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The Art of Aging Gracefully
by Ron Van Sweringen
Robert Billings was driving along the busy street in his Chevy, the Florida sun shining above, birds singing and his hands gripping the steering wheel. The only problem was, he didn't know who, why, or where he was. When he stopped for a light, he said to himself, "If I sit here a minute, I'll remember what street this is and where I'm going." That's when a horn blasted him from behind.
"OK, OK, I'm moving," he cursed under his breath, "bastard." The strip mall parking lot he pulled into was mostly empty except for a banged up red compact with one of those silver sun deflectors stretched across the front window.
Robert suddenly felt queasy at his stomach. "This should be going away by now, I should be remembering where I am," he groaned. Gray moments were not completely unknown to Robert, after all he was 73 years old, no spring chicken. Two months ago he wound up at the drug store instead of at his doctor's office. Luckily they were only four blocks apart so he wasn't late for his appointment. He considered mentioning his lapse of memory to the doctor, but backed out at the last minute.
"So what if I screw up every now and then," he thought, "what the hell, nobodies perfect." When he left the doctors office, to prove his point, he walked straight through the crowded parking lot to his car, without flinching. But that was two months ago and this was here and now. Like it or not he was lost.
A knock on the passenger window startled Robert, he hadn't noticed the young man approaching his car. "Parking for the Sea-Fest Celebration," is over there sir, he said, holding up a placard and pointing further up the parking lot toward a stand of tall palms. "Have a nice day," he added, smiling, as he moved away signaling another driver.
At that moment Robert remembered he was on Beach land Boulevard, two miles from his condo and on his way to the dry cleaners. Relief flooded through him and a long sigh escaped his smiling lips.
"Might as well stretch my legs and see what this Sea-Fest thing is all about," he thought, happy to be back among the living. A half block away he found a grassy mound shaded by palms overlooking the Indian River. Colorful umbrellas surrounded by bathers stretched along the water. His watch told him it was 12:30 and the smell of seafood and French fries reminded him he hadn't had lunch.
"Why not?" he chuckled, "beats Burger Castle."
Ten minutes later Robert was enjoying a cool breeze while drinking a beer and munching his Grouper sandwich. He'd slipped his sandals off in the grass and was happily wiggling the toes of his red, white and blue Argyles. Gone was the distress of half an hour ago. For the moment Robert was sitting on the top of the world.
"Would you care to donate to a fund for the relief of endangered gold fish?" a young woman said, looming above him. Robert looked up and without hesitation replied "How much."
"Whatever," was the answer that drifted over on a whiff of perfume as she bent down holding an open plastic grocery bag. Her arms were tattooed and she wore black gloves with the fingers cut off. Her face was young and attractive, considering the purple Mohawk and a large safety pin piercing her nostril.
"I didn't know gold fish were endangered," Robert said, digging in his pockets for the change from his lunch.
"Mine are," the girl frowned, "if they don't get a frigging bigger bowl pretty soon." The unexpectedness of her answer sent Robert into uncontrollable laughter. Whatever she cost him it was worth it.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Prunella," she answered, which started Robert laughing all over again as he dropped a five dollar bill into the bag.
"Thank you Prunella," he finally managed, "you've made my day."
'
For the next two hours Robert sat in the shady grass and watched people come and go; swimmers in the water and children building sand castles on the beach. White sails dotting the horizon and even a blimp floating overhead made up a perfect world.
As he drove out of the parking lot Robert came to a conclusion. "What the hell, at 73, getting lost every now and then might not be such a bad thing; after all, think of the goldfish he'd saved.
