My Happily Ever After

I set the alarm and walked out the door hours after the branch had closed, the last one to leave. When I got to the car, it was hot from the summer humidity that just wouldn't let go. The Johnson County Fair traffic prodded me to take the longer, less congested way home. As I approached the stoplight, I saw a sweet little couple picking their way across the Bob Evans parking lot toward their modest, newer model white car.

The car complemented them like a carefully chosen accessory. It was neat and tidy, suitably dressy, modestly sized, and dependable. Just as they appeared to be.

I suppose they had at least 25 years on me, but they wore it well, showcasing two full heads of white wavy hair. Polyester slacks and cardigan sweaters were finished with sensible white tie shoes for her and new-looking white tennis shoes for him. From my vantage-point, I couldn't say for sure, but my money was on velcro fasteners for the man's shoes.

The woman looked as if she had a difficult time walking, and one of her shoes seemed to have a higher platform than the other...telltale signs of polio? Regardless, she kept up admirably, though he wasn't hanging back to help her. They were talking as they walked, and I imagined they were old lifetime companions.

In that moment I was aware of how little I expected of my future. I wanted just what it appeared they had, no more and no less. Always true to my objective analytical self, I broke it down into 3 achievements:

1) They were retired but clearly had enough money to eat dinner out on any random Monday night.
2) They were able to afford a vehicle that was new enough to assure them of dependability.
3) They had each other, even in their advanced age

I suddenly felt ashamed for judging them, even though I had judged them in a positive way. Was the life I invented for them anything like their real lives? Had their grown son recently committed suicide, or had they lost a sibling or a beloved pet? Did they dislike each other so intensely that they didn't even hold hands anymore? Were they having a quarrelsome conversation instead of a sweet one? Did she live in constant pain and discomfort?

I don't know. I did pull my judgements back a little...but not my expectations. I still hope my husband and I make it to 80...together. I still hope we'll have money to eat out on any random Monday night. I still hope we can get around independently. I still hope we'll be able to afford a dependable mode of transportation that won't worry us and nickel and dime us to death.

Andd I hope we hold hand when we're leaving Bob Evans, even when we're 80.