An old man sat on his porch beside his equally old wife on a fine Sunday afternoon. He calmly swirled a glass of what could either be scotch or whiskey and turned his head to his wife, who was calmly swirling her glass of wine. His eyes followed the trail from her head to her hands. She was staring off at the street in front of her, brown doe eyes darting back and forth at the neighborhood children playing street ball. Her copious amounts of grey hair had been set free from the normal proper bun she kept it in. Wrinkles had made a home on her face but they had not quite settled in; the old man often remarked on how he had aged for the two of them. As the old man was about to turn his gaze back towards the children, he heard a soft chuckle coming from his left.
"Staring is rude, you know." the old woman chuckled. The brown doe eyes had left the children and had fixated their gaze upon Mr. Matthews. She took the tiniest sip of her wine and smiled.
"I know that it is rude, but I have no problem being rude if it means I get to look at you."
That earned the old man another chuckle.
"Have you no shame?"
"None at all."
"What would your mother say?"
"That I could have married better."
Mr. and Mrs. Matthews had a good laugh together and then continued to turn their attention to the children. As the kids dribbled the ball and shot countless failed trickshots, a young girl approached the group. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews couldn't hear what she was saying, but it seemed like she wanted to join the group. As they watched, Mr. Matthews gently brushed his hand against his wife's. She looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.
"That little girl reminds me of you." His voice may have been old and raspy, but Mrs. Matthews remembered the first time she heard that voice many years ago.
"Does she? Hasn't got half the hair I have. She's a little lighter than I am. A little thinner than I am too, might I add."
"Well, obviously, but look at her. Defiant. Fiery. You were just like that when you were that age."
"You knew me when I was that young?" Amazement shot across Mrs. Matthews face.
"We met when you were 13."
The two elders paused, eyes locked on each other. They smiled at each other and turned their eyes back towards the kids, and continued their conversation. There was a tall boy looking down at the girl. He appeared to be telling her to go away; that she was too young to play ball with the bigger guys. The little girl stuck out her lower lip and protested.
"That boy is just like you."
"That rotten little child? You offend me, Mrs. Matthews."
"Oh, yes. You were just as rude back in the day. Quite a fiend, might I add."
The boy's friends laughed at how he was treating the little girl. She protested more and more until, finally, the boy tried to escort her back to her home. Her face was red with anger and her stride carried infuriation. Mr. Matthews couldn't help but laugh.
"Just like you, lovely."
"She's spoiled. Grew up rich, presumably." Mrs. Matthews muttered in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
"Didn't you?" the old man winked.
The two elders watched as the girl walked alongside the boy. The boy tried to guide her by putting his hand on her back, but the young girl refused to allow it. She snapped at him and swatted his hand away. The boy shrugged, his pride obviously hurt. This made Mr. Matthews turn to his wife with the corniest grin. They both knew that the little girl behaved very much like a younger Mrs. Matthews and one of them didn't care to admit it.
