Nobody Wants To Know Him

Grow Old With Me - Epilogue III

Wednesday 31st July 2024
Liverpool, England

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Grow old along with me

The best is yet to be

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Growing old once seemed like a lifetime away, but before we knew it, our hair had streaked with grey, and our joints finally gave in. Everything was different from how it used to be, but it all changed so gradually that we hardly noticed it as it was happening.

But now, in hindsight, it was clear as day. All the gradual changes that happened, they were so plain to see.

I can't remember when we stopped using encyclopaedias in favour of Wikipedia, when bell bottoms went out of style, when every house having a television was the norm, when mobile phones began to fit in our pockets, and people stopped using landlines and phone books. I can't place the moment when smoking was declared bad for our health, when sustainability turned into convenience, when society opened up about things that were swept under the rug for years.

I can't remember when John and I started using shoe horns to put our shoes on, when John got his hearing aids (which he hardly ever put in out of spite), when we got rid of that tatty old rug which had been at Kenwood since I moved in. When did our lives slow down, and why did we never notice it?

John, once so agile and active, was not quite so much anymore. His knees had failed him around ten years ago, ridden with arthritis, and he'd had a replacement in his left one. His hair was no longer that coppery shade of auburn that it once was, yet the thinned, silvery tresses were still kept just as soft. The lines that wrinkled his eyes only when he smiled before were now permanent, and his face no longer had that sharpness to it, though his wrinkles and sagging skin didn't make him look gaunt, but rather softer, warmer.

He was still John, though. His wit was still as sharp as ever, and he still had that little crook in his front two teeth, the same aquiline nose. One thing in particular that always remained, though, were his eyes. Several years ago now he had cataract surgery, and his already poor eyesight had definitely not gotten any better, but beneath all that, they were still the same. They still glinted mischievously when he had something witty to say. They still softened when I said something he appreciated. They were still the same brown, the same almond, squinty eyes, even if a little worn around the edges.

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"Did ye put yer hearing aids in, John?" I asked absentmindedly, already knowing the likely answer. I asked him the same thing every day.

That morning, we were sitting in the garden on our wicker chairs, the July sun beating down on the large summer umbrella overhead. We each had a book nestled in our hands, John with sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose as he read. I sighed, shaking my head in exasperation. There was my answer.

"John?" I asked a bit louder.

He did a double take in confusion, looking around for a second before his eyes settled on me.

"Did ye say somethin'?"

"I said, 'did ye put yer hearing aids in today?'"

He turned his attention back to his book, waving dismissively in my direction. I was intrigued to hear what excuse he had prepared today.

"Nah. They were whining too much."

"That wasn't the hearing aids; that was you."

He turned towards me again, eyes narrowed but a smirk playing on his lips, rising to the challenge of playful banter.