Forever Young at Heart
What would you pay for one night of youth? What would it be worth?
I’m old, and tired of being that way. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize the withering, failing body I see, the wrinkled face and sagging breasts. I miss the pretty face, the nice figure that I used to have.
And I’m lonely. Maybe I wouldn’t feel this way if I weren’t so damn lonely. My husband died five years ago, and I haven’t had companionship since then. Nor sex. They say you stop wanting sex when you get old. They lie. You may not want it as much, but you never stop needing that intimacy, the connection, and really, the pleasure.
There’s more, though. When you’re old, it’s just not the same to go out on the town. You can’t party the same way. People look at you different. Or worse, they don’t look at you at all. You are expected to be calm, responsible, reliable, boring.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be young again, just one last time. To feel the blood pounding in my veins, the adrenalin rushing through me. To play, to dance, to flirt, to be alive. I am Charlotte Winters, and I am so sick of being old. Please save me.
Charlotte sat still and regal in the waiting room chair, but inside, she was a muddle of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She felt silly for being there, yet hopeful that she might find what she sought. She thought that it was foolish to believe or even place hope in the ad she had seen; yet the tantalizing allure of “what if” held her in her seat just the same.