Now in our story we've made it to early September, my birthday week! Fifty, the first age I've been genuinely unnerved about. I was freaking and grieving. I had to stop writing in my six-year journal because of the on this day of it all. I always love my birthday, but it also brings up memories--the fancy dates with The Shy One, the falling out with my brother, the creeping fear that I'll never achieve any kind of closeness again. The newly arthritic knee that had kept me from swimming in the ocean all summer.
The one thing I wanted on my birthday was to walk along the beach.
Pause to let TS Elliot chime in:
Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each
The rest-stop peaches were sublime and the day was clear and cool enough, but my mood was definitely Prufrockian. My knee ached (The medication would come the next day.) and my tire light was on. I felt a million years old and I wanted to sleep forever instead of going home for friends and cake.
(No matter WHAT'S going on next summer, I need to not shirk the beach. At least 9 times in 2025, any season, any length of time.)
BUT ALSO, in the midst of all the pining and nostalgia and the knowledge that the arthritis is sending tiny bone particles everywhere: An easy light. A cute new old friend.
A week or two before the birthday waves, the Southern Charmer had pinged me on Feeld, and I didn't register at first that it was him. When I did realize, I felt a spark of yes run up my sternum and up to warm my ears and cheeks. Yes.
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