Old Things

by Gina Skurchak

Before I got out of bed this morning, I lifted my-54-year-old legs perpendicular to the bed and admired how girlish they looked. I do this every morning. For about thirty seconds this exercise lets my legs look sexy. Like they used to when Elvis was King and my father drove a black Cadillac with fins.

Fantasy time over, I plodded into the bathroom to contemplate my graying hair. In no time, I thought, I'll forget my natural color. I considered dyeing it black. It worked for the eternally glamorous Liz Taylor -- when she turned sixty, Disneyland threw her a party.

The phone interrupted my thoughts. My mother called to tell me a kid I used to baby sit had died of a coronary at the age of 48. As an afterthought, she mentioned a talk show she'd seen about how women could determine their probability of developing turkey necks, jowls, and crows feet. What is this? I asked myself as she prattled on, do we all become poultry in the end?

Completely depressed about both my hair and rapidly sagging skin, I hung up the phone and picked up a note left for me by the love of my life -- the man who's shared my life for more than 30 years. The passionate message stated, "pk up pctr hks + calking at hrdwr str."

An hour later I found myself in Hennessey's Hardware Store, where the wood floors creak and the shelves dip and sag under cans of future toxic waste. Hardware stores are designed for men: They smell like someone sprayed burnt rubber with turpentine, dumped a 50 lb. bag of fresh manure on top, and set the whole mess in a barrel behind the door. Guys like that outdoorsy aroma.

This is a really old building, I thought. Paul Revere probably bought solder here.

I felt someone staring at me. I looked up and our eyes locked too long to be decent. I'd never seen eyes as blue as a gas flame before. He smiled a slow, beautiful smile and dipped his head a little as if to say hello. He had thick gray hair and eyes that could melt rocks. And he was flirting with me. I hooked a hard left into the first side aisle.

"Can I help you, Miss?" I turned around. Even at close range, the man was a stud. Sixty, maybe? Old enough to be my father! Well, he used to be old enough to be my father. Ten years ago I'd have offered to help this geezer cross the street.

"Hi, uh, um, sure, uh." I sounded like a sow in heat. I heard him contain a chuckle somewhere deep down behind his Adam's apple. Estrogen-laced blood flushed my cheeks. Blush or hot flash? I backed carelessly into the rakes.

"I'm looking for picture hooks, the kind with the paper tabs. And some caulking for the tub," I said. How romantic.

He grinned. "You're in the wrong aisle, Miss. You just follow me, and I'll show you where those hook hide."

He slipped a blister pack off the peg board and in slow motion he softly set them in my open, sweaty palm.

"There you go," he said. "If these hooks aren't right, you bring them right back. Satisfaction's always guaranteed." He winked. I began to wonder if the man was stable. Then, in a husky voice with his eyes fixed on mine, he said, "Now I'll show you my caulking. How big a tube would you like?" Who cared if he was stable?

I was Silly Putty. My knees had turned to jelly. I pulled the first tube I saw off the shelf and quickly paid for the items. I had to get out of there before the scenario got out of hand.

The man handed me my bag, laid those killer blues on mine and whispered, "Thank you very, very much, Young Lady. Have yourself a great day, now."

I floated out of the store, across the sidewalk. . .and right into the path of a taxi cab. I jumped back and tripped, my Hennessey's bag flying into the air. I was flat out on the ground, unharmed, but trying to get my wind back.

The driver, a wild-eyed, long-haired, diamond-ear ringed young man, exploded from the cab.

"Hey, ya fucking old broad! Why don't ya wake up!"

Passersby and store employees gathered as the lunatic cabby ranted on. The man from Hennessey's gallantly extended his hand and helped me pick myself up, joint by aching joint. Finally upright, I stood next to my would-be suitor and waited for the taxi driver to wear himself out. Finally, he shut up, waiting for me to respond. The silent crowd waited as well. Facing the cabby, Blue Eyes and I, magically in sync, slowly raised our hands to shoulder level and treated the entire gathering to perfectly straight, fully extended middle fingers.

Smiling, we went our separate ways. There's spunk in the old things yet.