Eighty years. . . where have they gone? As I slip on my nylons, I stop to examine my legs. Lines of blue veins, yellowed toe nails, dried and crackled skin. I remember the reckless short skirts of my youth and walking barefoot on the boardwalk. Gossiping and smiling as the Navy boys came in to port. My tailored blouses and the bright red lipstick shared with my girlfriends and kept out of sight from our prudish mothers. Carefree flirting and sharing sodas with my first love. What has happened? Now I cover my worn out body with sweaters, long dull coats, and comfortable shoes. My bold lipstick has been replaced with lip balm for protection from the north winds. I don't even bother putting on foundation or blush. Nothing could cover the wrinkles deeply burrowed in the landscape of my face. As I pin up my hair, I see my long red locks of yesterday. Thick and curling around my shoulders. Today, I work to give some life to the thin brittle silver straw that grows from those same follicles.
I pull up my boots and head out the door. As I walk down the streets of the neighborhood I have spent my whole life, I can feel the changes of the years. Mrs. Shiler's brownstone is now her grandson's. How many evenings did we spend sitting on that stoop watching our children play? Oh, the world problems we solved there while our men were fighting the real enemy in Korea. I can still hear the laughter of my Hannah and her Ally as they ran up and down this very sidewalk. Now, Mrs. Shiler's grandson almost knocks me down as he hurries out the door, earphones blasting music, meetings to rush to - taking no time to even look at those around him.
I pass a couple of the boarded up storefronts that used to house my favorite wares. Old Mr. Palladino's bakery was my favorite place as a child. My mother would take me and Ollie, my brother, there for a treat if we got good marks in school. I spend many nights studying just thinking of one of his black and white cookies. Mr. Palladino died a few years back, and all his family has moved on. With no one to take over his bakery, it is just boarded up, waiting for someone to fill its empty walls with life again.
Finally, my destination is in view. The deli I have come to love. As I walk through the doors, my heart is heavy with memories of yesterday. Then, I see him. His eyes are fixed on mine. I remember why my weak legs can still skip. Why my wrinkled face can still break into a smile. I reach up my age-spotted hand hand and wave out to him - my Sully.
Sully has been my rock for over 60 years. We married young, just before he left for Korea. In his eyes, I see my past. My feet are old and cracked because of the many evening walks we took talking about our future, our children, his job, the country. My face is dry and wrinkled because of all the times I have laughed with him over all the important times in our lives. In his eyes, I see my present. Though our children have moved away, grandchildren are just occasional visitors, and many friends have been called home, we are here . . . together. We still can eat at our favorite deli and laugh at the silly hat on the kid beside us. We can look around at all those young souls and know who and where were are. We are Mia and Sully forever.
But today, I also have realized in his eyes, I see my future. That may seem like a strange thought for someone my age, but in him I see both the pain and joy of returning home to my heavenly Father. As Sully touches my tired cheek with his once strong hand, I rest in the peace of knowing how blessed I am to have my love here with me now.
