The Late Old Woman

The Old Woman was late.

Sunlight flowed into the room like a river, steady and with authority. It reflected off the stark white sheets that embraced the woman’s frail, petite body, withered with age. She groaned as she hoisted herself out of the deep slumber that took over her the night before. The woman quietly cursed under her breath. How could she have allowed herself to sleep in so carelessly? Quickly as she could, she hobbled to the master bathroom and examined her reflection in the pristine ornate carved wooden mirror. Crow’s feet and purple bags under her eyes were the least of the problems she had to worry about this morning. It was a miracle she still had all her teeth. They may have been stained, and her breath smelled like death every morning when she rose, but the more she stood there gawking at her train wreck of an appearance, the more time she wasted to remedy herself. The old woman rapidly peeled off her faded pink nightgown and let it fall on the bathroom floor. She could feel her face flush as she strained to lift a shaky leg over the side of the tub, followed by another.

Her dry and shriveled skin resembled the heavily used pleather handbag that was hanging by threads on the bedroom door, stuff with unnecessary items that she never needed to carry around with her, yet she would feel pleased when the moment came in which she would need them so she kept everything in it. Like her, the bag hadn’t succumbed to age. It was archaic, like the madwoman rushing to get in the shower, and still had a motivation to get through the day. The knobs on the shower squealed as she adjusted the temperature. There was no time, so the cold water left the woman shivering once she got out, soap still on the surface of her arms and legs.

For an older woman, she moved quickly due to this tardiness she was facing. She used a bleached towel to dry off, grasping the towel in her fists and squatted as she rung the towel back and forth between her legs and even pretended like she might have been riding a horse, pleasantly giggling to herself. She found excitement in running late, but she would have to stop goofing off if she were to make it on time.

The towel joined the nightgown on the bathroom. Using baby oil she moisturized her skin, which almost brought it back to life. Her wrinkles absorbed the oil, seeming to demand more, but it would be all they got today. The woman’s hand glided over liver spots and bluish-black veins that resembled spider webs under the woman’s epidermis. The breasts of the old woman hung low, almost to her navel, causing her to hunch over slightly. She stared once again at herself in the mirror and sighed. Age hadn’t been kind to her, but the woman knew she would have to get over it. It would be a cold day in hell if she woke up one morning to see the reflection of her younger self staring back with perky breasts and firm skin around her neck. She had grace back then, and a wide set of hips which she never used to bear children.

A hint of worry was beginning to settle in the woman’s chest. She had to stop daydreaming if she was going to make it. She hobbled over to the other side of the room, where a dark purple, extravagant dress with black mink’s fur in a V line at the bosom, hung from the rack in her closet. The woman had put on her undergarments, so she slid into the dress that hugged her elderly body nicely. It was modest, but the old woman still felt sexy. It was long enough that she didn’t need stockings. Black wedges were put on afterward. She returned to the bathroom and powdered her face, at first making her look like a ghost, before adding blush and lipstick as dark as the dress. Her eyebrows were almost nonexistent, and her eyelashes were virtually invisible, but the old woman always hated wearing mascara, so she left it alone. She left her thin gray hair in the seafoam green rollers and covered the atrocity with a red wig in a finger wave style. She loves the difference all of this made for her appearance. She looked 10 years younger in her opinion. The old woman is 84.

She hurried down the stairs, clutching the railing leading down to the quiet living room. The sheer, sky blue drapes danced in the air. They seemed to extend metaphorical arms that embraced the woman as she hurried to the front door. Dust glided through the air, emanating from an antique brash chandelier that hadn’t been dusted in decades. Old grime covered the picture frames of the old woman in her prime. There were pictures of her next to white curtains surrounding an empty hospital bed. A much younger version of the old woman wore her nurse uniform and poetically posed for the picture with a clipboard in hand, pretending to be in the moment. There were many stock photographs of her. They covered the entire living room, both on the wall and on the coffee table. Placards and medals wasted away together on the end table next to a television set that hadn’t been turned on in years. The framed photographs surrounded the room like windows replaying little movies reflecting the old woman’s life. There were dinner parties and the familiar faces of her parents smiling at her from the front door of the house she grew up in. Her friends waved at her, motioning her to hurry up with the camera while the waves at the beach crept up behind them. The Old Woman smelled the popcorn emitting from a framed display of her very first movie ticket. It was a brownish, yellowish color due to time. The font was too small for The Old Woman to make out, but she remembered the night she held this movie ticket, because it was also the night she first held hands with a man.

They met at a public library. The Old Woman wore thick glasses, a buttoned-down shirt tucked into a plaid dress and brown penny loafers. She was deep in her studies, preparing for finals that she was bound to pass, but her confidence was something that seemed to never be something she could rely on. She played with her red curls while she flipped through pages and occasionally jotted down notes, humming a Cab Calloway tune and tossing a Curtiss with her tongue repeatedly. There weren’t many people in the library that day. It was a summer afternoon which meant that mostly everyone was either at the beach or loitering around dive bars. Her friends had invited her to drive to the next town over with them, but The Old Woman decided to hang back in order to satisfy the needs of her academics. She ignored the urge to toss the books up in the air and storm out of the library. The Old Woman knew she would regret the decision to enjoy herself for once, but she didn’t have to resent herself for long when Myers plopped down in the chair directly in front of her with that goofy grin he always wore. In school all the girls had a crush on him, but not for good reasons. James Myers had black hair slicked back with a perfect part. His teeth were straight and unbelievably white for someone who chewed tobacco. Myers was tall and lanky like a snake if it were to sprout arms and legs. His ash-colored pants had a frayed rip going across each knee as if he purposely used his pocket knife to make a statement. Had his shirt possessed one more button undone Myers’ chest hair might have been able to escape. He smelled like rubbing alcohol and judging by the five o’clock shadow, The Old Woman assumed he had shaved that morning. The one thing that stood out the most was his attendance at the public library. The Old Woman of course was very naïve to realize he was only there because he knew she would be there. Myers had interacted with nearly every girl at her school in some way, now it was her turn.

It took her a moment to realize he had been speaking to her. His mouth began to move again but still she couldn’t hear him. Myers was incredibly handsome. Why he was talking to her The Old Woman had no idea. She nervously smiled at him after Myers’ eyes went wide after a second time of trying to communicate with the spaced-out young lady in front of him.

“Am I speaking French or something?” Myers had his head tilted to the side like a dog trying to process a sound.

The Old Woman shook her head sheepishly then turned to the next page in her textbook even though she wasn’t even finished taking notes. She was too nervous to ask Myers to repeat himself.

“So, what is it then?” Myers was leaning into the table, finding pleasure in making the young girl nervous with his presence. The Old Woman’s nervousness turned slightly more serious with him invading her personal space.

“Dorothy,” The Old Woman forced out. “My name is Dorothy.”

Myers shrugged his shoulders before sitting back in his seat. “I already know who you are, sugar. My question is why are you in this dust trap when you could be outside helping me try out my new bike?”

The Old Woman, or Dorothy, couldn’t stop herself from giving Myers the most ludicrous look. Myers was always trying to impress girls by flashing his wealth. His father owned the garment factory in the next town over. Myers and his two younger sisters were awfully spoiled. It often reflected in their behavior. It didn’t help that Myers was doll crazy as they say. Dorothy was well aware of the many flings he has had this year alone. She couldn’t allow herself to be one of them, yet the butterflies in her stomach made her disinclined to her own inner conflicts.

“It sounds dangerous,” Dorothy tried. Myers could talk the bloomers off any pee-brained girl, but Dorothy didn’t want to seem like one of them. At least not right away. She forced herself to stop twirling her hair, and even held eye contact with him for a moment, before looking back down at the now meaningless words on the pages. Her mind had already been made up.

Myers stood up, at first making Dorothy’s heart sink with disappointment. She forced herself not to smile when he produced a helmet from under the table and gently strapped it on her head.

“You can wear my helmet,” Myers grinned. “See? It fits like a glove.”

Then before she knew it, Dorothy would hastily pack all her papers and books into her clutch bag and run out of the library noisily with the no-good James Myers. There, parked directly in front of the building was the most impressive black bike, like something she had once seen in a magazine. There were onlookers that watched this quiet schoolgirl wrap her timid legs and arms around the big bad wolf of Hightstown. Myers slowly waddled the bike back before he took off down the road. He would rev his engine to make the bike jolt forward, forcing a scream of excitement from the captivated Dorothy. She needed this. To simply breathe in the fresh air as it blew through her hair made her feel like her age again. The vibrating of the motorcycle between her legs and the broad shoulders of Myers in front of her sparked something in Dorothy that was still an undiscovered territory. Her father would kill her if he saw her like this. Each time they stopped Dorothy would either look around in bewilderment or lay her head against the back of Myers so no one would see her face, and hopefully confuse her red curls for someone else’s.

Myers was talking to her over the howl of the wind blowing around them and the engine of the bike. Dorothy couldn’t hear him but just held onto him tighter. Occasionally he would look behind him to see the thunderstruck look in Dorothy’s eyes once more. She had never been this close to a boy. Dorothy hoped Myers could tell how curious he made her feel. That day he took her to all the spots that people her age go. To the bar where they shared a milkshake and jammed out to the god-forsaken rock and roll music her parents disliked. Myers and Dorothy skipped stones at the pond in the park and walked around downtown as real couples did. When evening fell, Dorothy knew she should have gone home when the streetlights were beginning to come on, but the cunning Myers convinced her to go see her first movie at the cinema. He had already bought her ticket before she tried sneaking off into the night, and out of guilt she begrudgingly followed his tall physique into the dark theatre.

“You should be glad,” Myers grinned again, flashing his million-dollar smile. “This one came out just yesterday.”

“Oh,” Dorothy said, not wanting to admit she had never seen a motion picture before. It was better than any book she had ever read. The actress was extremely beautiful. She felt empowered by seeing a woman having a moment on the big screen like that. Sometime in the movie, Myers had reached down and grabbed her soft, petite hand with his burly one. Dorothy looked down at it but was too nervous to look over at him because she wasn’t sure if that meant he wanted to kiss. They only knew each other from school, but Dorothy knew how foolish it was to move so fast with someone like Myers. It took all her might to slow down. He would forget her name by tomorrow. Tears formed in her eyes at the thought of it. She knew she had always loved Myers, but her intuition got the best of her that night, thus preventing her from kissing him. When she finally got home, it wasn’t the anger that her father expressed, or being grounded until the following week that unsettled her, but just the tossing and turning that she faced that night wondering what could’ve been if she had simply lived that night.

The Old Woman blinked back into the present with the ticket still looking back at her. Her stomach still had butterflies from that day with Myers. She wished she could tell her younger self back then that it was okay that she didn’t kiss him that night because a miracle happened. It would be days later that he would be at the front door of her residence asking about her, completely unbothered by the evil eye Dorothy’s father gave him. Still facing punishment, Dorothy watched him drive off on his black motorcycle from her upstairs bedroom window. Once he was out of sight, she bit her tongue to prevent a scream of excitement before falling back giddily on her bed. The next couple of days moved agonizingly slow before she was finally free. Dorothy put on her favorite dress and matching blue ribbon before stepping outside and pacing to the library. Myers had stopped trying her residence, so Dorothy had to only hope he would be smart enough to come look for her there.

He was standing outside in the middle of spitting out a disgusting spit wad when he caught sight of Dorothy swaying down the sidewalk with the brightest smile on her face. He looked even more handsome than the day they first got to know each other. Myers tried to hide his excitement by tucking his hands in his pockets attempting to play cool, but he dropped the tin can with his chewing tobacco. He and Dorothy both stooped down to retrieve it and bumped heads, clumsily. Myers just laughed and gently shoved her aside to pick it up.

“I knew you’d come around.”

Dorothy wasn’t sure what to say, so she simply curtsied, like the woman from the first film she ever did see. She tried to resemble her poise and mannerism like a woman who was well put together, and not begging for his affection, but letting him know it was surely welcomed.

Myers cocked his head to the side again. “You know you’re really different from most girls.”

Dorothy tried not to let the fact that he had been with someone other than her bother her.

“Why do you say that?”

Myers shrugged his shoulders again. “I’m not entirely sure, but I like you a lot, Dorothy.”

I LOVE YOU! Dorothy held her tongue from shouting, but she maintained her composure for the sake of her dignity. That day was remembered by a newspaper clipping of Uncle Sam pointing at the now Old Woman still frozen in place as her memories took over her. She and Myers eventually did fall in love. Myers’ heartbreaker days were over once Dorothy charmed him smitten. They would do everything together after they officially graduated high school. Dorothy would meet his parents and his two younger sisters that were all so nice to her. Their house was everything she had imagined a factory owner’s house would be like. His sisters had every toy ever created, while Myers’s mother had a real pearl earring and necklace set, and countless shoes and dresses in a walk-in closet. Myers continued to show Dorothy all his family’s possessions, including his father’s Bugatti and other notable cars that his father owned. Dorothy tried not to gawk, but she couldn’t help but lightly touch the door handle of the parked cars as they walked by them.

The days with Myers were often short-lived because of the amount of fun they would have together. All of Dorothy’s girlfriends were often jealous of Dorothy when Myers came by to swoop her up for another adventure. They would softly chatter as they walked away together. No one thought that her and Myers would last as long as they did, but this particular afternoon, Myers seemed a little distant.

“What’s bothering you,” Dorothy touched Myers' hand as they sat at a picnic table alone at the same park they skipped rocks that the first time they went on a date.

Myers shrugged his shoulders again like he always did before he opened his jacket and handed Dorothy a slightly crumpled piece of paper. His leg bounced under the table as he looked around nervously. She was worried about Myers’ sudden change in behavior, but she opened the paper and began to read what it said.

He had been drafted.

Dorothy read the entire document three times while sitting there before she handed Myers the paper back and sat there with a million thoughts racing through her mind. It didn’t seem real. More than half of their graduating class had been joined the Armed Forces right out of high school. Myers considered joining, but his father promised him a position operating the factory to keep him home. Now that the document was there before him, he was unsure how to feel, and was even more unsure how to break the news to Dorothy. Dorothy knew that the war was growing more intense after the bombing of Pearl Harbor over a month ago. The United States' stance on mutualism quickly changed after the violent attack. Times were becoming impeccable for the two young lovers. Myers went on to say that there was no one his father could pay off, and quite frankly he didn’t want him to because he couldn’t live with himself to bring dishonor to the country, but he also didn’t want to be drafted.

Dorothy heard him talking, but she couldn’t process the words because she was trying to think of a world without Myers by her side. It all happened so fast, seeing him for the last time. He kissed her forehead in front of her father on the porch of their humble two-story home. Dorothy couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. She cursed everything that made this even possible. Myers promised her that he wouldn’t be gone long. He believed that once he made it there, he would set the record straight and end everything once and for all for the country. She held onto this memory with a simple note with his clumsy handwriting asking her to wait for him so they could get married and start a family. Myers may have put on the ersatz face of bravery to brighten up Dorothy, but she knew he was scared. She didn’t let his cowardice to ask for her hand in marriage in front of her father bother her. Life for Dorothy, whether she liked it or not, continued. She became the nurse that her parents wanted her to. She found comfort in taking care of the sick. The days that Myers was away, turned into months. She would get letters from him every now again. Dorothy would write back letters of encouragement and of course longing. She never moved on from Myers, and as promised, she waited for him to return.

Now an old woman, Dorothy closed her eyes as she stepped outside and rushed to the end of her property, huffing after the extreme effort to hobble to her mailbox. She opened the door that was barely hanging on its hinges seeing that there was no mail then gently closed the mailbox. She made it there at the nick of time. She heard the familiar rustle of the mail truck coming down the road. She gasped with excitement, and smoothed down her dress, and put on her bravest smile as the truck came to a screeching halt a few inches from her standing next to the box. A black man with beautiful brown eyes smiled down at the friendly little old woman and handed her a bundle of envelopes.

“Morning, ma’am,” he tipped his hat politely before starting the truck again and moving onto the next house. The interaction was very smooth and effortless. He did it every morning and had grown extremely used to the sweet woman waiting by the mailbox. From other postmen, he knew that she had been doing it for years, but no one ever understood the reason behind it. The man peeked in his rearview mirror at the well-dressed woman flipping through the many envelopes as she slowly walked back to the front door of her house.

Every last envelope once again wasn’t from Myers. The last letter she had received was over 30 years ago. The Old Woman found herself sighing painfully as she tossed the envelopes in a box that housed hundreds of unopened mail, all that weren’t from him. She knew he must hardly have any time to write letters as often as before. The Old Woman, as part of her everyday routine, would instantly forgive him and retreat back upstairs to undress. The Old Woman is tired. After having taken off her dress, she slips back into her nightgown and washes away the makeup to reveal her age once more. Sluggishly, she falls into the bed and closes her eyes. Within minutes she opens them again to find that everything is in black and white. The streets are crowded with people waving flags and dancing. There’s confetti and kissing couples all around her. Cheers and laughter sound off as she continues to walk through the mass of reunited lovers. The men are dressed in their uniforms. They run around looking for loved ones or just anyone to celebrate with.

The Old Woman realizes that she is dreaming again. Banners that say “Victory” are flying everywhere, but she feels defeated. She could never be mad at Myers, but she was beginning to grow impatient after all these years of waiting. She devastatingly walks through the crowds of ecstatic men and women. No one ever notices her in this dream. She’s looking for Myers forever in the sea of happy faces. Faces that would embrace their loved ones, faces that would marry and have children, faces that will die happy after living fulfilling lives. The Old Woman wonders what her life would be like if she had truly lived her life and decided not to wait for Myers. Would she have had the same fate as these people? The Old Woman knew she would never be happy without Myers in her life. There was no point in even wondering what could have been.

The Old Woman would continue to walk around in the dream for what would feel like an eternity. Her lost hope would soon be absorbed in the bliss of the crowds and she would begin to run through everyone with equal excitement. Her nightgown turned into the American flag as she continued to run. Her red hair flowed behind her as she ran, not even looking up to see where she was going. Her younger body developed under the dress. She already knew how this dream would end. She would run nonstop until she jolted herself away to meet the postman for the mail. The duration of her sprint seemed a bit longer this time. She never ran out of breath, but she knew that the dream seemed strangely longer in duration. This was the same dream she has had for years on end. She knew it like the many wrinkles on the back of her hand, but the dream became even more calming to her.

She felt like Dorothy again, not the Old Woman she had become. She looked down at her hands and marveled at the firm skin and strong nails that suddenly felt very real. She began to look around at all the people continuing to celebrate the victory of the country. A girl with long blonde hair lost her footing and bumped into Dorothy by mistake, making her stumble as well. The girl gathered herself before apologizing, then immediately returned to celebrating. Dorothy stood there in shock at someone actually noticing her in the dream, let alone touching her. She began to wonder whether or not she was dreaming.

Soon after pondering that, she saw something that made her doubt even more that everything was real. As if on cue, the mass in front of her parted ways, and there, strutting through the crowd with his all too familiar smile, was Myers. He began to trot towards Dorothy, then full-on sprint, never taking his eyes off her. Dorothy became paralyzed. When their bodies collided, she inhaled his familiar musk, and tears formed in her eyes. Instantly she convinced herself that her life alone, and her reflection being that of an Old Woman was the dream because this moment had to be real. Dorothy knew Myers would never break a promise. She never stopped believing that he would find his way back to her. This is what faith had rewarded her with.

The sound of cheering erupted around them as Myers’ lips met Dorothy’s. She was so surprised at how real the sparks felt. Then Myers stood back while still holding her waist. Dorothy looked at him and didn’t pay attention to the multiple bullet holes across his chest. He still had the same goofy demeanor as before. So many emotions overcame Dorothy.

“I waited for you, Myers.” Dorothy became choked up. “I never lost faith.”

Myers cocked his head to the side before talking.

“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner,” Myers said sincerely.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Dorothy looked around and began to notice the discrepancies with the different soldiers. Bullet holes, gaping holes in uniforms, scars across the faces of smiling, peaceful men in uniform hugging their loved ones all caught the attention of Dorothy.

Myers directed her to look at him. “All that matters, is that we are together, right now, in this moment. This is our happy ending.”

With that, Dorothy and Myers regained their feeling of bliss as they joined in the never-ending celebration of the crowd. Dorothy forgot about the Old Woman sleeping all alone in an empty house. This was her new reality. This was the life she never had. She was finally at peace.

***

The mailman cautiously walked up the steps of the Old Woman’s home. She hadn't shown up the past three days which wasn’t like her. He was shocked at the living conditions of the elderly woman. Halfway up the steps, he smelled a scent all too familiar. Slowly creeping in the master bedroom, the mailman removed his hat at the sight of the expired Old Woman lying in bed. She was smiling. In her hand, she firmly held onto a picture of her and her beloved, forever together in harmony. In the photograph, they smiled eternally at the grieving mailman. The Old Woman for the first time in years was late for the postman…