

I couldn't help but wonder. What did she look like at my age? Did she dance the night away, wearing silk stockings and beautiful shoes? Did she curl her hair and paint her lips red? Did she laugh with friends and smile a lot, inviting lines to appear at the corners of her eyes?

I bet she did.

Comments

[Dressed to kill at 80years old]

I couldn't help but wonder. What will she look like at my age? Does she dance the night away, wearing silk stockings and beautiful shoes? Does she curl her hair and paint her lips red? Does she laugh with friends and smile a lot, inviting lines to appear at the corners of her eyes?

Perhaps when she's my age, she'll look back and wonder too.

DTK@80

[Dr. Bill]

I like this little story a lot. Whimsy, empathy, pride, self-doubt; lots of irony. Leaves it hard to decide: Who's more lovable, the youthful writer or the 80-yr-old?

And then the follow-up above. Ambiguity, more irony. Wonderful.

I often ride the train, though not often at 6:12 am, and I often people-watch and imagine, and think that I should write something. But this story shows imaginings and skill, way beyond my limited ability. Awesome display, Ms. Wong.