I am 38 years old.
It's almost 2:00 AM, and the sweat is pouring from my brow, dripping down the back of my neck, and trickling along sides of my torso. I've just taken the puppy for his final walk of the day -- or his first walk of the day? The thermometer on the front porch indicates it's still 85 degrees outside. There is no breeze, and the smokey haze of hundreds of remaining wildfires mingles with the remains of today's surprising humidity.
My body reeks. The first thing I did upon arriving home in the afternoon was to take the dog for a quick stroll down to the end of the block and back. At almost 110 degrees, I was quickly out of breath, my hat and t-shirt soaked through, work boots like ovens roasting my feet. After an hour or two of relaxation, we all went to the gym. Although air conditioned, 35 minutes on the treadmill followed by leg presses and calf raises wiped me out further, drenching me once again.
I will shower once I am through writing, and then finally let sleep take me. Before that happens, however, I will savor the images that are swimming around my head, toying with my exhausted mind and reminding me of days gone past. It's said that smells trigger more memories than any other sense, so for a little while longer I will allow my body's oily, sour odor to take me back.
---
I am 35 years old. The flowers outside the state capitol building are blooming red, white and blue, and I am walking back to my car in the full glare of the summer sun. The air is so moist I can practically see drops suspended in front of me, and my suit coat is slung over my shoulder. I have just helped a medal of honor winner, a California legislator, my boss and countless ATM companies across the state advance a bill that will soon become law, allowing extra fees to be charged to foreigners withdrawing cash from our machines. I'm not happy about it. Avoiding the interstate, I opt for the very long drive back home along Highway 160, watching the delta pass by as the seeds of my eventual resignation begin to germinate. --- I am 30 years old. My wife and son are on the St. Charles Streetcar with me, riding back downtown through the Garden District, past Loyola and Tulane Universities, and Audubon Park and Zoo. The freezing cold rain that greeted our arrival has given way -- at least for the time being -- to a muggy, oppressive heat that weighs on our weary bodies. My wife is unimpressed by New Orleans, and before our honeymoon is over she has no desire to return. The seats on the streetcar are antique, hard wood, and although the tracks bounce us with a bone-jarring forcefulness, our son still manages to nap soundly. I am greatly looking forward to our visits to Mardi Gras World and the D-Day Museum, neither of which disappoint. --- I am 27 years old. Sitting across from me on the enclosed front porch of the trailer she shares with her husband and children, my ex-wife smokes and tries to hold back the tears. It is long past the time everyone else has gone to bed, and I have just finished packing from my weeklong visit with my daughter. I will return home from Tampa Bay tomorrow. The storm outside is a reflection of my ex-wife's mood, and the air is steamy and dangerous; a tornado watch is in effect. After a couple of drinks and a long conversation bordering on argument, she has just confessed that she is still in love with me. Were I to ask it, she would leave her husband and son and return to me. What can I say that won't hurt more than what she's already feeling? --- I am 23 years old. The summer air is hazy and damp, but there are brief moments of coolness. I am on one of my periodic hikes into the forest bordering our tiny village of Hagenbach, during which I always search in vain for the wild garlic that fills the air with its enticing aroma. Despite the pleasant surroundings, my thoughts are always dark when on these walks. My marriage has crumbled, but we still live together because I can't yet afford to fly back to the United States. Our arguments are heated, and sometimes end with me fending off her physically violent outbursts. Despite her own forays back into the dating world, she tries to discourage me from seeing other women. --- I am 21 years old. My buddy and I are sitting in his yellow '78 Camaro, cruising the streets of Fruitland Park. The open windows only sporadically relieve the musty heat of this small town. We have both just gotten out of the Army, and I have opted to spend a couple weeks seeing his home state before heading back to California. The daughter I love and the fiancee I do not want to marry won't be joining me for another couple months. During this trip my buddy's sister will develop a crush on me, I will almost have one night stands with two other women, and either Chip or Dale at Orlando's Disney World will squeeze my butt. --- I am 17 years old. We are attending my uncle's wedding in Scarsdale, NY. The ceremony is held in both English and Hebrew, which means it takes twice as long as it otherwise would. This wouldn't be such a bad thing if the service weren't taking place in the back yard of the bride's parents' house. Unfortunately, it rained this morning and the temperature is somewhere above 90 degrees. My cheap, grey department store suit is weighing me down, and my shirt, underwear and pants are sticking to my skin. I doze off through most of the ceremony, but manage to wake up just in time for the breaking of the glass.---
I am 38 years old.
It's almost 4:00 AM, and I will be leaving the house in a little more than 5 hours. Time to wash away the sweat and memories, and go to bed. I'll make some more memories later. And probably some more sweat, too.
Mazel Tov.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
tired
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