When I was 65, things looked to be going well. My husband died a long time ago, and my kids have already started their own families, so they don’t come to see me very often. I lived by myself in a modest house on the edge of town. At night, I would sit by the window and listen to the birds sing as the sun set over the street. I felt quite lonely, even though my life seemed peaceful.
That was the day I turned 18. Nobody contacted or texted to say “good job.” I made the choice to travel the night bus to the city alone. I didn’t have a strategy; I just wanted to do something new and “daring” before it was too late.
I went into a small tavern. The lights were warm and golden, and the music was nice. I picked a quiet spot and asked for a glass of red wine. I hadn’t had a drink in a long time, so the sweet, bitter taste on my tongue made me feel better.
While I watched individuals walk by, I saw a man coming toward me. He was in his early 40s, his hair was starting to turn gray, and his eyes had a deep, calm expression in them. He grinned and sat across from me. “Do you want another drink?”
I laughed and softly told him he was wrong:
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’; it’s not something I’m used to.”
We talked like we had known each other for a long time. He informed me he was a photographer and had just gotten back from a trip. I told him about my childhood and the excursions I had always wanted to take but never did. I don’t know if it was the wine or the way he looked at me, but I liked him.
That night, I went to a motel with him. It had been a long time since I had felt someone’s arms around me. It was nice to be close to someone. In the dark room, we didn’t chat much; we just did what we felt like.
The next morning, the drapes let in the sun. I got up and turned to say good morning, but no one was there. He was no longer there. There was a white envelope on the table. My hands shook as I opened it, and my heart raced.
Inside the present was a picture of me sleeping peacefully with golden light shining on me. There were some messages below it that said, “Thank you for showing me that getting older can be both beautiful and brave.” But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth from the start. You assisted my dad a long time ago.
I was stuck. I remembered a number of things, like how I had helped a woman raise her son during an extremely terrible time more than twenty years ago. I lost touch with that individual, and I never imagined the child from last night was them.
I felt astonished, humiliated, and perplexed all at the same time. I wanted to blame him, but I had to face the fact that last night wasn’t just a drunken moment. I was completely honest with myself at the moment, even though the truth stunned me.
I looked at the picture in my hands for a long time. My face didn’t look worried in the picture; it was just really serene. I knew that certain realities hurt, but they also came with a gift.
That night when I arrived home, I put the picture in a quiet place. I don’t know the story behind it, but every time I see it, I recall that people can get the best surprises of their lives at any age. Those surprises can make life worth living at times.
