sometimes at night, after christian has gotten in bed and has been reading for a while he’ll get suspicious. it’s usually because i have been much too quiet in the bathroom. standing longer than usual in front of the mirror. he’ll slink in and catch me. christian tells me to stop fishing for and meticulously plucking out the shimmery silvers in my hair.
he says no one can notice. but i do. i always catch a glimpse of them out of the corner of my eye.
he says it’s silly that i bother with them. i do not listen. they are my aging kryptonite.
i love christian’s silvers. they don’t worry him. he prefers to lament the fact that we are now closer to 40 than 20. a fact that i’d prefer not to even ponder.
the silvers and the years serve as a stark reminder to me that there are no babies to counteract the aging.
one of my former sunday school kids approached christian this week and asked if they could go long-boarding sometime. ethan remembered seeing christian’s board in our garage back in september. watching a 10-year old confidently chat up a 33-year old was hilarious.
when we were dating christian would often call me while he long-boarded along alki’s boardwalk. he hasn’t long-boarded in a while but i saw his wheels turning at ethan’s proposition.
we live on a dead-end and teenagers love to gather there to ride off on their bikes and boards. monday christian started chatting with a few teenagers in front of our house. he grabbed his board and said with a boyish grin, “i’ll be right back!”
i watched, anxiously, from the driveway. i have a tendency to fear the worst.
the boys shouted encouragements as the three of them started to descend the slope of the street. my eyes darted between an approaching car and christian’s back.
and then, christian crashed.
(he would insert here that he did a very impressive drop, roll and jump up.)
the car stopped as christian’s board zipped in front of it.
while the teenagers cheered for him and congratulated his awesome attempt the lady leaned out her window to see if he was okay. i heard christian apologize as i walked inside, a little bit sicker to my stomach.
all night i checked on his swelling wrist with its brilliant purples and blues.
“man, i don’t think i can golf next week.” was all he’d say.
urgent care found a broken wrist bone.
“i’m an idiot!” he barked. “i don’t think i can golf all summer!”
a specialist said he would not need surgery and ordered a splint. and at least six weeks of recovery. that diagnosis meant all would soon be well in his golf world.
last night i warned ethan he should maybe go easy on christian when they go long-boarding. maybe stick to level cul-de-sacs…
forever young, by alphaville