by Tracy Farr
What an Old Man Sees
When an old man
gazes upon a young, beautiful woman,
he sees her through a young man's eyes,
and remembers what it was like
to find out a girl's name,
her phone number,
to wipe the sweat off his palms
just before he asks her out on a date.
He doesn't remember the food they ate,
or the movie they watched,
but he remembers sitting so close to her
that he could smell the freshness of her hair,
her perfume,
and thinking he was in heaven,
and hell,
because he wanted to hold her hand,
or put his arm around her,
but didn't,
because the timing was never right,
or he was just too plain scared.
Other girls come to mind,
other dates,
other chances,
and he remembers the kisses,
the hugs
the hand holding,
the little bit of dying that comes with a broken heart,
the thrill of living when the next love comes along.
And he remembers the moment he met "the one."
Asking her father for permission,
the proposal,
seeing her for the first time in her white dress,
the vows,
walking up the aisle,
the rice,
the wedding night,
the births that eventually came along
with changing diapers,
red tricycles,
10-speed bicycles,
learning to drive a car,
his own children's first dates,
their first heartaches,
their dreams for the future,
and the day they left to find their own way.
And then one day he wakes up
to find his own life routine,
boring,
ho-hum,
and the passion he and his bride once shared for each other
replaced with a stale substitute
of rented movies,
frozen pizzas
and falling asleep on the couch.
When an old man
gazes upon a young, beautiful woman,
he sees all these things
in the blink of a young man's eyes,
and is sad,
because his eyes are no longer young.
When a young, beautiful woman
gazes upon an old man,
she only sees an old man who is staring at her.
And it creeps her out.
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Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his website at http://www.tracyfarr.net.